#it Is the greatest thing i've written. though.

[surrealisticduvet]

someone with that kind of intensity

Summary: Paul comes over to John and Yoko's after a rough day during the Get Back sessions and partakes in what has been dubbed the ot3 fetish fic

[dancingbirdie]

Okay so on Astarion, I was reading this fic about him not knowing Tavs true intentions with him and it bothering Astarion a lot, so what if he goes to some mage or magic user and asks them to show Tavs true intentions to him, when he does the vision he sees is just... being snuggled. It's Tav on top of him and the both of you are falling asleep, his hands are under your shirt softly petting your skin as your sleepy self is contently snuggled up to him. I just start crying about him finding out that Tavs DASTARDLY and EVIL plan with him, their greatest desire from him... is to simply be held. 🥺

Hi @goblin-creatcher! Thank you so much for this BEAUTIFUL prompt. I, uhh, kind of took it and went a million miles an hour with it. This is honestly one of my favorite things I've ever written. I hope you enjoy it as well! xoxoxo

Something Imagined / Something Real

Word Count: 3.9K

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav

Warnings/Tags: Brief but detailed description of rough consensual sex, descriptions and references to Astarion's trauma/trauma responses, minor Act 1 and Act 2 spoilers, FLUFF, angst

Suggested Song Pairing: Slow Dancing in A Burning Room (Stripped) - cover by ST LUNA

Summary: Astarion has been suspicious of Tav’s true intentions toward him. He persuades Gale to cast a spell and reveal her motivations. ANGST and FLUFF ensue. A rewriting of Astarion’s confession scene from Act 2.

The sun had just begun to set on the campsite when Astarion decided to put his plan into action. He had waited until Tav departed with some of the other party members before making his way over to the wizard. Gale was too busy reassembling the bookshelf inside his tent to notice Astarion’s approach. It wasn’t until he gave a polite cough that Gale jumped and whirled to face him. 

“No, no, no,” he began all at once, hands raised in a sort of shooing motion. Astarion stared at him in confusion. “I can respect Tav’s indulging in your need for blood, but as I’ve said before: I taste terrible.” 

Astarion scoffed. “Charming. Actually, wizard, I was coming to request your aid in a different, though somewhat related, matter.”

“Really? Care to elaborate?” Gale responded, still somewhat wary. It wasn’t often he found himself alone with the vampire. 

“Testy, I see,” Astarion crooned teasingly. His knee-jerk response to people treating him like a monster, to behave in the most false saccharine sort of way. 

But he drew up short, censoring himself before saying anything else he might regret. He knew he needed to get on the wizard’s good side if he had any chance of getting the answers he sought. 

“I was hoping you knew a spell to reveal someone’s true intentions. Their… motivations for behaving in a certain way, so to speak,” he finished more seriously. 

Gale pondered the question for a moment before answering. 

“Hmm… yes, there is magic to determine that sort of thing… Although it’s been some time since I practiced it…” He trailed off, rubbing his chin in thought. 

“Why are you asking for such a thing?” he asked suddenly. 

Astarion had been prepared for this question, of course. No one did anything for free, no questions asked. He delivered his explanation perfectly, as he’d been rehearsing in his mind.

“One might say our dear sweet Tav and I have been growing a bit… closer these days, but I can sense a master manipulator when I see one. I just simply want to ensure their intentions toward me - toward the party - are true,” he replied with mock innocence. 

“Ah, yes,” Gale nodded. “I gathered as much when the two of you slipped away from the tiefling’s party a few nights ago.” 

“But,” he continued on,”I needn’t think you should worry when it comes to Tav. She seems about as transparent as they come. I’m sure any intentions she has toward you are true.”

Yes, but the best actors always mask their motivations behind innocence and transparency, Astarion thought to himself. I should know. I’ve been doing it for centuries.

After the party’s unfortunate meeting with that Gur in the Sunlit Wetlands, Astarion realized he would have to take potential threats from Cazador even more seriously. He wasn’t about to lose his freedom, not now that he finally had some small taste of it. 

It didn’t hurt to be more suspicious of everyone he encountered, even the sweetling Tav. Anyone could be an operative sent by Cazador, and the best ones would be as skilled as he was in the art of manipulation. It was well-known at this point that the person he’d grown the closest to on their journey was their brave party leader, Tav. Unlikely as it may be that she was scheming for his master, Astarion’s paranoia wouldn’t let him indulge in interactions with her a second longer unless he knew how she truly felt. 

Given Gale’s hesitation, Astarion knew he would have to kick his acting up a notch. Press on that wizard’s heartstrings. Touch the one nerve he knew he was sensitive to.

“Gale, darling, from one literally damaged soul to another, indulge me just this once,” Astarion beseeched him. 

The wizard glared at him a moment, before finally relenting with a heavy sigh. “Fine. Fine. But I want it known that I don’t agree with this so-called solution one whit,” he grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Yes, yes, noted and formally documented, on my word as a former Baldurian magistrate,” Astarion replied cheerily. “So, let’s hop to it then, shall we?”

“What, right now?” Gale asked, shocked. “Shouldn’t we be, I don’t know, a little less conspicuous?” 

“What better time than now?” Astarion responded. “Tav’s out gathering firewood with Wyll and Karlach. They won’t be back for some time. As for Lae’zel and Shadowheart, well…” he paused, gesturing over his shoulder. 

Said two were engaged in a heated sparring session on the outskirts of the camp. Snarls and curses could be heard emanating from both warriors as they tried, and failed, to gain the upper hand against their opponent.

“That lovers’ dance could go on until morning,” Astarion finished. 

“Fair point,” Gale admitted begrudgingly, grimacing at the sound of swords clashing violently. “Very well. Let’s get started.” 

Clearing his throat, Gale began to utter a series of phrases completely foreign to Astarion. He watched as the wizard began moving his hands in a wavelike pattern, forming a circle before them. Suddenly, a mist began to form from seemingly thin air, taking shape according to the boundaries Gale’s hands were creating. The mist grew more and more opaque until it appeared before them like a clouded mirror. 

As the fogginess of the ethereal magic began to clear, the “mirror” became a confusing blur of scenes whipping by, too fast for Astarion or Gale to really comprehend. There were flashes of Tav and Astarion, together and separate, but they disappeared too quickly to ascertain their context. It was as though the spell was shuffling through the entirety of Tav’s thoughts, assessing each one at breakneck speed. 

Finally, the spell slowed to a halt, stopping on one scene in particular. Astarion was struck speechless by what began playing out in the foggy portal before them. So distracted, he didn’t even notice Gale’s tight cough, or how the wizard suddenly became intensely interested in a copse of trees nearby, rather than the revelation the spell was revealing.

Not that the scene was especially profound, objectively speaking. In fact, to anyone else, it might be viewed as the least revelatory thing possible that the spell could have shown. Boring. Inconsequential, even. But to Astarion, it was almost earth shattering. 

He saw himself - he could see his face! - with Tav, lying tangled together in some immaculate four-poster bed. 

That was the first shock that coursed through him, nearly causing his knees to buckle. He was seeing himself for the first time in over 200 years. Or at least, he was seeing himself as Tav saw him. And… the person he saw… Well, he was gorgeous. White blonde locks, curled and tousled in a devil-may-care sort of way. A strong, patrician nose that suggested good breeding. High, sharp cheekbones. Full lips, upturned in a thoughtless grin. Red eyes bordered by long, sweeping lashes. Delicately pointed elven ears. Smooth alabaster skin, without blemish or spot. 

Astarion could scarcely believe his own eyes. 

The second shock to his system was the nature of their activities. He would have been less surprised had the vision shown them fucking. Him taking her roughly from behind perhaps. His name a cry of ecstasy from her lips as he pistoned in and out of her with a feral sort of determination. 

Fantasies of lust, of total domination, now those were things he was familiar with inspiring in the minds of the victims he had taken as lovers. It was what he strove for, in all honesty. Desire like that all but ensured he would capture his prey and live to serve another day for his master. 

But nothing of the sort was occurring between vision-Tav and himself. Instead, they were just… embracing? What in sweet hells was this?

She lay halfway on top of him. Her hair was mussed, perhaps from sleep or perhaps from previous lovemaking. One hand was drawing absentminded shapes across his chest, her lips trailing behind, leaving kisses in their wake. He watched as vision-Astarion chuckled softly, as his hands slipped beneath her sleepshirt to caress her waist, as he placed an innocent kiss on the top of Tav’s head. Eventually, she reached for his hand. They both watched their fingers intertwine, blissfully content.

It was the purest, unadulterated expression of affection that Astarion had ever seen. Something in his heart quaked at the sight of it. He wanted that moment. He envied, he hated, vision-Astarion for enjoying such apparent happiness.

So absorbed in the vision and its implications, Astarion failed to notice the soft padding of feet that indicated someone’s re-entry into the camp. 

“If the two of you are quite finished poking around in my head,” an angry voice suddenly spat from behind them, “I’d appreciate you preserving what little privacy I have left and shutting that damn spell off.”

Mortified, Astarion and Gale turned to see Tav, arms crossed and visibly seething with rage. Gale quickly dispelled the magic with a flick of his wrist. A blush was slowly but surely rising up Tav’s neck to reach her cheeks. Whether from rage or embarrassment, Astarion couldn’t be certain. 

“Tav, let us explain-” Astarion started.

“It was his idea-” Gale blurted at the same time, pointing at Astarion. 

Both paused, glaring at one another. But Tav would have none of their feeble attempts at backpedaling. 

“The explanation doesn’t matter. Whose idea it was doesn’t matter. The fact is that both of you violated the privacy of my mind, which I’ll remind you, has ALREADY been violated by having a bloody tadpole forced inside of it!” Tav shouted. At their words, the camp became enveloped in a heavy silence. Even the crickets ceased their chirping.

Astarion cringed inwardly, knowing the other party members could plainly hear this altercation and had likely stopped whatever it was that they had been doing to listen in. He noted the sounds of swords clanging together had ceased. He was certain Lae’zel and Shadowheart at least were aware of what was happening. Nosy bastards, all of them.

But what disturbed him even more was the realization that Tav’s eyes were welling with tears. She was too proud to acknowledge them or wipe them away. Such was her nature. But they were there nonetheless, and the knowledge that Astarion had brought her to the point of tears was enough to spur a rush of utter self-loathing inside him.

Without another word, Tav turned on her heel and marched stiffly out of camp, toward the direction of a nearby creek they’d identified as a water source earlier in the day.

“I can’t believe I let you convince me to perform that spell,” Gale said as she disappeared between the trees. He dragged his hands down his face. 

“How could we have been so doltish, forgetting that all of our privacies have already been violated with this tadpole business?”

Astarion didn’t have an answer to that. At least, not one the wizard could possibly understand. 

The thought hadn’t occurred to Astarion, he realized, because violations of privacy had been something so intrinsic to his being for over 200 years. He didn’t even recognize it as something abnormal. Like a fish unaware that the water surrounding it is, in fact, water. 

Violations of privacy were a part of life, at least for him. So much so that his request for Gale to perform that magic hadn’t even occurred to him as an overstepping of boundaries. To Astarion, it had simply been a matter of survival. He had needed to know another potentially manipulative person’s true intentions, and so he had found a means to uncover it and maintain the upper hand. 

Belatedly, he also realized that Gale’s hesitation to cast the spell had had nothing to do with being inconvenienced for the evening, but because the wizard had known that it was improper to do to another person. If he had misread that, Astarion wondered, then what other truly benevolent behaviors had he mistaken as pragmatic manipulation?

“I need to go find her,” Astarion murmured, clenching and unclenching his fists in an uncharacteristic fit of uncertainty. 

“Yes, you do,” Gale asserted. “We both owe her a sincere apology… if she’ll even accept it.”

“I’ll see if I can convince her to come back to camp,” Astarion replied, making to leave in the direction Tav had stormed off. 

“Wait,” Gale said, a hand on his shoulder. Astarion turned to meet his gaze. 

“Look, well, I’m obviously not an expert in healthy demonstrations of affection. But I do think it’s obvious from what you saw in that spell that Tav well and truly cares about you. In perhaps the purest way possible. Treat that carefully.”

Part of Astarion wanted to laugh aloud in utter hopelessness at the wizard’s advice. Someone cared for him? Truly and purely? No hidden games, no strings attached? Oh certainly, that wouldn’t be a problem for Astarion at all. Obviously, his 200-year existence as a master-manipulator-fetch-hound for a power-hungry vampire lord had perfectly prepared him to respond to this situation in a healthy manner. Obviously.

But all that was too much to reveal to someone he barely knew and too heavy to say aloud. Rather than giving some smarmy retort, Astarion opted instead to give a stiff nod and continue walking toward the edge of camp. He had no idea how he could make things right with Tav, but at the very least he could try. 

***

He found Tav sitting on a fallen tree near the edge of the creek bed. Her legs were drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them as she rested a cheek to her knees. In the waning twilight, she reminded Astarion of some misbegotten gargoyle perched on the roof of a temple, solitary and so very sad. 

Her ears twitched as she noted his arrival. Astarion wasn’t trying to be stealthy. On top of everything else, the last thing he needed to do was scare her. 

“Can I join you?” he asked softly, wincing to himself at the awkwardness of the question. 

The reality was that there was no way to broach this conversation without some stilted beginning, and he hated it. Navigating tricky conversations was normally something he excelled at. But as he was quickly finding, when it related to Tav, nothing in his past life had prepared him to respond to her well. 

“If you’d like,” Tav answered tonelessly. 

Knowing it was probably the best response he was going to get, Astarion swallowed thickly and moved to sit down on the log next to her. 

“I… wanted to… apologize for what you saw, back at camp,” he began.

“Apologize for doing it, or apologize for getting caught?” Tav asked as she turned her head to look at him, resting her other cheek on her knees. 

Astarion balked at the question. Her piercing gaze unnerved him. He hadn’t really thought that far. 

“Both, I suppose?” he answered honestly, although it sounded more like a question to Tav. She huffed a laugh.

“You know, part of me really wants to yell at you. Scream in your face. Tell you off proper,” she mused.

“So why don’t you?” Astarion asked, perplexed. 

Tav didn’t respond at first, just sat there studying him. As if by staring at him long enough, she could project the answer into his mind. 

Astarion didn’t interrupt her, much as he would have liked to. Part of him always bristled when people gazed at him for too long. It was unfair that they could study him, when he hadn’t been able to so much as glance at his reflection in over 200 years. 

Finally, Tav released a heavy sigh, her body curling further in on itself. She closed her eyes as she spoke.

“Because then I would be just like every other bastard in your life who’s mistreated you.”

Astarion flinched in surprise. Those had not been the sort of words he’d been expecting. The truth of them cut deeper than had she raged at him like she wanted to. It left him feeling even more vulnerable, and that in turn made him want to retreat into the comfort of viciousness.

“I don’t need you to pull any punches,” he scoffed, glaring at her. “Go ahead and say what you will.”

She straightened up at his tone, opening her eyes and returning his glare. 

“No. I don’t want to,” she said testily.

“I don’t need your pity,” he hissed. “It’s insulting.”

“Gods damn it all, Astarion!” Tav exclaimed suddenly, causing him to jump in surprise. She threw her hands up in defeat. “I’m not doing anything out of pity! I don’t want to rage at you, because I know that whatever I say right now, I won’t mean it come the morning!”

Astarion blinked. Once again he was left feeling flat footed by the turn of the conversation. Sensing his surprise, Tav continued on with her deluge of words.

“You hurt me tonight, and I’m angry at you - and at Gale, for that matter - for what you did. But you’ve shared enough of your… history… with me, that I realize your behavior is just… just a byproduct of centuries of abuse and manipulation you’ve endured! And I won’t be another abuser in your life. I won’t,” she asserted. 

Astarion continued staring at her, as if she were some otherworldly creature that had just wandered across his path. He watched as Tav inhaled a deep breath, releasing it shakily. She turned away from him to peer out into the forest, uncertain. She opened and closed her mouth several times before actually speaking. As if whatever she was about to say was more intimidating to her than anything else she’d said tonight. 

“I… care deeply for you, Astarion,” she said quietly. “You obviously saw that in the vision. I’m not playing any games. There’s no hidden motive. I’m not trying to manipulate you.”

She turned to look at him again before continuing, her breathing a bit unsteady. 

“I didn’t sleep with you that night of the tiefling party as some sort of maneuver to gain your trust. Although I understand if that was your motivation for doing so.” 

Astarion’s expression morphed into one of guilt. But Tav nodded soberly, as if she had already expected it, before continuing on. 

“It’s okay. I’m not angry. But I’m putting all my cards on the table now, so to speak. Actually, your decision tonight forced my hand, but I had been planning on telling you soon anyway. So, there you have it. The truth of my intentions. What you do with that information is up to you.”

She turned back to gaze out at their surroundings. Like she was giving him the opportunity to bolt away without her watching him. As if she expected him to flee from her confession. 

But Astarion didn’t flee. He remained seated, staring at her in complete wonderment. 

“Why?” he asked quietly.

She looked back at him again, confusion evident on her face. 

“Why what?”

“Why do you care for me? You’re so… well-adjusted. And I’m well… this,” he finished lamely, placing a hand on his chest. 

Tav pursed her lips. “It would be a mistake to misconstrue my empathy for you as me being well-adjusted. Everyone has their own demons, Astarion,” she murmured. “Mine just look different from yours.”

Astarion mulled her words over in his mind, considering them. He leaned forward to brace his forearms on his knees, his head drooping slightly. 

“I…,” he started, unsure. “That vision… what it implied… You deserve something real, Tav. You’re incredible… truly.” 

Tav closed her eyes, bracing for the fallout. Even though she would accept his decision, whatever it was, she didn’t think she could bear to watch him deny her. It would hurt too much. 

“Look. When we met, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan,” he blurted all at once. Rising swiftly to his feet, Tav watched as he began to pace before her, near to bursting with frenetic energy. 

“Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me,” he counted off, laughing half-heartedly. “It was… easy - instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do… was not fall for you… which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart,” he finished, stopping to stand before her. 

She held his gaze, speechless. 

“I want you,” he whispered fervently. “I want what was in that vision… I want us to be something real.”

Never in a million years had she thought he would respond to her like this. She opened her mouth to speak, but Astarion cut her off with another sudden exclamation. 

“I just don’t know what real is,” he confessed, his tone a touch hysterical. Tav knew from his body language that being this transparent was completely out of Astarion’s comfort zone. 

“Being… close to someone - any kind of intimacy - was something I performed to lure people back. For him. Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels… tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust, and loathing. I… I don’t know how else to be with someone. No matter how much I’d like to,” he finished, staring at her with beseeching eyes, willing her to understand.

Tav rose to her feet, coming to stand before him. 

“I don’t want you for your body,” she whispered. “Or to perform any acts of intimacy. We can be together, without sleeping together, for as long as you need.”

“Really,” he asked softly, his voice pitched low, rough with emotion.

“Really,” Tav asserted, giving him a small smile. “Would it be all right if…” she paused, conflicted. He eyed her curiously.

“Could I hug you?” she whispered.

The fact that she asked before doing so caused a well of emotion to spring up inside him. Eyes watering, Astarion nodded. 

Slowly, Tav moved forward to wrap her arms around his waist. Her head nestled into the crook of his neck and shoulder. A perfect fit. He felt her exhale a deep sigh.

Tav hugging him was a sensation unlike any he had ever felt. At least, any he could remember feeling. The act of being touched, embraced, without any desire for something more. She just wanted to hold him, feel him close to her. It was incomprehensible to him, but utterly enjoyable, at the same time. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, Astarion raised his arms to return Tav’s embrace. Drawing her even closer, he bowed his head to rest his cheek against her hair. It was soft, like the finest silk. He closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply, appreciating her sweet, floral scent.   

She made to pull away after a moment, not wishing to overwhelm him. But Astarion gripped her more firmly, a silent urge for them to stay that way a little longer. 

“This… this is nice,” he whispered. 

He both felt and heard Tav hum contentedly in response. 

It wasn’t identical to the vision from Tav’s mind that he had seen, but Astarion reveled in their embrace nonetheless. It felt like the beginning of something new. And for the first time in his very, very long life, Astarion felt excited at the prospects of what would come next. 

[ellecdc]

I will bite (lol mating bite)

Remus with a best friend!reader who thinks her feelings for him are unrequited

his alpha presentation clicks in when she first presents as an omega - he immediately realizes they’re mates and is delighted, she doesn’t know he likes her and is freaking out that he’s going to feel trapped

🫣.......... okay twist my arm why don't you ;) jk - this theme/trope has been a bit of a brainworm/hyperfixation for me for a few weeks so thank you for indulging me, and sorry to my readers who this might not be their taste! but I definitely had fun with it so you may have to brace yourselves for more of it from me lol

Remus Lupin x best friend!reader who presents as an omega [3.5k words]

p1 // p2

CW: fem!reader, a/b/o dynamics and omegaverse, very soft a/b/o descriptions, SFW [nothing explicit or sexual in this fic], first a/b/o fic I've written so I'm truly just dipping my toes in lol, feelings of unrequited love [but its actually requited]

Loving Remus came as naturally as breathing to you; every inhale was the sweet smell of chocolate, warm sweaters, and worn books, and every exhale was a quiet whisper of “I love you” that you prayed to every deity he couldn’t hear.

Loving Remus was natural, but it was also harrowing; no one chooses to experience unrequited love, it’s simply one of those things that happens upon you. 

But no matter how painful the fact that your feelings weren’t reciprocated was, the wholehearted comfort that being around Remus brought you was almost worth the heartache. 

There was something in your soul that relaxed the second Remus was near; your entire being unclenched, knowing you were somehow safer, somehow more sound now that he was here.

And you hoped that, if nothing else, you provided the same for him. 

The two of you had been friends for years; becoming fast friends in first year over your shared love of muggle literature and the fact that the two of you were a touch more shy than your respective peers. 

The friendship never dimmed over time - if anything, it only became stronger with every passing year. No matter how mischievous his new friends were or how much trouble he got into with them around, no matter how many school yard crushes left either of you melancholy, no matter how many failed papers or late night study sessions that turned into heated spats because the two of you were far too overtired to handle anything maturely, and no matter how the moons came and went that effectively waxed and waned the Remus you knew in much the same way, the friendship had weathered it all.

It was one of your greatest possessions - this friendship you shared with Remus - and one of your proudest accomplishments.

And you weren’t going to let a silly crush (or, in your case, your gut-wrenching and undying devotion) ruin it. 

Which is how you found yourself walking up the steps to James and Lily’s flat for your surprise party, preparing yourself to be surprised because Sirius insisted they throw you one but Remus knew you hated surprises and had warned you about it prior to your arrival. 

You were admittedly not feeling up to a party - the telltale tickle in your throat warning you of an impending cold - though you were sure you wouldn’t have felt quite up to a party whether you were poorly or not. Parties were never quite your thing; you loved your friends, and you loved spending time with them, but that many of them in one place at one time and all for you felt a little bit like torture. 

But you knocked on the door which was flung open before your hand even made its second knock and there was a sea of people cheering “happy birthday!” but your eyes - of course - found Remus first, and suddenly, you didn’t think this was torture. Suddenly this was heaven. 

“Wha- you guys!” You started, smiling as James gave you a bone crushing hug, eyes never leaving Remus’. 

“Surprise!” Lily giggled as she elbowed James out of the way to give you her own hug. “Were you surprised?”

“What do you mean ‘were you surprised’? I still am!” You agreed quickly, embracing Sirius who was next in line.

“Moony told you, didn’t he?” He murmured quietly into your hair, causing you to snort. 

“Am I that bad an actor?” You asked him quietly, causing him to chuckle as he rubbed his hand up and down your back. 

“No,” He answered quickly, “but he is just that soft on you.” 

You hardly had a moment to consider what Sirius had said when Marlene was yanking you from his grasp to pepper your face in kisses as he shook his head over at his friend and started giving him shit for ruining the surprise. 

After greeting every guest in attendance, you finally made it to Remus who wasted no time in pulling you into his chest.

“Happy birthday, dove.” He murmured into your hair; and you had sort of wished that the only plan you had for the rest of the night was to stay within his warm embrace. 

“Sorry for getting you into trouble with Sirius.” You murmured back into his chest, delighting in the rumble of his laugh you elicited.

“Worth it; couldn’t handle you being miffed with me all night for not warning you.”

You - regretfully - pulled away to shoot him a bemused expression. “I could never spend an entire night miffed with you, Moons.” 

Remus hummed noncommittally as he scanned your face. “Any amount of time would have been too much for me- hey, are you feeling okay?” 

His face took on a concerned form that you found him too pretty to wear, and you suddenly felt bone-deep distress at having caused it.

“Why? I’m fine; do I not look fine?” You asked worriedly, bringing a hand up to your own face which was perhaps warm, but you weren’t feeling clammy. 

The corner of his mouth twitched, though the furrow between his brows was ever present. “You look perfect, as usual, just… are you feeling alright?” 

You let out a sigh, looking anywhere but his piercing gaze. “I think I’ve got a cold coming on, I’ll be alright though.” 

His mouth pinched worriedly as he ducked trying to get you to make eye contact with him. “We don’t have to stay long then, yeah?”

You snorted as you gave him an unimpressed look. “We don’t have to stay long at the party for me that was thrown in part by you?”

“Right.” He agreed readily.

“I’ll be fine, Rem.” You assured him, patting his hand placatingly. “It’s my party, I can sniffle if I want to.”

And though he didn’t seem particularly convinced, he let you go when Sirius and Marlene announced that it was time to dance. 

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

You were taking a breather in the small kitchen of James and Lily’s flat when you started to feel slightly worse.

The tickle in your throat had officially turned into an ache in your chest, and your head was pounding - be that from the music, the dancing, the drinks, or whatever flu you were coming down with, you couldn’t be certain. 

But you found yourself feeling better as you let your head fall back against the cool wall; your hair falling away from your neck and allowing the air circulating the room to hit your overly hot neck and chest.

Maybe you should try to leave early?

“I’ll check.” You heard Remus announce; your face breaking out into a grin on its own accord as he came around the corner.

“Y/N.” He breathed out. “Are you alright?” He asked, standing in front of you with that damned furrow in his brow again.

“I’m alright.” Now, was left unsaid, but something in the tilting of his head alerted you to the fact that he heard it anyway. 

“What’s gotten into you, hm?” He asked slowly; words stilted as his eyes darted across your face, mostly speaking to himself as he searched your form for answers. 

“Did you find her?” James called out, causing Remus’ neck to crane as he peered around the door frame; and that’s when it hit you.

Chocolate, warm sweaters, and worn books.

Remus.

His scent. 

Your head fell forward as you took a deeper breath, and the remnants of whatever cold you were catching dissipated.

And the whole evening clicked into place; the discomfort, his incessant worry and focus on you, you felt better for a moment because he was near - not because you took a moment to breathe, he could tell you were…

Oh god.

“Y/N.” He said again, alerting you to the fact that he was now standing rigidly still and staring at you imploringly. “What-”

“This can’t be happening…” You whispered, eyes glued to the point just under Remus’ jaw that was so disturbingly close yet somehow not nearly close enough. 

“Are- are you…” Remus started, his gaze settling somewhere near your shoulder as he leaned closer to you and took a deep breath through his nose.

As if you scalded him, he went flying backwards from your being - his back making contact with the fridge so violently that it sent magnets flying.

Fuck, fuck! Fuck, he was going to hate you, now, surely? He hated you.

He hated you because he wanted you, but he only wanted you because you were fucking presenting - why? Why now? Why today? Why to him?

He’s never wanted you before; and now he would only want you because he was - what was very clear now - an Alpha and you were, apparently, an Omega.

Fuck.

“Fuck.” You hissed as you pushed the heels of your palms into your eyes until you could see stars.

“Dove-”

“No!” You shouted, pulling your hands away to see him having frozen in reaching out to you, now lifting his hands as if fending off a wild animal.

“Fuck, I need air.” You blurted, and you took off out the front door. 

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The evening air did little to quell your nerves and nausea over the events of the night. 

To present, tonight out of all nights, in a tiny flat with nowhere to run without causing a scene.

Not to mention the precariousness of your relationship with Remus that you valued over everything was now hanging by a thread. 

“You couldn’t have found us a more comfortable place to sit, gorgeous?” You heard Sirius drawl as he (loudly) took a seat on the curb beside you.

“I’m terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you so, Sirius.” You responded dryly. 

“You ought to be.” He continued. “This is not how I wanted to spend your birthday party.”

“Oh, fuck off.” You scoffed, elbowing him in the side causing him to sway as if you’d put any real force behind it. 

“If you fuck on, you get better results.”

You snorted. “Yeah, and if you fuck around you’ll find out.”

“Mmm, saucy, I like where this is going.”

“Padfoot.” You begged miserably, and he let out a relenting sigh before he pulled you roughly into his side, leaving his arm draped over you as you laid your head on his shoulder. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sitting on a curb outside.” You answered, earning you a pinch in the side.

“I can see that; I mean, what are you doing out here by yourself? Why aren’t you inside with your man?”

“Stop it, Sirius.” You spat, hastily sitting up and wiping angrily at your face.

“Merlin, you both really are that thick, aren’t you?” He muttered, searching your face like it would somehow answer his question.

“If you’re out here to make fun of me, you can go back inside. I’m humiliated enough.”

Sirius shook his head sadly. “I don’t understand why the two of you are making this harder than it needs to be; you’re both clearly mad for each other, you’re out here feeling sorry for yourself because you think he doesn’t want you, he’s in there feeling sorry for himself because he doesn’t think you want him.”

“He doesn’t want me, Sirius. We’ve always only been friends.”

“But you want him?” He asked then, causing you to put your head in your hands.

“Sirius, please, don’t-”

“Do you want him?” He asked again, more forceful this time. “Simple question, Y/N, yes or no.”

“Yes!” You let out with a sob. “Yes! I’ve always wanted him! I’ve- fuck, I’ve been mad about him for years and… yes. Yes, I want him.” The end of your sentence trailing off as you picked angrily at your nail beds.

Sirius seemed to steal himself for a moment, nodding his head as he sucked in a breath.

“I started calling him Moony before I ever knew of his lycanthropy.” He admitted then; and though you weren’t looking in his direction, you could feel his gaze burning a hole in the side of your head. 

Sirius let that sit in the air before he got up and stood in front of you, forcing you to look up at him. 

“I called him that because of the way he was always mooning after you.”

“Then why’d he freak? Why’d he rip away from me like that?” You asked - voice disturbingly small as you looked up at one of your oldest friends.

“Why’d you run?”

You let out a sigh and looked at the streetlights across the street instead of admitting “because I’m a coward”. 

“I can’t lose him, Pads. I-” Stopping as a painful shiver shook your frame - the cold taking over again now that you had some distance from your…

From Remus.

But Sirius didn’t rush you, he just continued standing in front of you as you struggled to find the words. 

“I can’t lose him.” You settled on. 

“Then don’t.” He said, toeing your shoe with his. 

“It’s not that simple.” You argued.

“It can be.” A voice sounded from behind you but a moment before you smelled him. 

And though the rational part of your brain wanted to brace yourself, the rest of your body immediately softened in his presence. 

“Well I’m going to go back in and enjoy the kick ass party I threw, so, if the two of you don’t mind…” Sirius said haughtily, shooting you a wink so that you knew it was all in jest and clapping Remus on the back before disappearing back into the building. 

You listened as Remus lowered himself onto the curb beside you; guilt flooding through you at the way his joints cracked audibly and at the fact that he seemed to be leaving quite a bit of distance between the two of you that he wouldn’t have even just a few hours ago. 

“Are you okay?” He started, and you fought the urge to scoff.

No, you thought petulantly, not only do I feel like shit, I’m also at risk of losing the thing that means the most to me.

“I’m fine.” You responded shortly, fixated on the skin surrounding your fingernails as you refused to look in his direction. “You alright?”

“No.” Remus answered quickly, and you did look up at that.

He was staring at you imploringly, his brows furrowed both with sympathy and perhaps a little bit of frustration. 

“Why’d you run?” He asked then.

“I-” you started, though you weren’t exactly sure anymore. “You…you seemed so startled, I… I thought you were upset.”

He seemed to pause as he considered your response; this sort of caution not usual for the two of you this far into your friendship. 

“I had just found out that the girl of my dreams was an Omega, and when she was clearly distraught, I was caught leaning in to get a better sniff.” He deadpanned, shaking his head at himself as he looked out across the street. “I startled because I was certain I was going to startle you.”

“I- you’re not? Startled, that is.”

His brows furrowed slightly as he shook his head, turning back to look at you. “Why would I be?”

“But…we’ve never been…more than friends; I didn’t want that to change now, just because you felt it had to.”

“It doesn’t have to.” He responded simply, and for reasons you weren’t willing to think on right now, that sentiment caused something very unpleasant to churn in your gut. 

“Nothing would have to change; you could still be you and I could just be me, and that would be fine. Is that what you want?” 

He held your gaze defiantly as you gaped at him. “I- but,”

“Is that what you want, dove?” He asked again, a slight force in his tone this time as he turned his body towards yours and his eyes flit down to your lips. “Because it is taking everything in my power not to claim you as my own right here, right now. I have wanted this for so long; so I ask you again, is that what you want? For nothing to change?”

“No.” You blurted quickly. 

“No?”

“No.” You whispered, shaking your head as you turned your body to face him too. “No, no. I want you, I need you-”

“Now? You want and need me now, or-”

“Fuck, I’ve wanted you since fourth year, Remus. Since I figured out why I hated Emmeline Vance so much.” You practically sobbed.

“Why?” He asked softly, looking like his lip wanted to tip up into a smile though he was dutiful of your current upset. “Because she fancied me?”

“Because you fancied her.” You corrected miserably. Remus finally brought his hand up to cup your cheek at that, and you hardly had a moment to feel embarrassed at the way you quickly turned your head into his wrist so you could get a better smell of him.

“My poor, sweet girl.” He cooed softly, a sympathetic sound emanating from the back of his throat at the sound that his phrase elicited from you. “I’m so sorry.”

“Please.” You whispered, no longer trying to withhold the desperation from your voice as you kept your nose pressed to the inside of his wrist and your eyes screwed shut.

“Okay.” He whispered back, even though he had no idea what you were begging him for - you supposed it didn’t matter; he didn’t seem particularly inclined to deny you anything you wanted right now. 

“Rem-”

“I know.”

“Please.”

“I’m right here, dove.” He whispered, pulling you towards him by your hand as you followed all too willingly. “I’m right here.” He whispered again, nose brushing yours before you closed the distance between the two of you.

The sound of the traffic faded away, as did the tarmac beneath you and the air around you; you seemed to be floating in a vast expanse that contained nothing but you and Remus.

You took a moment to mentally kick yourself as you deepened the kiss - nipping at his lower lip and causing him to smile before granting you access - that you could have been, should have been, doing this for years. 

“Ugh, fuck.” Remus muttered as he broke the kiss and rested his head against yours, seeming truly distraught at having to interrupt.

You didn’t even have a chance to ask what was wrong before you heard cheering from above you.

“Fucking finally!” James shouted as he pulled the tab of a party popper, showering the street below his balcony with multicoloured  confetti. 

“Pay up bitches; I told you this was the year.” Lily continued, holding her hand out expectantly as Marlene begrudgingly placed a few galleons into her friend's hand. 

“Oi!” Remus shouted at the group, a protective arm snaking around your middle as he held you closer to him as if he was worried you’d simply float away, “You better pay Pads his fair share then!”

You snorted and shoved your face into Remus’ neck - hiding your face as a ploy to get closer to him without it being nearly close enough. 

Remus chuckled as your friends filed back into the apartment and the world returned to its normal volume, bringing his free hand up to knead at your scalp in a way that made you want to purr like a sodding cat. 

“Fuck.” He breathed out, looking down at you with an expression nothing short of worship.

“You okay?” You asked then, bringing one hand up to draw a line down the bridge of his nose, simply because you could now.

“I’m perfect, you’re perfect.” Remus pressed, punctuating the sentiment with a kiss before he pressed his nose against the spot on your neck just past your jaw.

You instinctually let your head fall back; his hand tightening in your hair as he let out a sound halfway between a laugh and growl.

“Don’t sodding do that.” He scolded you playfully. 

“What?” You asked - half innocently half abashedly. 

“Submit to me, you minx.” He explained, booping you on the nose for extra effect. “Let me at least take you out on a date, first.”

A date, you echoed in your head; you had spent a lot of time daydreaming as a girl about what your first date with Remus would look like. You’d always imagined spending the day in Hogsmeade buying sweets and gobstones and books and quills before heading back up to the castle.

This was turning out way better already, though.

“So long as I don’t have to share you with James.” You joked, peering over Remus’ shoulder where you could see James peeking through the curtains before a flash of a camera went off.

“Hm…I’m not sure I can promise that for the first date, but definitely for the second.” 

“Deal.” You agreed readily, because really, you’d have Remus just about anyway you could have him. 

And you were simply overjoyed to know that he apparently felt the same.

[lavenderspence]

To Lean On You | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Content Warning: post prison!Spencer, mentions of addiction, prison talk (typical for the prison arc), gun use, mentions of death, suggestive themes, idiots in love, angst, so much angst.

Word Count: 8.6K

Summary: You and Spencer wasted years, truths hidden, feelings uncertain, and a fear of the unrequited. It took ten weeks, isolated, silent, and broken, for the realization to strike. There was no life, if you didn’t have each other. 

A/N: It’s finally here! Wow, writing this was a wild ride, honestly. Over a month of writing, blood, sweat, and tears poured over it (there were in fact some tears). This is also the first thing I’ve written in 3 years and I'm very happy to finally be out of my slump. It's probably the angstiest thing I've written ever, and at the same time, I feel like it's not the greatest, but deep down, I still love it, haha. Let me know if I've missed any warnings. And, enjoy and any feedback is appreciated. <3

Here are some of the songs I listened to while writing this if you want to get into the mood:

Hearts by Jessie Ware

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived by Taylor Swift

Lost Without You by Freya Ridings

In This Shirt by The Irresponssibles

79 days, 3 hours, and 27 minutes - that’s how long it’s been since he got arrested in Mexico.

70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes since you saw him being pulled out of the courtroom after he was deemed a flight risk and denied bail. 70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes have passed since you last saw him.

65 days, 7 hours, and 11 minutes, since he was transferred to Millburn Correctional Facility, and this whole nightmare, had started. 

Per Penelope’s carefully crafted schedule, every team member has made numerous trips to visit Spencer - every member except you. You’d only made one trip out, and that had been 3 days after he’d been transferred.

March 4th, 2017

It’s been 8 days since you saw him led in cuffs out of that courtroom, where Penelope had broken down in Luke’s arms, everyone too shocked to make a sound. He’d looked back, his eyes meeting yours briefly, and it had been as if you’d almost seen your reflection in the mirror, every emotion had run between you both in a matter of seconds. 

Shock, you’d almost been sure they would grant bail, and you’d be able to take him home. Almost. 

Fear, for his future and his well-being. Fear of the uncertain. 

Desperation, the desire to run to him and take him into your arms, finally, and to not let go. 

Except you’d held his gaze for as long as you could before you’d looked down and turned your head to save him from seeing you break down in tears. You’d made a hasty escape after that, not sparing any of your teammates a glance, and walked out of the courthouse, stopping by a tree outside. The urge to curl up into a ball and hide, pretending none of this had happened, was strong, and then a hand wrapped around your shoulder. You had turned around, only to see Rossi and one of his sad little smiles, the ones you rarely saw.

“It’s going to be okay,” he’d said, squeezing your shoulder. ”The kid is strong.”

You’d sniffled, trying to hide the tears in your voice. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure I am," you’d whispered in despair. 

You were better than you had been 8 days ago, calmer. Although still heartbroken, you were looking forward to seeing him, seeing with your eyes that he was okay. Garcia had seen him, 2 days ago, before you’d been sent out on a case.  

“He looks good. I mean, as good as that big genius brain of his can look in prison. His eyes were sad though, really, really sad.” She’d paused as if to assure herself it would be alright, “I’m sure he’s looking forward to seeing you, sweetness.” She’d squeezed your hand, but her statement hadn’t rung true. 

Your hands were shaking, you weren’t sure what from. The anticipation you’d felt? The nerves? Or the words you had a hard time coming to terms with.

“I’m sorry, but your name isn’t on Spencer Reid’s approved visitor list,” the guard at the checkpoint had said after rechecking the list. 

“There has to be a mistake, I made an appointment,” you insisted, feeling yourself unravel. It wasn’t possible, you knew for a fact you were on that list, Emily had made sure of that.

“Look, lady. There are only 10 names on that list, and yours is not one of them. Now, you need to move, because there are people here waiting to see their loved ones.” you’d hiccuped and turned around, walking to the lockers to unlock your gun, badge, and phone. 

“I’m here to see a loved one.” You’d wanted to scream, but you knew it would have been futile. There wasn’t anything you could do at that moment. 

You walked to your car, dialing Emily’s number, “This is Prentiss.”  

For a second, only your breathing could be heard over the sound of the wind, and then a tiny sniffle. You wiped at your eyes and nose, and then spoke up, barely, “Why am I not on Spencer’s approved visitor list?” 

“What do you mean? Every member of this team is on the list. So is his lawyer and Diana, even Derek,” you could hear the surprise in her voice, yet you couldn’t keep calm any longer.

"They refused to let me see him! I made the appointment, Emily, and I came, hoping I’d finally see him hear his voice, and ask him-” Your voice broke mid-sentence, and after taking a deep breath, you continued, “Ask him if he was okay, and I was denied because out of the 10 names on that list, it seems mine’s not one of them.” You finished defeated, barely above a whisper.

All was silent for the moment, save for what you could hear was Penelope’s voice on the other end of the line, quietly asking what was going on, “Let me call Fiona and the warden, and I’ll see what happened. Meanwhile, I need you back here, because we just got a case.” Her voice wasn’t leaving anything up for discussion. Still, you couldn’t go, not until you saw him. 

“Emily-” she cut you off.

“It’s not a discussion. I’ll resolve this, but I need you here and your head in the game. Am I clear?” Her voice was stern, but maybe that’s exactly what you needed. Maybe.

“Yeah, clear. I’m on my way back.” You took a deep breath and started the car and the journey back to Quantico, but your mind stayed right there, on the bars that kept you away from the one thing you held dearest. 

As it turns out, there was nothing the warden or Fiona could do. Even Emily Prentiss, Unit Chief of the BAU, couldn't “resolve” the situation. Days, weeks, and months passed, and for 70 days you couldn’t see him, isolated out, not even knowing why.

“-to be in the courthouse in one.” You snapped out of your thoughts, only catching the end of the sentence, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. You were tired, and it had little to do with the fact that you had been up all night, going over all the evidence with the team and tracing Lindsey Vaughan’s steps to a T in an attempt to exonerate Spencer and finally bring him home. 

You were exhausted, both physically and mentally. You’d been up for more than 24 hours now, but then you hadn’t been sleeping all that well to begin with. Every single night was spent wondering how Spencer was doing, and every time you closed your eyes, you saw him in that cell in Mexico. 

His eyes were red, high out of his mind, barely coherent, dirty, and injured - a far cry from the person you were used to seeing every single day - energetic, passionate, and brilliant. After 12 years, if there was one image you wished to erase from your memory, it was this one. Not all the blood you’ve seen spilled, every victim, be it men, women, or even children, all the horrors of the job, but this. Maybe it made you a bad person, but there was nothing worse than seeing the one person you held dearest at their lowest and not being able to do anything to stop it.

Every waking hour that you weren’t on the job was spent wondering how he was doing and if he was okay. If he was healthy, unharmed, and safe, or as safe as an FBI agent could be in prison. But most of all, the one thing that had kept you up at night, slowly destroying your sanity and making you question everything, had been the one question you couldn’t seem to get an answer to. 

“Why doesn’t he want to see me?”

You’d asked everyone and had waited with battered breath for an answer, a clarification on the matter, and it never came. As shocked as you had been at the notion that you wouldn’t be seeing Spencer for an indefinite amount of time, your team had been even more shocked. They knew the kind of relationship you and Spencer had, how close you’d become over the years, and how much you relied on each other. 

You’d asked every team member, you’d asked yourself, you’d even asked Spencer in a few of the letters you wrote to him, and then there had come a point where you just stopped. 

You were torturing yourself more than enough, day after day, and every single night, asking yourself a question you wouldn’t get an answer to. Not as long as he was locked up in that hellhole and you were out here, trying to keep together the pieces of something, that was on the verge of breaking. 

You felt a hand taking hold of yours, and for a second, you tensed up. Pulled out of your thoughts, you looked up and were met with chocolate brown eyes, full of worry - Emily’s eyes. 

You glanced around the room, only to realize it was empty, save for the two of you. You hadn’t felt when the others had left, that’s how deep in thought you had been. 

“Where did you go? I’ve been calling your name for a while now,” she spoke gently, squeezing your hand. If you were honest, that’s the first time she asked you anything about the situation. You’d spent weeks suffering in silence and trying to pretend that you weren’t slowly dying on the inside. 

You briefly thought about lying, it wouldn’t be the first lie you’d told since Spencer had been incarcerated, but you didn’t have it in you to hide anymore. 

And so, for the first time since Spencer’s hearing, you told the truth.

“Nothing makes sense anymore, Em,” it left you in a whisper, “I’m barely holding it together. I feel like I’m drowning sometimes, and just when I breach the surface, I’m pulled back in. My mind, it’s...I question everything, all the time. My mornings start with thoughts about him, and my nights end with tears over him, over this entire…this nightmare. I keep waiting for my alarm to go off, to wake up and realize that this has been a plot of my imagination, some cruel joke my mind has conjured, designed to show me... "Your eyes welled with tears, prepared to admit something you should have long ago. Emily gave your hand another squeeze, prompting you to continue, and so you did, admitting it for the first time aloud. 

“Designed to show me that I can’t live a life that doesn’t have Spencer in it.” You wiped at your eyes, willing your tears at bay. When you dared to look up, you were met with the eyes of the only other person besides Spencer who has been a constant rock in your life for the last 11 years. What you saw in her eyes then wasn’t surprise like you’d thought, but relief. It took you a moment to fully read her, but it was like a switch had gone off when you finally did. 

“But you’re not surprised to hear this, are you?” you smiled sadly, a light laugh leaving you. 

“I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t have my suspicions, and I’d be an even worse profiler,” she smiled at you, “Plus, there are some feelings that you just can’t hide,” you blinked, and then you blinked again. You hadn’t come right out and said it, and yet she knew, she somehow knew. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” you tried to backtrack, but you knew it was a losing battle. Emily knew you well enough to smell your bullshit from miles.

“That’s exactly how you meant it, and don’t even try to deny it. I see it every damn day. It’s how you leave the room whenever you hear someone talk about visiting Spencer. You don’t want to hear how he’s doing because you wouldn’t believe it, not unless you see him with your own eyes. But you can’t, so you’ve resigned yourself to the torture of not knowing instead of giving yourself the smallest amount of peace by asking. You’ve been suffering in silence for almost three months, too stubborn to say anything, thinking you were doing yourself a favor. And what for? You’re crying yourself to sleep every night and coming to work the next morning, pretending everything is fine when clearly it’s not. You think you’re fooling everyone, but the only person you’re tricking is yourself. And how’s that working out for you?” she had a point, and it’s not like you weren’t aware of that fact. You knew what you were doing wasn’t okay or healthy. You had the most stable support system imaginable to get you through the hardest parts. It was hard, though, especially when the person who was suffering the most was the person who’d taken your heart with him. 

“Way to call me out, boss.” you were just about ready to end the conversation, you couldn’t take any more of this. You’d promised each other long ago that you wouldn’t profile each other but you had a feeling that was exactly what Emily was doing right now. Maybe not on purpose, and with every good intention imaginable, but you didn’t want that. You didn’t want one of your best friends to try to understand you based on behavioral analysis right after you’d spilled your soul out to her. 

“Just calling it the way I see it, someone has to,” she smiled, but then she shook her head a little before continuing. “What I want to know is why you didn’t say something earlier. You know I would have been there to listen, and so would have the team.” Damn, Emily Prentiss.

You didn’t have to think hard about it, you’ve been ruminating over everything for days. You were trying not to, but whenever your mind wasn’t focused on a case or the many drinking nights spent in Penelope’s purple adobe, that was where your mind would take you.

“Out of fear, I think,” you started, unsure for a second, still nervous to admit it. It wasn’t exactly what she was asking, but it was a start, “I was afraid, and I still am. I’ve been baiting myself into thinking it was just some sort of fondness, a little stronger than that which you feel towards a friend, and far lesser than what it actually is. I thought that if I didn’t say anything, I could go on lying to myself, and nothing would have to change, we wouldn’t have to change. Because words hold meaning, and an admission like that holds weight. What would I have done if it was just me who felt like this? I would have ruined the one thing we’ve both cherished for over a decade.” It felt good to finally say all of this out loud instead of holding it inward. But then again, Emily always knew when you'd had enough. 

She’d told you time and time again the same thing Hotch had asked of her when she returned to duty after faking her death: “Let me know when you are having a bad day.”. Honestly, you’d held off long enough, and so had she. It was a whole miracle she hadn’t pressed you about your behavior earlier. 

“That’s not what I was asking,” you said, shaking your head with a smile to let her know that you weren’t done speaking. 

“Everyone was suffering as a result of what happened in Mexico, what I was feeling wasn’t any different, Emily.” You were flippant about it, you always have been. You preferred isolating yourself and hiding everything instead of seeking a shoulder to bear the weight of what you felt. 

“Our sadness came from the fact that our friend was framed. And yours? That’s different.” 

“It isn’t,” she scoffed, getting up. Now you really felt like you were about to get scolded like a child.

“Yes, it is. God, you and Spencer are the same. It’s like I’m looking at his doppelganger without the whole… IQ of 187. You share some of the worst qualities a person can have,” you laughed at that, “You are both changeophobes-” you cut her off

“Metathesiophobia, fear of change.” She only raised her hand at you, as if to say, “See, you even sound like him,” which made you laugh even more. 

“You close yourselves off after a sad or traumatic experience, silently hoping you’d be able to get through the worst of it on your own. Most of the time, it’s evident that’s not the case. You only ask for help when you’ve reached rock bottom or have no other choice, but you’ve had a choice from the get-go. Your stubbornness even stems from the same anxieties, it’s infuriating,” she seemed to calm down then, in defeat maybe, or she hadn’t been mad, to begin with, she sat down again. 

“My point is, it shouldn’t have taken you learning that he might be coming home today to tell me all of this. I’ve known for a long time that there was something far more than platonic friendship on your end. You shouldn’t have tortured yourself since his trial to try to put the puzzle pieces together. You aren’t late, you have all the time in the world to say what you feel and what you want, and rejection shouldn’t be a factor, believe me. You need to make peace with that fear because Spencer is coming home today. And whether you are ready or not, you both need to have a serious conversation.” You appreciated her determination about Spencer being released, but then again, you had more than circumstantial evidence to support the fact that he was innocent. But, as always, Emily was right. He was coming home today, and after months of not seeing each other, there were a lot of things you needed to say. 

“I know. Thank you, Emily, for everything,” you whispered, squeezing her tight. 

Spencer’s POV

The first breath of fresh air after being on the inside for months felt far more overwhelming than he thought it would be. Being in charge of your being and your responses and emotions felt almost unnatural like the feeling of it didn’t belong to him. The sound of the wind and the traffic, people’s voices, and even the simple act of getting comfortable in the leather seats of the jet overwhelmed any ability to concentrate and think straight. 

In itself, it was strange. The prison was loud, the prison commissary at breakfast, lunch, and dinner was a cacophony of prisoners talking, cells being opened, and guards barking orders. The yard was loud too, although, in the middle of nowhere, nature could still be heard - the sounds of trees and the lone birds, if he had to guess a mix of Mourning Dove and Field Sparrow. Their songs were soothing most of the time, a welcome distraction from the usual noises around him. 

Without the atmosphere he’d gotten used to and subjected to all of those sounds and people whose presence he found comforting before, he now felt almost out of place. He wanted to feel at peace, he wanted to feel free, and although he technically was, his mind was more trapped than he’d actually been in that 2 by 2 cell in cellblock C.

He kept replaying some of the hardest moments from his time in, every threat, every punch he’d gotten, and the phantom feel of the fists connecting. Luis’ blood on his hands, the smell of bleach incorporated with the drugs, the tip of the sharpened toothbrush embedding into his thigh. All he’d done to survive, harm, and more harm, only to make it out alive. 

He barely recognized himself. He’d deliberately ignored looking at himself in the small plastic mirror in his cell, for fear of seeing what he’d had to become. Gone was the Spencer who’d use his brain to get out of situations, whose obliviousness more often than not helped to balance his intellect with the socially acceptable. Gone was the bubbly personality of a kid excited to share a plethora of facts with his friends. 

In his place sat a man, tormented by the reality of the hatred felt towards him. The reality of being a pawn in a game whose complexity could have been his downfall. A man whose genius, as much of a blessing, could sometimes be a curse. A man who had felt too much and was made to experience far more loss than his quaint heart was able to take. In the end, he kept losing, be it his father, by no choice of his own. His mentor, at the hands of a killer’s insanity. His friends and loved ones, hoping for a better life or his freedom, made to rot in a place he didn’t deserve to be in. 

Some would doubt that he had anything at all left to lose. All in all, how much more could the scrawny twelve-year-old child prodigy, left to survive in a public high school, take? 

His mind had been plagued by that question for years. He’d thought about that more than he’d like to admit. After every loss, there’d been a split moment where he’d asked himself what was next. What would be the next thing life would take from him? And every time, he’d had to wonder if, next time, life wouldn’t reach for the one thing he couldn’t allow to be taken from him. The one thing that, were he to lose, he’d never recover. He had hoped, sometimes prayed, that after everything he’d seen, everything he’d lived through, this would be the one thing that’d be spared. 

Locked in that cage, he’d tried even harder to ensure that there wouldn’t be another loss in his life - not anymore. Be it good or bad, he’d done everything. For 70 days, he’d had to assure himself he was doing what he thought was right, and what he wasn’t saying, he’d be forgiven for. He’d had to dodge questions and see the disappointment in his friend’s eyes, and when that wasn’t enough of a burden to bring all of his anxieties to the surface, he’d resigned himself to reading the words of the person he was doing all of this for - you. 

He’d reread every letter to the point where the edges of the papers were worn out, even though he’d known the contents by heart on the first read. He tortured himself by looking at your handwriting, analyzing the slanting of the words and the pressure of the pen. The little stains on the paper, he didn’t have to be a genius to know, were your tears. It broke his heart, to know he was causing you this much pain. He didn’t need to be there to see it, he felt it through your words.

He often questioned if it was worth it, if he was protecting you, or himself, or maybe even what you were or weren’t.

Even now, the weight of your words sat heavily on his mind, and right by his heart, in the pocket of his jacket, he felt the weight of the 9 letters you wrote. 

As he looked over from the little window of the jet, he couldn’t help but wonder if, in his desire to shield you from everything, he hadn’t gone too far. Ultimately, was he going to be forgiven, or be forced to pick up the pieces of the reality broken by his own doing?

“Don’t do that.” JJ’s gentle voice startled him from the overwhelming nature of his thoughts. She’d spent the last 30 minutes since they boarded silently observing him, waiting for him to pick up a conversation. But he’d decided to stay num. 

In every twitch of his fingers, in his desire to get comfortable but being unable to, she could see that he was restless. If she had to guess, his mind was much the same. 

“Do what?”

She gave him a look, one, had he not known her long enough, he might have been offended by. Clearly, she was offended herself, watching him play the clueless card. 

“Spence, I don’t need to profile you to know that your mind’s running a thousand miles a minute, contemplating your decisions, and I don’t think you should. You did what you thought was right, and no one blames you for that, not for Mexico, and not for what you did after,” she spoke evenly, gathering even Penelope and Alvez’s attention from where they sat. He looked over, receiving a smile and a nod from both before focusing on JJ again. 

Rationally, he knew she was right about everything. He didn’t need to run himself ragged with everything he could have done differently, or search for the perfect way to explain, or overall, the perfect outcome of his own decisions. He knew there wasn’t one, there was no perfect way to say what he needed to, no perfect words to pick so he could fix this and erase the pain he knew he’d caused. 

Perfection wasn’t something you could strive to achieve, because there’s no such thing as perfection. The term was diverse, everyone had a different perspective on what that might look like. If for JJ, perfection was the family that waited for her at home every time she returned from a case, for Spencer, perfection was vastly different. 

For him, perfection was the rich aroma of coffee that could cause someone’s insulin to spike because of the amount of sugar in it. The softness of a book page between his fingers, or the familiarity of a book he’d read before but needed to revisit. 

Perfection was the sound of your laugh whenever he was the one to prompt the sound. The way your eyes lit up every time you listened to him babble on. Perfection was the time he got to spend with you every day, every hour, and every minute that he could remember with almost scary accuracy. 

He could sit and wonder what the perfect way to go about this was, but there simply wasn’t one, there was only the truth. And as painful, hopeful, or even a little dumb as it was, that was the best he could give.

And maybe that’s what his mind should focus on instead, the truth, in its simplest form, at its core the truth he’d hidden for months, and then the truth he’d hidden for years. 

He had wondered long enough if he’d made the right choice. He spent plenty of time focusing on the shame he’d felt, prompted by the disappointment he’d seen in his friends’ eyes whenever they brought up your name. How he’d sit, silent, or give an answer so short and angry, it’d add even more shame to the one he already felt. 

Beyond his time in prison, where he spent most of his time questioning his decisions, he spent years before that questioning himself as a person. His place on the team, his intelligence, even his failings. His inability to form relationships where he’d be seen as more than Dr. Reid, or the skinny kid, pretty boy, or a genius. A relationship that’d make him feel like simply Spencer, without the added adjectives, that sometimes made him feel like a circus clown. 

Only when he’d been locked up, had he started to realize that he’d finally built a relationship with someone with whom he could be himself. The most basic, boring, and peaceful version of himself, and slowly, all had started falling into place. 

How content he felt whenever he was around you, the desire to tell you every good or bad news he received. How when you asked about his mother, it warmed his heart, or how worried he felt when you acted stupid in the field. How out of control he’d felt when you’d gone missing last year. Or even, at the time, the unexplained jealousy he’d felt seeing you talk with another man.

Morgan had asked, once, twice, a lot, if maybe he didn’t have a crush, but he’d denied it, every time. And every time he’d question himself, he'd dismiss the idea just as quickly. 

Yet, upon being forced away from you, the pieces had started mending into one. 

Every realization he’d had was like a new broken piece being glued to the overall mosaic. And every new piece added built everything he felt about you. And it was a lot, and it was overwhelming, and so, so right, it sometimes felt wrong. Because he was inside a prison of his own doing, and you were out there, made to wait for him, for an explanation, for the truth. 

And he’d vowed to himself that the moment he was out, he’d put everything on the table, no matter how much he’d fucked up or how much he’d hurt you. He’d sit there, and he’d let it out, and if necessary, he’d even beg for your forgiveness. 

Because there wasn’t a moment in this life, he wanted to live through, without you there with him.

Your POV

You pulled the trigger, your eyes focused, and your hands steady. Three consecutive shots were fired, each one hitting its intended target. Three more followed, and then as many as it took to empty the magazine. 

You put down the gun and took a deep breath, steadying your heartbeat, trying to rid yourself of the deep-seated anxiety you felt. An odd sense of calm overtook you whenever you found yourself at the shooting range. Maybe it was the everpresent scent of gunpowder or the quiet only disturbed by the firing of a gun. Or even the possibility of escaping your rising thoughts, the desire to run or scream, sometimes both. 

There was a sense of solitude there that almost made it easier to breathe. The repetitive motion and the weight of the gun in your hands felt like second nature. 

Front sight, trigger press, follow through, just like Hotch had taught you all those years ago. As long as you held that gun, your mind was quiet, and you focused on something other than the worry you felt. 

It made sense you found yourself there shortly after Emily had shared the long-awaited good news - Spencer was finally free, and JJ, Penelope, and Luke were on route back with him. For a short moment, you’d felt the weight being lifted from your chest, and then it dropped again, now tripled. 

Suddenly, your earlier conversation with Emily had gotten as real as the target before you. Even with the sense of peace, you’d felt after, your thoughts on the matter clear, you still felt a sense of dread at the idea of seeing him. 

As if he wasn’t your best friend, the man who’d long ago won your affection and captured your heart, but rather a stranger who held your future in his hands. And he might as well be, because whatever the truth to the questions you wanted answered was, one thing was for sure.

It’d either make or break you both.

You picked up a new magazine, and loaded the gun, aiming at the target before releasing the safety. Before you fired again, you released a breath, and with it, all the feelings within you - fear, uncertainty, yearning, and the sense of madness, which, although mild, was persistent.

You fired once, twice, your aim impeccable, and then, out of nowhere, you missed. 

The hair at the back of your neck rose, your heart rate quickened, and the feeling of another’s presence in the room was unmistakable. It took you just a second to put the pieces together, the intrusion felt like anything but that. 

Instead, for a brief moment, the person brought with them a familiar feeling of calm. In the next instance, though, reality came crashing like a tidal wave, and you knew you’d run out of time. 

Your hands shook as you put down the gun. You could feel him watching you, probably standing next to the door, as if he couldn’t will himself to move closer. The anxiety was palpable in the air, although you couldn’t really say if it was yours or his, most likely, it was a mix of both.

You went to reach for your protection but hesitated. Once you took it off, there’d no longer be an excuse for you to ignore him, you’d finally have to meet the reality he’d so carefully crafted for you.

Even though you felt like you could barely breathe, the desire to finally lay your eyes on him won out. 

Without missing another beat, you took off your earplugs and then your eye protection. You could faintly hear the sound of shoes squicking against the floor. He could never stay still when he was nervous.  

You picked up on the sound of your own breathing too, the beating of your heart was almost erratic. You were waiting, what for, you weren’t sure. 

He was waiting too, for you to turn around, to lay his eyes on you. Like a sadist, waiting to see the pain he’d caused, or a masochist, wishing for his own in turn. 

70 days of slowly killing you both.

When you finally dared to turn around, it took you a moment to fully take him in. He looked like the Spencer you knew, yet there was something different about him too. Dressed in his usual suit and tie outfit, he didn’t look comfortable. His posture was rigid, almost defensive. It wasn’t a conscious decision, that much you were sure of.

His hair was longer, pushed back, curling at the ends, and he’d lost some weight. Not much, but enough to make an impression after all this time. He looked pensive, like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders, but maybe it was just the weight of the consequences he had to face.

Your eyes ran over every inch of him multiple times, intentionally avoiding his gaze for as long as possible. Seconds and minutes passed, and you weren’t really sure how much exactly. 

Spencer knew, though, of course, he did. If his fear of meeting you eye to eye was as great as yours was, you knew he was counting until the torture of the act itself was over. 

89 seconds he’d counted, although now with you there, they felt longer than the days without you did. 

When you eventually met his gaze, you felt a part of your heart chip on the inside. What people said about the eyes being a portal to one's soul couldn’t have been more right in that moment. Spencer, a man who excelled at hiding his emotions when he really wanted to, had let them out as clear as day for you to see. 

His eyes sparkled with so much sadness and guilt that it threatened to take you apart even before he had the chance to talk. Something softened within you at that moment, but in the next instance, it was like someone else took over. 

One moment you wanted to cry for him or with him, and the next you felt like your whole being needed to be let out. 

“Is that…is that all you can offer me right now? More of your silence? Don’t you think I’ve had enough of that?” The questions, a few of many to follow, had a bite to them. 

His face fell a little, taken aback by your tone. He fidgeted with his fingers, unsure what to say, or where to start. How could he answer your question? He pictured a scenario where his words flew freely, where he gave you an explanation worthy of forgiveness and a confession, so earnest that it ended with you in his arms. 

Try as he might, the words didn’t come to him, just a barely audible accusation. 

“That’s not fair.”

You scoffed, as if in outrage. A madness, one born out of so much heartbreak, took over, it was blinding. If someone had asked you to explain yourself, you’d say that wasn’t you. You’d never be so forward, almost cruel, to him, but at that moment, being mad sounded so much better than being vulnerable. Like a shield, you weren’t ready to let go of yet.

“How exactly is this not fair, Spencer? It’s the truth!” you yelled, and you felt free, finally letting it all out. “You want to know what isn’t fair, though? The way you isolated me OUT of your life! For three months, I’ve had to stand on the sidelines and beg for scraps, just to know you were okay. Every pitiful look I’d get from the people I consider family felt like another stab to the heart. That’s what’s not fair!” You were screaming so loud. It was a good thing the range was soundproof, otherwise, the whole of the BAU would have been deep in your business by now. 

If he looked surprised by the accusation, he didn’t really show it. His posture took a turn, though. The rigidity disappeared, and in turn, it opened, as if the need to comfort you overpowered the uncertainty or the mask he’d had to hold while imprisoned. 

You didn’t want his comfort, not right now. Maybe later, when all was said and done, you’d get to have a normal conversation without the frustrations of the past. At that moment, you just wanted everything out of your system. You wanted the questions, the answers, and the truth. 

His silence continued as he started closing the distance between you. You wanted to move, to create more distance, but there was nowhere to go. You were squeezed between the range, and him. Whatever else was left than to continue begging for clarity.

“It’s not fair being sent away the first time I came to see you. To learn you didn’t want to see me! Each time it was my turn to visit you, do you want to know where I was? I sat outside that fucking prison, wishing for a glimpse of the person who’s been my rock for 12 years! Holding back tears, thinking you didn’t…you didn’t care like I did. Is this what I really deserve after 12 years by your side?” You almost slipped, you almost told him, and maybe you should have, it might have prompted him to talk or to say something. But no, he stayed silent. Step after step, he limped, his cheek twitched, and his brows furrowed, but like a coward, he remained quiet. 

He was meters away from you, three more steps, and he’d completely close the distance, and meet you face to face. 

“Say something, Spencer, damn it!” Your throat burned from the strain, and he advanced even more. “Anything,” you finished in a whisper, and all of a sudden, all the fight left you, and your eyes watered and your vision went blurry. 

He was just a step away then, and when you looked into his eyes, you couldn’t help but see how they shined. 

He reached forward, one hand taking hold of your arm while the other went to hold your waist, but you shook your head. “No, Spencer, please,” you whispered. You didn’t want to find yourself in his arms, because that would be the last of your composure, gone. You’d surrender to the feel of him like you even had a choice not to. 

He didn’t stop, not until you were snug into his arms, one of his hands at the back of your neck, holding your head tenderly, but the arm around your waist held onto you as if he was scared you’d slip away from him. 

Once in his arms, you finally let go, breaking down into pieces, hoping he’d be able to hold them all from crumbling to the ground. 

“Hey, shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He kept repeating, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your pulse point. All the while, you could only stand, your arms at your sides, as if paralyzed.

Being in his arms felt like being home somehow. It felt so right after having been deprived of the feeling for so long. It felt like there was nothing wrong, and nothing could go wrong at that moment. 

Even though you hadn't initially wanted his comfort, somewhere deep inside, you craved his tender touch. You craved the feel of his body near and the faint scent that was so uniquely him - a mix of coffee, fall, and old paper, books. You realized then that you craved the sound of his voice too, another part of him you’d been deprived of. 

The voice of the always rambling boy that never failed to bring a smile to your face, even when you couldn’t understand him sometimes. 

And the more he whispered, his voice broken and shaky, the harder you cried. You’d thought nothing could match the heartbreak of his actions or the anger of his silence, but the reality of being held against him brought the realization that your suffering mirrored his own. 

If you’d been dying on the inside for months, he’d been on the other side of the link holding you tethered to each other, dying just as much. 

And you couldn’t hold yourself back any longer after that. You buried your head in the crook of his neck, and your arms finally circled his waist underneath his suit jacket, fisting the back of his shirt as if it were your one lifeline. 

You felt him exhale when you finally returned his touch, most likely in relief, before he dropped a light kiss on your head. 

You cried for the relief of having him back and close. For unspoken truths and time wasted, years of figuring out feelings clear as day. For all the anger, for all of his silence, for all you felt for him. 

He cried for all the pain he’d caused you and for all the time he’d wasted being alone instead of being with you. He cried for himself, he cried for you, and he cried, overwhelmed by his feelings for you. 

You clung to one another, crying, and minutes were passing and neither of you cared. Not when you had each other. 

After a while, when both your tears dried out and your cries quieted, but you still felt the need to hold each other close, you dared to murmur a broken “Why?” hoping he’d hear, hoping he’d understand. 

It didn’t take him long to mumble a reply, no longer silent. 

“All the words in the world available, and I wish I could explain.” it came out just as quietly, both of you scared to break the little bubble you’d found yourselves in. 

You pulled back from him, wanting to look into his eyes, red-rimmed and still sparkling when you felt yourself begging again. 

“Then try, please, because I’d rather know, and not understand, than not know at all.” And it was the truth. He could speak in riddles if he wanted, but you needed to know why he’d made that choice. 

You looked at him expectantly before he pushed a piece of hair back, and his hand once again settled at the back of your head, gently cupping it. 

“I wanted you safe from a world you didn’t belong in,” he admitted on an exhale, like a lifelong secret he’d gotten tired of holding onto. 

You looked at him in wonder, and it was on the tip of your tongue to tell him he didn’t belong in that world either, but just as you opened your mouth to speak, he shook his head. 

“I was ashamed when I had you removed from the visitor’s list. I didn’t want you to see me like that, like a criminal,” he started, pulling you into his arms, not wanting to admit it to you eye to eye, out of fear of being right. Of course, he was wrong, but that didn’t stop him from wondering. 

“The first time JJ visited me, they leered at her like they were being fed fresh meat, taking her in, committing her to memory. A cage full of animals. I knew then that I didn’t want that for you, and any guilt I had at keeping you away disappeared that day. It hurt me, knowing I was failing you and whatever trust you had in me,” he whispered, wishing to keep the reality of his thoughts and his feelings in a little bubble as if you only existed in it.

“I’m not the same person I was before, I couldn’t be him, even if it meant losing a part of myself in the process. I couldn’t really be a decent human being without bearing the consequences. Everything I saw, everything I did, and everything that was done to me, I don’t think I’d ever fully be the person I was before. And that too, I’m thankful I spared you from seeing.” It would explain his rigidity, a defense mechanism he’d had to get used to. 

And while everything he’d said thus far was true the biggest truth, he’d had yet to say. He had yet to really explain why he’d done what he’d done in the first place. He was stalling, still afraid, but the longer he held you, the longer he felt your heart beating in time with his, the more sure he became. 

To hell with the consequences, to hell with whatever happened after, he was right here in the now, alive, breathing, his arms around you, finally at peace. 

He pulled back, took your face into his hands, and finally whispered.

“Most of all, though, I knew I loved you enough to risk us if it meant keeping you safe.” It left him in a rush, a confession waiting to be let out for months. A feeling he’d had for years, and a moment where he could finally be open about it. 

“What…?” you licked your lips, shocked that you might not have heard him correctly. ”What does us mean?” This part of the conversation felt like you were daydreaming about it, it just didn’t feel real. 

“It means whatever you want it to be. Whatever you want us to be.” All of a sudden, it was that simple. 

“So, you love me?” You had a hard time taking it all in, yet your heart fluttered in pure happiness. “And you…you want us?” 

Months of figuring out your feelings, years of hiding them, a conversation to finally prompt a confession out of you, and all this time it was reciprocated. You could have cried, happiness like no other coursing through you, pure bliss. 

"Yes.” Even before you were done speaking, he was already answering. He was desperate to finally admit he was absolutely smitten by you. 

You wanted back into his arms, you wanted to kiss him so badly that your blood was burning from the need to feel him like you'd never been able to before. And yet, you knew there was something else you needed to do before you could finally do it.

“Spence, you don’t push away the people you love, no matter the cost. You rely on their love to help aid you when you’re at your lowest.” You gave his sides a light squeeze before you looked back into his eyes, only to see them hopeful and uncertain at the same time.

He looked hopeful, for the possibility that you might actually love him back, but uncertain because it felt like you might be pushing him away this time. 

“I can’t go through this again. Having to watch you wither away, in prison, at home, or by your own thoughts, I won’t be able to handle being pushed away again,” whispers, cries, pleas, memories full of heartbreak intertwined with present confessions full of joy. 

His eyes watered then, his lips trembling. Any sign of hope was gone, and in its’ place stood the realization of a man who’d maybe gone a little too far. He’d pushed you away, and now, it was your time to be the one sticking and twisting the knife deep, breaking his heart in the process. 

If someone were to ask him at that moment what his biggest regret was, he’d say this. This was his biggest regret, his own choices. 

A tear escaped him, and you reached up, wiping it away gently before you spoke again.

“If..if this is going to go anywhere, you need to rely on me. You need to believe that I can handle anything and everything, just as long as you are by my side. All those years of being pushed away - your addiction, Maeve and Gideon’s deaths, your mom’s diagnosis, Cat Adams - you weren’t alone then, you aren’t alone now, and you won’t be alone in the future. You’ll always have me by your side, you’ll always have my support. Most of all, you’ll have my love, but when things get hard, I need you to lean on me, and trust that I can help you because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together.” You finished on an exhale, full-on crying now. You could barely see him, but from the little you could, you saw tears streaming down his face, and a smile that grew wide, happy.

Those words, he knew them word for word. For 13 days, he’d repeat them, no longer needing to see them written down, he had them engraved in his brain. Your letters he could recite, but your final one he’d remember as long as he lived. 

“I promise to lean on you and trust that you’d help me because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together,” he whispered back, his eyes searching yours for just a moment before he pulled you in, and finally, his lips met yours. 

He kissed you, tentative at first, testing the waters. He wanted to take his time, commit your lips to memory, gentle, and plump, exactly how he’d imagined they’d feel. The more he kissed you, the more he couldn’t stop. Passion, urgency, desire - his kisses turned desperate like he wanted to swallow you whole and never let you go. 

He bit your lip gently, asking for access, before his tongue intertwined with yours and he pulled you flush against him, closing any gap left between you. Chest, hips, there wasn’t an inch where you weren’t touching. 

It felt so familiar, even though you hadn’t kissed before. So right, like no one's kisses had felt before. As if your whole lives, kissing each other was the missing piece in a complicated puzzle, waiting to be put together. Coming together as one, it felt magnetic, a feeling of euphoria, pure ecstasy, no one else mattered, no other feeling mattered at that moment, other than your hands on each other and your lips locked together. 

Time was passing by, and you didn’t care. Years of missed opportunities, hidden feelings, and long-awaited realizations all led to this moment. Starved for each other, a kiss full of fervor and even the taste of tears was present. Unimaginable, but very real.

When you finally pulled apart, he wiped your tears, and you wiped his in turn, before he gathered you back in the comfort of his arms, laying a kiss on the side of your head.

And between the four walls around you, nestled in each other’s arms, the place where no one could touch you, in a shared breath you both whispered. 

“I love you.” 

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[plutolovesyou]

heh.. okay, so you asked for different.. rubs hands together villaniously as i materialize from the bottomless shadows..

sub!vampire!ellie biting/bloodsucking denial.. reminding her how much of a good girl she needs to be even when your wrist is practically just brushing past her lips to cradle her face.. or when the weakest bead of blood is pricked from your finger.. flaunting it.. teasing.. goddess bless throw in whatever else you see fit freakmaster

TEMPTATION WAITS

before you read! ▪︎ my masterlist ☆: co-president...this is absolutely divine...shoulda seen the way i dropped everything for this im literally #TWEAKING. new fav thing i've ever written methinks. title song. (vibes aren't there but the title was too good.) ps: if you spot any typos i wrote this with one hand. KIDDING...or am i? divider creds—cafekitsune. ◇: not outright smut, but still suggestive!! and nsfw is described. fluffy end bc i think she earned it, lore sprinkled in because why nawt it's interesting, finger sucking (e! receiving), this is maybe a lil ooc idrc, she's described as looking quite ill in her vampiric form + begs like her century long life depends on it fr, (but also has a bit of an attitude, it issss ellie after all), mean!r, talk of blood/previous bite wounds. ++ 3.3k wc. doesn't need to be that long but atp? take it or leave it LOLL. filing under "oneshots" bc it's way more than usual reqs hehe.

“Please, baby. Just one taste. I'll do anything.” Desperate, shaky pleas spilled from Ellie, her voice noticeably tired from the effort. She's been at this for what felt like forever now, and you were getting tired of ignoring her. Or rather, a little bored.

She was kneeling on the wooden floor by your bed, fisting the creased sheets, trying to capture your attention. The shimmering moonlight was dancing on her features as if it was a sparkle of fireflies, making her oddly colored eyes appear to glow, and highlighting her sickly appearance.

In her vampiric form, her skin was tinted a ghostly—even chalky—white, barely a smidgen of blush dancing on the apples of her cheeks. Her eyes shifted from their original grassy green to a peculiar duochrome blend of emerald and ruby. She really looked unwell, but you knew it was merely a product of circumstance, her gloomy fate.

Ellie donned somber dark circles around her eyes, her lips withered, pale, and thin as a piece of tissue paper. Just behind them though, rested two deadly weapons of her very own—sizeable, razor-sharp, gleaming ivory canines reflecting the scarce lighting as if they were made of mirrored glass.

For the first time tonight, you met her gaze, assuming an unbreakable poker face. Her keen sight could pick out the most subtle of twitches, so you learned to defeat that. The moment you met her line of sight she perked up, her eyes widening in glee, you had finally acknowledged her existence after so long.

Scooting forward you placed yourself right in front of her still kneeling form, sitting so she was in between your legs, but she wasn't allowed to touch you until you said so. What torture.

She began again, “Can I do something to make you change your mind? I'll do anything. Anything in the world. I'll make you feel re-really good, and then I won't ask again…ever even, if that's what you want. Just please let me…I'm so thirsty.” She was rambling a million miles a minute, slurring her words and cutting herself off with hiccups, stuttering like was having a nervous breakdown.

Her chest heaving up and down was visible to you despite the dim surroundings, and you could just make out her facial expression—a pained grimace, as if she was experiencing all of humanity's greatest suffering. When you didn't reply but stayed observing her blankly, she sighed and hung her head in shame, you almost felt bad. Almost.

You extend a hand, twirling a strand of her hair—previously silky and vibrant, now as lifeless and dull as charred hay—and you feel her relax under your touch. You continue raking your fingers through her locks, scratching her scalp with your nails, and you hear her exhale forcefully. She's likely overwhelmed by your scent—it's invigorating, fresh, and full of life.

“Have you been good?” You pipe up with a voice colder than ice, softly caressing the flesh of her tense cheek, and letting your fingertips travel to the underside of her chin. You gently tilt her head up, noticing the way her eyelids flutter to a close. She's soaking up the heat radiating off of you, making sure to feel the sensations of your skin brush against hers as much as she can, commit them to memory for when she's apart from you.

Her lips part, allowing for hushed, woeful whimpers to pour out, and she instinctively bites her bottom lip to quiet herself. Only she forgets about the powerful daggers in her mouth, and almost pierces right through her own skin.

Taking notice, you tut at her, warning clicks of your tongue bouncing off the room’s walls, contrasting the dead of night’s eerie silence. Tsk, tsk, tsk. You push the pad of your thumb down on the plush of her lip, angling her jaw side to side, examining those killer gnashers she's got.

“You could hurt yourself with these y'know, be careful.” Her eyelids flicker open, she's staring up at you with the biggest doe eyes she could muster, somehow all while maintaining such a strong glare you feel as if she's trying to challenge you.

“I'll decide if you can have some, as long as you're good, and you let me have some fun first. Alright?” You explain in a neutral tone, earning a cute “mhm” of confirmation from the undead being before you. “Good girl.”

You slowly slip your thumb into her mouth, avoiding her fangs at all costs, and you let her wrap her slippery tongue around your digit, watching how her cheeks hollow and her eyes roll ever so slightly while she sucks, moaning as she takes in your taste—nothing more than just skin.

You chuckle at her desperation, revel in the power dynamic you have created. “Mmm, you taste so good, so sweet.” She mumbles, swirling her tongue around your thumb, coating the entirety of it in her spit. You allow it for now, but soon enough, to no surprise, she slyly tries to shift to the side in preparation to slice you and get her treat.

You sharply retract your hands from her, removing your finger from her mouth with a pop, disappointed by her greed, her audacity. She turns to the side and pouts, huffing and rolling her eyes with more attitude than a moody teen. “What did I say?” You calmly hiss at her. She whispers, almost inaudibly, “Sorry…taste so good, can't help m’self.” Her voice wavered, and the moonlight illuminated the faintest tinge of red across her features, it was nearly invisible.

But you could tell exactly what was up. She shifts uncomfortably in her spot, grunting with laughable, pitiful attempts to rub her thighs together, fingers toying with the cloth of her pants, putting her frustration on full display. You looked at her struggle, unable to contain your grin.

It was a different kind of high, seeing such a feared and fabled beast kneel before you in such a pathetic manner, but it turned you on like nothing else. It was also evident she enjoyed it as well, no matter how much she didn't want you to be aware of the fact. The extent to which she worships you and handles your body, the way she was willing to beg and let you order her around showed just how much you meant to her—it was beautiful in its own way, how devoted she was to you. You were her person.

The fact she couldn't stifle her desire anymore after all this time suggested a shift in the atmosphere of your wicked games, the tension in the air was getting impossibly thicker, and you were loving every second of it.

Ellie, you've got a short memory.” You tease, then gesture to the gauze wrapped around your forearm, protecting two puncture wounds left by none other than her just the previous night. She looks at it and cocks an eyebrow, grouching, “Yeah, I see that, what about it?” The husky edge to her voice had returned, the defiant attitude you loved to crack was back in full force.

“Hundreds of years old, you even have memories of wars, and you can't remember what happened, like, 24 hours ago? Wow…” Your voice is so patronizing, it's unpleasant and abrasive on the ears, even your own. She shrugs her shoulders, still kneeling on the cold, hard ground at your mercy. “Well let's have a refresher then, shall we?” Tearing the tan-colored bandage apart with a single rip, you reveal the puncture marks—they were still wet and irritated, the wounds reopening immediately at the slightest movement.

Ellie whines like an animal, a crude “ahh”, and she starts pleading harder than ever. “Please, baby, my pretty, my angel, please, please, pleasepleaseplease, just lemme have a drop, just one. That's all, I swear.” Her gaze darkens exponentially, if you didn't know her it would instill fear in your heart, but luckily you were well aware of all her tricks. She snarls, “Fuck you. I'm literally on my fucking knees right now. Why are you doing this?” Her voice breaks angrily, wobbling with great lust and need—the need to have you, the need to drink you and fondle you and taste you in all senses of the word, and at this point she didn't seem to care about preserving a morsel of her dignity, she was simply so drunk on you, you couldn't believe.

You reiterate the previously established explanation, “We have an agreement that says you're allowed to take my blood once a month, so you can have some more each time. Rather than taking a little bit but more often, you requested this yourself. And you already drank lots yesterday. Does that not ring a bell?”

She groans, a gravelly, guttural sound that had you coming back to your senses and realizing, this was technically, a monster who you loved so dearly.

It led you to wonder—to her kind, what was so special about the liquid coursing through your veins?

When you split your lip open as a kid, clumsily tumbling face-first onto the asphalt, or bit your tongue while eating something stubborn, the strange, metallic taste was purely disgusting. It had a certain heaviness to it, both physically with the way it sat in your mouth, but also mentally. Like a subconscious awareness you were not meant to consume it like she does, but to spit it out the millisecond it made contact with your taste buds. There were times where the thought made you queasy, the measly knowledge of just how much of this fluid was inside you, keeping you alive.

But to her, it was a completely different story. She lapped it up with such fervor, such thirst you've never seen before. A sloppy frenzy like there wasn't a single thing more delightfully flavorful.

Her teeth penetrating all the way through your epidermis, dermis, and hypodermis, and straight through the vein wall was a feeling you're likely never going to get used to. It stung, it really did, and you were quick to get all woozy from the blood volume loss, but Ellie knew your limits—even though hers were not even close. Her thirst was insatiable.

The intimacy of the act was a whole separate topic to think about too. It was such an erotic experience, and when probed about it she argues it's better than sex, somehow. When she drinks from you, Ellie is really messy with it, you noticed. Blood dribbles down her chin and stains her lips as if it's a designer lip oil, the distinct deep maroon color sometimes appearing clownish and too intense against her fair complexion.

She was really handsy as well, and you weren't sure if it was purposeful, but you didn't care to ask because you didn't really mind in the first place. It felt nice. Her muscular hands tend to trace your waist as she's suckling, hovering by your ass, and traveling north to knead the supple tissue of your breasts.

And how could you forget about the sheer proximity of it all, even when having sex normally, it didn't feel nearly as intimate or vulnerable as this. Her body would be tightly curled around yours, she couldn't bear to have one meager square inch of her not touching you.

When she drank from your neck, it was bordering on heavenly, you had to be honest with yourself. There was something about the combination of the light headed, dizzying feeling it brought you, her closeness, the licking sensations, and the hungry sounds she produced that all together mixed to form nothing short of a mind blowing, intoxicating concoction.

When you both were feeling it, she'd be able to draw breathy moans to fall from your lips, and would giggle into your skin before sucking harder, leaving bruised marks surrounding the punctures. You read in some folklore that vampires carried a sort of aphrodisiac in their fangs, or was it their saliva? Again, you didn't really know all the details, but the sessions made you both yearn for each other in a way that felt taboo to discuss—midnight feedings often turning into animalistic fucking, sometimes even simultaneously.

Like having Ellie latched onto the side of your neck while she grinds her dripping pussy onto yours, her pleasureful mewls filling your ears, or having her hold your wrist to her mouth while her other hand is pleasuring you into oblivion, prodding against your spongy walls, making your head spin.

The time you spent lost in thought, she had broken the rule of not touching you unless you said so, but all she had done was rest her head on your knee, zoning out, sulking like an injured puppy. Unfortunately for her, you weren't done torturing her just yet. You didn't move her off of you, she was just laying there, grumbling curses under her breath, saying how mean you were, how much she despised you and everything you stood for, although both of you knew the truth—she had said herself, “I've never tasted blood like yours,” and you felt intrinsically bound to her on a subconscious level, these were mere amusements you indulged in, that ended up beneficial for both.

She got her delicious elixir of life, at the cost of you having your way with her for a bit. You hear her sniffle, the little defenseless sound of defeat was able to break your act.

You resume stroking her hair, and she wraps trembling arms around your thigh. “Hmm?” You coo, putting on a sweet facade. “Don't talk to me like that, c'mon man.” She wails, the attempts to regain control over her voice proving unsuccessful.

You took your nails to the newly formed raspberry scabs on top of your bite wounds and picked them off, and she lunges to grab your arm with inhuman reflexes, but once again you emerge on top, having spent so much time memorizing every last one of her behavioral patterns, so much so you knew exactly how she was going to attempt catching you and moved out the way without thinking about it.

“Too slow, you've gotten predictable.” You ridicule her, embellishing your voice with the most fake, sickly sweet tone you could just to irritate her as much as you possibly could. Ellie lays her head on your thigh, sighing. It's like she's given everything up. Her own patience was running out, potentially entering unpredictable territory now.

You squeeze the sides of the hole in your skin to coax a bubble of bright red blood to ooze out, marveling, “It's such a nice color, I see why you like it so much.” You talk to her coolly, ignoring her tearful, yet terrifyingly rage-filled glares, her massive fangs bared as if you were a prey animal she caught herself and was preparing to rip apart.

“Want a taste, Ellie? Have you earned it?” You think out loud, comically tapping your chin to exaggerate the brainstorming act. “Whatever, it's not like I have anything left to say to you.” She sounded heartbroken, you've never seen someone have such sorrow, the sheer misery behind her eyes actually caught you off guard.

"Okay I think you have earned it, just need you to say one more thing.” She nods, a little too quickly, rushing to catch any tears that were planning an escape route down the sides of her pretty face. You cradle her cheek, brushing your thumb against her skin, “Aw, baby, don't cry.” This time however, your tone is sincere.

She doesn't wait for your request, and starts all over again, this is getting old. “I promise everything. I'll make you feel so good, I'll give you whatever you want, please …you're too sweet.” She huffs, “Well, except when you're not.”

She continues mumbling, burying her face in the meat of your thigh, occasionally stopping to lovingly peck where she was laying, quiet smooching sounds. That really melted your heart, you were ready to give her what she needs after so much cruelty. This went on much longer than you had planned, but you were having fun with it. So you decided to abandon whatever you would ask of her. But could anyone blame you?

She slowly reaches for your wounded arm, gauging your reactions, like in the situation you were planning to do something to prevent her, but you come up with a better idea. “I'll do you one even better, Els.” The grin that envelops her face could light up a thousand suns, and melt the coldest of souls. Make vampire hunters quit their careers even, that's how adorable she could be, on the occasion.

You lean back to take your shirt off in one swift motion, and lay back on the edge of the bed, tilting your neck to give her access to the sweet pulsating spot, finding the droplet of drool that falls from her agape mouth utterly hilarious. “Go ahead, I've had my fun.” She hesitates. “But our agreement, I don't wanna hurt you.” “Ellie it's fine, unless you don't want t-” “No I do I do, oh thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you so muchhhh.”

Her gratitude is silly, she's straddling you and kissing all over your neck, face, and collarbones with such care, and you inhale sharply once you feel the familiar sensation of her teeth piercing your sensitive skin.

She has one hand on the nape of your neck, holding you close to her so you couldn't move away, and the other one finds your fingers to intertwine with hers, loud gulping noises filling the room as she messily laps up all that flows from you.

Her bony hips are sat atop your pelvis, and soon enough you feel her start absentmindedly rocking back and forth on you, your breath hitching. You hold her waist to ground yourself, and aid her. She's whispering, mostly to herself, “Fuck that's so fucking good, needed this so bad, need you, fuck- shit. Ah, yes.”

The vertiginous feeling swirls in your head and you feel yourself fading, your grip on her sides loosening, but you don't feel one single ounce of panic, because you know she's got you. No matter what, until the end of time. Or at the very least, until the final bells tolled and you were lowered to your eternal resting place six feet underground.

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[biteofcherry]

Entwined

Leshy!Steve Rogers x female reader; Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: You enter the woods hoping to gain the ancient being's mercy and help. However, you hadn't expected how truly powerful he is, or what price he will ask of you.

*Leshy is a deity of the forests in Slavic mythology. He rules over the forest and hunting.

warnings: sort of monsterfucking (though Leshy isn't exactly a monster, more of an eldritch entity); consensual, with a slight dash of dub-con; tiny bit of manipulation; smut;

Author's Note: This is a story written for Aspen's (@buckets-and-trees) Enchanted Birthday Festival. Early happy birthday, love! ❤️ I've been toying with the idea of Leshy!Steve for a bit and Aspen's challenge was the perfect opportunity to work on it. Especially since she loves forests, plants and all things wild nature 💚 Also a special shout out to @vonalyn who listened to me ramble about the hotness of Leshy!Steve when the idea first came to mind!

“Are you willing to sacrifice?”

His voice echoed with the power of a booming wind, rattling your bones and swishing up your skirts.

The trees surrounding you seemed to grow out their branches, weaving into thick, green walls closing up. Sunlight, just moments ago filtering through the tree crowns, had disappeared; but the dots of luminescent fireflies flickered on, filling the space with a deceptively warm glow.

You looked around, seeking for a path, or entrance through which you might escape, if you chose to. There was none. Within seconds you found yourself trapped in the depths of the ancient forest, with a being whose mercy you came to beg for. 

When about an hour ago you stepped into the woods, you were bracing yourself for the sense of being watched, perhaps hunted. You haven’t considered how closely in contact with the powers of nature you’d come. 

Your steps never faltered as the soft carpet of juicy grass beneath your feet seemed to grow more resilient the deeper into the woods you went; green straws springing back from being crushed under your shoe. The further you went, however, the dewy emerald grew sparse, shrinking into rich soil scattered with shards of bark, little leaves and pillows of moss.

Rays of sunlight filtered through the branches, casting glowy direction into the sacred altar hidden in the belly of the wilderness. It felt so peaceful, so relaxing, that you’d gladly sink into the shades of green and speckles of gold. 

If not for the pounding of your worried heart, which knew that you were searching for more than reprieve. 

Had you known what awaited, you’d listen to your heart’s anxious patter and run away.

But you were determined. Though your grandma would probably call it simple stubbornness. 

You didn’t enter the woods to forage, nor to roam it to fill your soul with happiness. No, your feet carried you forward to face the greatest of dangers and beg for mercy.

Not only for yourself, but for the village and people who lived in fear, but still refused to abide by the ancient laws. Proud and focused on ways to increase wealth, they forgot there’s more in the world than just gold and war. 

Powers mightier than any army. Beings greater and more dangerous than any king. 

When wolves ripped to shreds one of the lumberjacks, everyone thought it to be a tragic accident. When two other people disappeared in the woods, never returning, others came up with ideas of them running away. Then a mother was seen screaming as wolves dragged her body into the forest. The child that followed, crying after its mum, disappeared. A day later a small fawn started prancing around the garden by the empty now household.

Still, people refused to bow to the entity that could be behind all of this, or at least held the power to end this madness. Or so you hoped. 

Having packed a big wicker basket of offerings - jars of golden honey, cheese wrapped in paper, strings of colorful beads and pearls, folded silk, dried exotic fruit you got from the market - you carried it deep into the woods, to place them on the long forgotten altar where your ancestors paid their respects to the guardian of the forest and nature.

Leshy.

You expected to find the ancient, stone altar, with a deformed statue overgrown with moss. The plan was to lay your offerings there, spend some time bowing down and praying for mercy, then returning to the clueless village.

For a few beats it went like that. The birds still chirped, leaves rustled softly in the wind, your offerings laid motionless on the slab of stone.

Then, suddenly, ivy vines weaved up, covering the stone and your produce in a thick cocoon. The earth rumbled and melted, swallowing the altar whole. 

Startled, you took a shaky step back and lost your balance, falling onto your butt. A split of a second when your gaze looked up at the darkening sky and when you returned it forward, he was already standing in front of you.  

Whenever you thought of Leshy, no particular image came to mind. You always thought the creature to be an entity beyond human imagination. 

He was that, but also… not.

He reminded a human man, but only at first glance. 

Much taller, with shoulders broader than the blacksmith’s (whom you always thought to be the biggest man alive). His complexion was fair, but the veins in his arms were jewel green. His hair and beard seemed cast from various shades of gold, intertwined with russet bronze and chestnut reddish. Delicate, tiny vines crawled up his cheeks and along his forehead; like intricate tattoos. 

From the thick mane of his silky looking hair sprouted majestic antlers. Thick and sturdy, their dark color with filaments of gold shining through. His eyes, when you met them, were a striking shade of blue-green. Rare and iridescent, like ponds bathed in the light of dawn. 

“It’s been a while since a human has come to me.” 

The entity’s voice was deep and low, both dangerous and soft, like a purr of a bear or a jungle cat. 

“Are you Leshy?” You swallowed nervously.

“I’ve been called that, yes.” When he grinned, amused, the filigree vines on his body glowed luminescent. 

“And you are?” He asked, courtly. 

When you whispered your name, he leaned forward, bending slightly and outstretching his hand for you to take. As you slipped your shaky fingers into his palm, you felt the pulsing warmth seep through you. It reminded you of the sun-heated earth beneath bare feet. 

As he helped you stand up, your gaze drifted up his body. You noticed that while most of his skin looked like any human’s flesh, a stripe along his left calf and thigh seemed textured like bark. A combination of moss and vines formed a fitting coverage around his narrow hips; yet you still caught the sight of a green vein slithering down his chiseled abdomen. 

More gold-glowing, floral-like tattoos appeared ingrained into the skin along his ribs. Skin on top of his right shoulder looked to be made of bark, just like on his leg. 

As much as he looked unworldly, you also found him majestic. 

Beautiful, as nature itself.

“Those who know me, call me Steve.” He said, holding your hand in his and not letting you step away. “It's a shortened and funnily deformed version of Svyatobor.” 

Lost in his eerie blue eyes, it took you a longer moment to realize what his name meant. 

Breath hitched in your chest, your pupils widened as you stared up at him. All this time you believed Leshy is a creature brought to life and given a purpose by a god. That’s what all the legends suggested. It didn’t occur to you, it's a deity itself.

A god of the forest.

After a moment of complete stupor, shock gave way to a flash of fear. You bowed your head and started to fall onto your knees, to pay proper respect. However, his hand still holding yours pulled you up.

“None of that is necessary.” He assured you. 

Though when you tipped your head up to look at him, Leshy’s gaze slid down your body in a slow, assessing study. 

“At least not in that sense,” he murmured, licking his lips. 

His eyes flicked back to yours. The stark blue pulsing with more green specks than before; as if his body came to life the same way nature sprung back as the snow melted away. 

You felt a rush of heat through your veins at the suggestive implication of his words.

“What have you come here for, little fern?” 

“To beg for mercy for my village.” Once again, you lowered your gaze. “People have been disappearing and being hurt. Swallowed by the forest or its creatures. I plead for no more blood to be spilled.”

Steve’s face betrayed no sign of irritation. For a split of a second you thought you saw a flash of sunlit amusement in his irises, but no mockery followed. He studied you for a long moment, not saying a word.

When he moved, it was slow and nonthreatening. You still startled, though perhaps it was at the loss of contact as his hand gently released your fingers. 

He walked over to where the ground swallowed the altar with your offerings. It was only then that you realized a thick carpet of clovers had filled the space where the table had been. Delicate leaves tilted toward Steve’s legs, brushing against him with the softest of rustles, as if they were purring for him.

“You brought me honey, which you poured out of the goodness of your heart. But don’t you know that our wild bees’ honey is sweeter?” Steve asked, walking barefoot through the small field of clovers back toward you. 

He stepped even closer this time and you felt the unique warmth radiating from him. A little stifling, like the humidity of the forest soaked in rain that was evaporating in the high summer sun.

It was making you dizzy in a very pleasant way.

“You gave me expensive fabrics, but nothing feels as soft and luxurious as petals of early spring’s flowers.” He circled you, like an animal may circle its prey. “None of your colorful beads shine as bright as drops of dew in the moonlight.” 

“I-” What were you supposed to say? You didn’t have much and what you gave away was a big sacrifice in terms of your day to day survival. 

You also didn’t think Leshy would be pleased, if you brought seasoned meat. He was, after all, a protector of wild animals. That sort of disrespect may have killed you on the spot.

Suddenly, you felt his hand brush along your waist. A light, fleeting touch, but enough to send a jolt down your spine.

“Moreover, you try to barter a single basket for dozens of lives.” Steve stopped in front of you.

“I’m sorry.” You lowered your head in shame, feeling the burning tears gather beneath your eyelids.

He was right and you didn’t think of that when you were packing your basket. It made you feel helpless, that you had nothing else to offer. 

“Don’t be.” Steve tilted your chin up with the pads of his fingertips. His gaze was soft, glinting sincerity.

“You still did more than any other human has for decades. I’m just pointing out that a life can be compared in cost to another life, nothing else. No riches equal a heartbeat.” 

You understood the value, agreed with it completely. But it made the situation look unsolvable. The fate of your village was doomed to go through horrors, since there was no other way to barter for it. 

Then you registered the warmth of Steve’s fingers still holding your chin. His thumb angled to rub along your lower lip. You were in the hands of a powerful deity. Steve may have appeared nonthreatening, but he was still an ancient entity demanding a sacrifice. 

No riches equal a heartbeat. You had a heartbeat. A rapidly fluttering one, at the moment; bouncing against the bars of your ribcage in fear of being ripped from it.

“You mean-” You swallowed a bile rising in your throat. “My life for theirs?”

You wanted to help your village, to help people in general. That need to care and nurture have always been so deeply ingrained in you. But you wanted to live! You wanted to experience feelings and wonders, joys and losses. You weren’t ready to meet the end so soon, so unexpectedly. The two needs - to help and to survive - were clashing in violence. 

Steve’s hand moved from your chin to cup your cheek. Since he was the only comfort available at the moment, you leaned into his touch. A soothing shush spilled from his lips as he caught your panicked gaze and locked it with his. 

“I’m not thirsty for blood, little fern.” He assured you. “I long for company.”

Somehow, looking into his eyes and sinking into the warmth his closeness provided, you felt the fear subsiding. Slowly, still leaving instinctive distrust, but it eased away.

“You want a friend?” You blinked, a little confused. 

Of course you understood what he meant the moment he said it, but a voice of reason wouldn’t accept the fact this beautiful, powerful being wanted to bed you. Out of all the things a deity may demand, fucking an unimpressive mortal like you shouldn’t be on the list. 

Steve laughed at your question, genuinely amused.

Instantly, choirs of birds joined his mirth in a tinkling melody that carried through the forest. 

“No.” Steve shook his head; smile-caused crinkles appeared in the corners of his eyes and the filigree vines along his skin curled. 

“I’ve got friends. You would meet them, if you stayed.” It surprised you, teasing your curiosity about what other beings roamed these forests. 

Your thoughts didn’t stay focused on the matter for long. Not when Steve’s hand slid down the column of your neck, his other arm weaving around your waist and pulling you close to his body. 

Very close. Even through the fabrics of your skirts and corset you felt the hard planes of his muscles against the softness of your body. Your hands landed on his chest, at first in an attempt to brace yourself to perhaps fight him off, but any force to push away dissipated. Instead, your fingertips were tingling. 

Steve’s breath teased your skin as he leaned down, trailing his lips along your jaw. 

“I want intimacy. Passion. And devotion.” He murmured, gripping the back of your neck as his other hand dipped lower to squeeze the flesh of your bottom. 

Abruptly, your whole body tensed and you gasped when something coiled around your ankles. Thin and tickling, possibly an ivy vine. It curled along your legs, reaching upwards. Teasing your skin with a brush of leaves and forcing your legs slightly apart.

Steve’s lips grazed the shell of your ear.

“I wish to splay you on the moss and have it soak up your sweet juices as I play with your pretty cunt.” 

You jerked in his embrace, but your core ignited. Heat pooled low in your abdomen, spreading down in a quick wave and filling your folds.  

“I want to stretch you on my cock and have you call me your god not out of fear, but the pleasure I give you.” The vines that weaved around your legs didn’t reach far up your thighs, but if they had, your wetness would coat the delicate leaves. 

“I want to fill you, until you bloom flowers and berries.” 

Breathing became hard as the images filled your head; though you doubted it was a trick of his, more your own imagination eagerly supplying possibilities Steve words enticed. 

When Steve unexpectedly released you and took a step back, you shivered as if you were dropped into a cold cave. Deprived of light and warmth.

He appeared more inhuman as he stretched to his full height and loomed over you. 

“Are you willing to sacrifice?” 

His voice echoed with the power of a booming wind, rattling your bones and swishing up your skirts.

The trees surrounding you seemed to grow out their branches, weaving into thick, green walls closing up. Sunlight, just moments ago filtering through the tree crowns, had disappeared; but the dots of luminescent fireflies flickered on, filling the space with a deceptively warm glow.

Shaken from the daze Steve’s proximity and dirty words have caused, you faced the deal he was proposing with a clearer mind. 

You’d be bound to the forest as long as Steve wanted to keep you, having to abandon your human life and plans. But you would be alive. And so would the villagers, some of whom were your friends. 

You chanced one more look at the wall of branches and vines, briefly wondering if he’d let you go had you refused. Probably. But it was uncertain what awaited your village, or any other, if you backed out. 

Taking a deep breath, you turned back to Steve. You gripped the fabric of your skirt to cover the nervous shaking of your fingers. 

“Yes,” the word rolled out on your tongue like a faint whisper, but he heard it. 

His eyes shimmered with tempting joy, like the reflection of sunlight on the rippling sheet of a lake. In a blink of an eye he was right in front of you, his hands on your hips.   

“I’ll be good to you, my little fern.” Tip of his nose nudged along yours, warm breath softening your lips into compliance. 

When he kissed you, it felt as if berries burst on your tongue, filling your mouth with sweet flavor. 

Your hands traveled up his arms, clutching his shoulders. The one covered in bark provided a new, unique sensation. It grazed your fingertips, but also felt grounding. He didn’t have to pull you closer, your body turned pliant on its own volition. 

Steve swallowed your gasp, gripping your hips tighter, as thick vines of ivy rapidly wound around you. They covered you whole, like they had that stone altar before. It felt scary and suffocating, but as soon as the cocoon of greenery swallowed your forms fully it burst apart; leaves scattered around in a fountain. 

You broke the kiss, tipping your head away and looking around. You were no longer in the same spot. You were in no recognizable place, to be exact. 

If you could find a name for it, the heart of the forest would be it. 

Light green grass spread around in a thick carpet, with patterns of bluebells and lilies of the valley. Graceful, tall birches circled the place, their silvery leaves catching chunks of sun rays. By a spot where wild rose bushes weaved an intricate arch stood a big bed. Easily high at hip height, woven tightly of green moss and periwinkles.

Steve didn’t give you much time to admire. With a firm push of his hand he tilted your head back towards him. Kept cupping your cheek as he kissed you again, more urgently this time. Demanding. 

He released you to tug on your clothes, doing a swift job with layers of your skirts, but grumbling a bit when trying to untie your corset. 

“Won’t need that anymore here, little fern,” he purred as your breasts spilled out. 

Then he was picking you up, big hands gripping the back of your thighs and hoisting you easily. He sat on the bed, slowly easing you down until you were standing between his spread legs. 

It was only then that you realized the coverage around his hips was gone, leaving him exposed in all his glory. 

You couldn’t help peeking down. Your pussy clenched around nothing as you stared at the impressive size of him. Your mouth filled with the aftertaste of berries and your own saliva as his cock twitched upwards.

Steve’s hands roamed over your body, exploring your curves and lines with utmost fascination. He didn’t hesitate leaning forward to capture a stiff nipple into his mouth, sucking eagerly. His antlers gave you a scare as they brushed so close to your skin, but not once did his movement cause you pain. 

Feeling a little bolder, you slipped one of your hands between the roots of his antlers and into his hair. They felt soft and silky. Your other hand gripped the top of his shoulder; the one where bark printed into your palm in a sensation you were finding more and more pleasant. 

As Steve pulled back slightly, you slipped your fingers from his hair and across his face, mapping out contours and scratching through his beard. He gripped one of your legs under your knee and pulled it up, placing your foot on the bed and spreading you obscenely. His eyes darkened, something wolfish glinting in them as his gaze settled on your puffed, wet folds.

“Show me how you touch yourself,” he demanded in a raspy voice. 

The hand on your calf kept caressing and squeezing your flesh, while his other fisted his cock as your fingers dipped between your thighs. 

None of your lovers ever expressed desire to see you pleasure yourself, but Steve’s gaze was so heated you didn’t feel shy. Quite the opposite, somehow it felt so easy and natural; even more arousing as Steve licked his lips in unmasked hunger.

“Let me taste you. I bet you’re sweeter and richer than any honey.” 

You moaned, pushing two fingers inside and pumping them in and out a few times. When you brought your glistening digits to his lips, Steve licked them in a broad stroke of his tongue then took them into his mouth. His greedy sucking had your clit pulsing wildly.

“Delicious,” he hummed in delight, “and so ready for me, aren’t you?” 

Swiftly, he grabbed your hips and pulled you over his lap. Your gasp at the sudden movement and the feeling of his cock against your inner thigh combined with Steve’s loud groan of pleasure, when you gripped his antlers to steady yourself.

“That’s it. Keep touching them.” He urged you on as he slid you down his shaft. “It’s as if you were gripping my cock.”

“Nghh!” You keened, tightening your desperate hold on the antlers as your walls stretched around Steve’s girth. 

“Too big!” You whined, yet your hips followed the command of Steve’s hands as he guided you down. 

“Shh, my little fern. Take it. I know you can.” He was mercilessly forcing you down, moaning as your tight, hot walls enveloped him. “All your sweet holes will learn to take all of me.”

By the time he was buried to the root, you were shaking in pleasure. Your cheek was pressed to Steve’s, your breath coming out in jagged, hot puffs. Where your breasts were squished into the hard planes of Steve’s chest, it felt as if the filigree vines pulsing beneath his skin moved to tease your nipples. Steve’s hands were splayed on your hips, holding you in place as he savored the feel of your pussy around him. 

After a moment, he began rocking up into you and a few heartbeats later started bouncing you up and down his length. Soon your whimpers stretched into moans. Despite feeling boneless in his powerful hold, you also felt a surge of need to take from him as much as he was taking from your pliant body. 

You held Steve’s gaze as you straightened your back and started riding him; your fingers squeezing his antlers. 

When your climax hit, it was intense and unworldly. 

The first burst of it felt like falling into a cool mountain streak, only for the next tremors to fill you with heat and glow. Your head spinned and your moans and cries intertwined with small gasps of laughter. It was everything at once! Running with the wolves, picking fresh raspberries, twirling around in summer rain. 

And when Steve followed soon after, cumming with a loud roar, each spurt of his seed seemed to immerse you in hot springs. 

It was a rush of sensations; overwhelming, but addictive. 

When you met Steve’s gaze - both of you breathing heavily and still rocking into the continuous rhythm of aftershocks - you had no idea your irises bore first specks of inhuman green. All you knew was that you wanted more.

And so you demanded it.

Steve’s grin at your responsiveness was near predatory. He pinned you beneath him on the soft mossy pillows, placed your ankles over his shoulders and plunged into you in a hard thrust that had your scream echoing through the woods. 

Soon you’d be bound to him and the forest with every cell of your changing body. 

[wave2tyun]

meddle about | ☆

pairing: idol!yeonjun x idol!reader

genre: idol!au, best friends to lovers, some fluff but also a bit suggestive (?) towards the end

prompts: – “you’re blushing”

– “i can feel how fast your heart is beating right now”

warnings: none!

word count: 1.8k

a/n: the inspiration for this came from a wonho photoshoot behind the scenes clip that i randomly saw on ig reels........😟 i hope there aren't any mistakes left in this because i've been lazy and going only by trust when i repost fics asdbhja

☆ = repost from my old blog!!

you and yeonjun didn’t exactly meet…under the greatest circumstances.

as txt’s fame was continuously on the rise, there was no way you had never heard of yeonjun, or the name tomorrow x together. however, it was only when you had your comeback stage at inkigayo that you finally got to see yeonjun in real life, and not just on a screen.

you expected things to go smoothly. yeonjun was going to just take your interview, and then you were going to simply perform with your group on stage, as usual.  

realistically speaking, that was supposed to be it- nothing more than a polite, professional interaction, he was the mc after all. you didn’t even think you’d cross paths with him throughout the day again. but the lunch break had something -quite staggering- in store for you:

the inkigayo sandwich. those words still make you shudder.

as an idol, you had to have one, at least once. it was the talk of town after all, even though the combination of egg, crab and strawberry jam- all squished together between 3 pieces of white bread- didn’t exactly sound appealing to you.

you gulped as you looked at the piece of food in your hands; the smell wasn’t that appetizing either, and you wondered how it was possible for them to have such high sales for a shitty product.

you didn’t want to do it, but the thought of wasting your money without at least having a bite was haunting you. you closed your eyes, anticipating the worst outcome imaginable as the sandwich came closer and closer towards your mouth.

“hey- at least remove that paper before you start eating” one of your members said, making you frown. paper? what paper? the ingredients of the sandwich were already weird enough, what did they add that paper for?

confused, you opened your eyes again, a small note had been carefully placed somewhere between the plastic wrapper and the bread. grossed out, you removed it, moving towards the trash can to throw it away, only to get a glance of a phone number written on the back of it, making you stop in your tracks.

‘call me ;) - choi yeonjun’

now, you see- you only knew that the inkigayo sandwich was famous, you didn’t know why it was famous. 

you angrily searched for choi yeonjun around the cafeteria, shoving the sandwich towards his chest once you found him “what the fuck is this?” you hissed appaled by his actions. not sparing him a single moment to respond, you instantly got into a rant about how you were ‘put in danger’ by him for placing something (almost) inedible in your lunch.

he stared at you with big eyes and raised eyebrows, panicking that you’d blow this out of proportion even more if he excused himself before you were done blowing off some steam. he knew very well not to argue with a sleep deprived person who was also hungry.

“that actually wasn’t meant for you…” he muttered in the end, biting his cheek.

“oh.”

on the way back to the dorms, you swore you’d never step foot back into inkigayo ever again, or at least not until yeonjun stepped down from his position as an mc.

despite the seemingly traumatic event, you still kept the piece of paper containing his number, jam stain and all. you fiddled it around your fingers as you rolled around in bed, unable to fall asleep. it was way past midnight, and the remorse you felt for not having apologised to yeonjun was keeping you wide awake. you had been too embarrassed to utter any more words after hearing his reply and used the first opportunity -which was a member calling out for you- to leave the room. 

the guilt was eating you up, and, in the end, you decided it was best to at least say sorry to him through text. and so you did- not exactly expecting much besides getting blocked by him. 

turns out yeonjun found the situation more amusing rather than infuriating. he accepted your apology with ease, and you promised that you’d buy him lunch the next time you visit inkigayo, as emotional compensation.

yeonjun, however, lied to you that day. the phone number in the sandwich was, in fact, meant for you. he heard from his seniors that ‘back in the day’, this was a particularly popular method to start dating between idols. when it was announced that you’d perform on the day he was mc-ing, he found his chance, took it, then pretty much failed miserably. his attempt at getting to know you better was somewhat saved by your apology text. after the whole ordeal, he decided that it was better to take it step by step and develop his friendship with you before dipping his toes into the dating scheme once again.

bit by bit- yeonjun began to reveal his flirty nature. first, he started bringing food and drinks to your company whenever you told him you had to stay up late, practicing overnight. then, he made sure to always compliment how you looked in music videos or album teasers, sometimes even sending coffee trucks to the filming sites to support you. finally, he started bringing you flowers whenever you were done with comeback stages. the change in his attitude was making you question the status of your relationship. still, knowing how risky this all was, you decided it was foolish to jump to any conclusions- although a part of your heart did cling tightly onto the hope that he did this because he saw you as something more than a friend.

it was no surprise to the public eye that the two of you were close friends in the industry. so, when elle korea wanted a photoshoot between a pair with good chemistry, yeonjun ran to his managers, begging to convince some of the higher-ups to recommend the two of you. not a single soul in the company was able to resist him, so he successfully scored the spot. however, you were only informed that you received an offer for the photoshoot, not that yeonjun had been involved in this whole ordeal.

the concept was not quite what you were expecting.

when you heard the words “a pair with good chemistry” you were expecting a fun, bubbly photoshoot, something colorful maybe- not a sensual, romantic theme. you choked on your spit when they showed you the outfit you were supposed to wear, then choked again when you saw yeonjun’s outfit: black pants and a blue satin button-up shirt that had more than 3 buttons left open, exposing the skin of his chest. 

and -as if the revealing clothes weren’t enough- there was one more detail left that would supposedly “tie this all together”: a kiss mark. on yeonjun’s neck. 

the staff handed you a tube of red lipstick, shoving you and yeonjun in a private dressing room before you could even process the situation.

you stole a look at yeonjun, who pursed his lips, trying to contain his laugh as he made eye contact with you.

“did you know about this?” you asked him with a serious face, pointing the lipstick towards him. why were you the only one baffled here?

yeonjun couldn’t help but let out tiny squeaks as he struggled calm down, your shocked, accusatory expression all too entertaining for him “no” he snickered “why? are you nervous? think you can’t do it?” he crossed his arms.

the attitude with which he said that only earned him a scoff from you “of course i can do it” you said as you walked towards the mirror. once you were in front of it though, you were suddenly way more aware of how sweaty your palms were getting, hands trembling a bit as you put the lipstick on.

yeonjun was never one to shy away from physical touch. you were used to receiving hugs from him, sometimes even having him hold onto your hand or arm, swinging them playfully whenever you walked together. but this? this felt…different. 

intimate. 

it was like a possible breach within your friendship. and while you weren’t exactly nervous about the situation itself, you were definitely afraid about what was going to happen between the two of you after.

yeonjun was already behind you once you finished putting on the makeup and turned around. the playful smirk he’s had ever since you both entered the room never left his face. he lightly quirked up an eyebrow, provoking you to make the move- curious to see if your earlier statement was the truth or whether they were just empty words. unsure what to do with your hands, your fingers didn’t let go of the lipstick tube, playing with it in a restless manner as you inched closer towards yeonjun’s neck. the citrus fragrance of his perfume still lingered on the skin, and you closed your eyes as you left a quick kiss there, the touch too light to leave a mark visible enough. 

“you’re blushing” yeonjun chuckled, tilting his head as he looked in the mirror behind you, clicking his tongue “that’s not right…” he muttered. his gaze was fixated on your face for a few seconds, admiring the pink dusting your cheeks. then, they trailed off to your hands, snatching the item to cover his own lips in that same crimson color. “this is how you do it” he whispered, dipping his head down, arms sneaking around your waist simultaneously. warm breath on your neck, chest flushed against yours, yeonjun could feel your racing pulse underneath his lips as he pressed a long kiss on the hot skin. the chilling sensation running down your spine had your hands unconsciously reaching out for his forearms, holding onto them to keep yourself steady and not slip away from his grasp. 

“i can feel how fast your heart is beating right now” he breathed out, fingers tracing lines along the small of your back. seeing that you weren’t pushing him away, his face didn’t leave its close spot to your body. instead- his lips travelled along the skin, pressing featherly kisses along the way- nibbling, lightly biting, the red marks blooming being hidden away by the lipstick covering them.

the mirrors, the vanity lights, even the photoshoot itself, they were all turning into a hazy memory as you were becoming more and more enthralled by him. completely absorbed by his touch on your body, you felt like you wouldn’t be able to breathe properly again until he carried on with the next step. “jun-” the sound of the nickname was enough to send an electrifying jolt throughout his heart. his own breathing was irregular as he stopped, distancing himself a bit from your neck to lift his head up, plush lips and smudged lipstick coming into sight. 

“we’re not leaving this room until you kiss me on the lips”

taglist: @huekalover3000

[lokideservesahug]

An Unexpected Crossover

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Pairing:Carlos Alcaraz x F1 pilot!Reader

Notes: I've had this in my mind since Wimbledon but only ever ½ created this. Shout out to @yungbludz for fully bringing me into my Alcaraz era and for indirectly encouraging me to post this (il your work) + (an anon comes out of hiding ig). I have ideas for other parts but Idk if I should continue so feedback is very welcome. This characterisation is probably awful but I've never written for Carlos before. I'm very open to advice though.

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N, the only rookie in Formula 1's 2024 season. But many people get excited at her attending Wimbledon especially after some old interviews resurface...

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☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

You weren't ashamed of your boyfriend, of course not. But mornings like these made the constant speculation, talks and borderline harassment about your relationship worth it.

Moments where you woke up earlier and could watch the first breaking of the morning sun fall out between the gaps in your curtains and onto Carlos' face. You watch as the yellow light frames your boyfriend's face, making him look even more pretty than usual.

In this moment, he looked like the perfect image of sleep. And goodness did he deserve it, especially after his performance, that could only be described as truly outstanding yesterday.

You'd heard what people said about yesterday. Djokovic gave one of his greatest performances ever and Carlos still managed to beat him. Even the thought strikes a chord of pride within you and brings a grin to your face.

A sudden groan however wakes you from your thoughts. "Querida?" You hum in response, looking back down to your boyfriend. He lifts his head up slowly and gives you a familiar look (one that you've learnt that at times like these, means he's questioning why you aren't still glued to his side). You hold in the urge to laugh slightly his pouty face and half asleep fueled strop but that only makes his pout get somehow bigger. "Big baby." You lie down next to Carlos, resting your head on his shoulder and weaving your hand under his shirt. Carlos let's out a slight shiver at the lack of warmth in your hands but also simultaneously hums in content. "Eso está mejor" (That's better)

You roll your eyes. "Then shush you big baby." Already anticipating his next move, you whip out your other arm to cage Carlos' hand to the bed. "Don't even think about pretending to be offended. Just go back to sleep." And that order he happily complies with; well after wriggling his arm from out of your grip only to lay it on your back and rub mindless shapes as he mutters "mujer mandona" (Bossy woman). And before you have the time to respond, (probably about the fact that Carlos gets riled up at stuff like that) you feel the familiar shallow breathing of your boyfriend fan across your hair.

You had to do things at some point today. But you suppose you could sleep in, especially for the Wimbledon Champion.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Jane had given you some elaborate story for if anyone truly cared enough to ask about your relationship, well at least for your standards. You're pretty sure it went something along the lines of:

1. You and your boyfriend met at the start of last year and began dating soon after (but kept it on the downlow due to your job). However, you were so enamoured with him that despite your PR training, you let the fact that you weren't single slip once or twice.

2. He broke up with you a few months ago, leaving you heartbroken but still being mature and understanding.

3. (Possibly the truest element of the whole story) Carlos kissed you when he won Wimbledon for the second time, which he did.

4. Your ex boyfriend saw, came to a realisation, called you up... you know the rest.

It was very PR polished and you knew it, Jane knew it, but it was what you needed. Some story just yo cover your tracks and make people focus on your racing, not your love live. But it almost made you laugh at what lengths people had to go to. When infact the real story was only:

1. You and Carlos started dating at the start of last year...

That's it. No break up, no heartfelt reunion after you kissed another man. However, you and your boyfriend had a good laugh over the whole story and even led to an interesting conversation a few days ago.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

You'd just come home after racing in the simulator all afternoon. You look down at your phone and sigh at the sight of Jane wishing you a nice day, finally ending the conversation. You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you unlock the front door and step inside. You take your shoes off and walk to the living room to try and find Carlos.

And exactly as expected, he's sat on the sofa, scrolling on his phone. He looks up as you enter the room. "Buenas tardes cariño. ¿Cómo estuvo?" (Good afternoon darling, how was it). You sigh and drop back onto the sofa, leaving back on Carlos as he adjusts to put an arm around you. "Meh. Same as usual. Jane finally came up with a cover story..." Carlos hums in intrigue next to you as you explain the ins and outs of what might as well be a well constructed pyramid scheme at this point.

By the time you've finished, you feel well and truly worn out but you seek comfort in the feeling of Carlos absentmindedly rubbing shapes onto your shoulder. "I don't see what the big deal is. I mean I told Juanki ages ago." You feel your whole body tense up as you turn to Carlos... "You did what?" You're only met with Carlos' sheepish, confused face. And oh gosh, you feel like you need to lie down.

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Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

As always, likes, reblogs and especially feedback is always welcome!

Idk who to tag so I'll tag my usual people but please let me know ow if you don't want yo be tagged in work like this:

Taglist: @nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @cherry-piee @thatgirlmj

[aayakashii]

routine

Pairing: Kagami Subaru x MC/reader

Tags: SFW. Character analysis, a bit of angst, hurt x comfort (I think), fluff and romance between you and Subaru, over 6k words

Author's note: this is probably the biggest fic I've written lol and I'm kinda proud of how it came out, since it also took me some days to fully flesh it out. I'd appreciate comments if you liked the fic! Comments literally keep every writers alive. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Kabuki Glossary:

Biwa: Japanese short-necked wooden flute traditionally used in narrative storytelling

Geza: the music that plays during kabuki, performed live

Hanamichi: flower path; a long, raised platform, running left or center to the stage through the audience, connecting to the main stage, used to make dramatic entrances and exits

Mie pose: a powerful and emotional pose struck by an actor

Onnagata: actor who acts the role of a young woman 

Sewamono:  a genre of contemporary setting plays in Japanese traditional theatre

Shamisen: three-stringed traditional Japanese musical instrument

Tachiyaku: young adult male roles, the actors who play those roles; most commonly these are hero roles, though not all of them

Takemoto: a specific type of song, it is also the narration device used during a kabuki play. It consists of a chanter/narrator (tayu) and the shamisen players

Subaru had become used to it.

You would come to visit him right after your classes, if you weren’t assigned a mission, and Subaru would welcome you with tea and some obscure sweet he managed to get, just to let you try it. You two would talk, and you would share stories about your friends in the Academy, how your life was before you became cursed, and he would tell his own stories, even if he thought they weren’t nearly as interesting as yours.

It gave him a sense of belonging.

Subaru hadn't had much experience with friendships or any interpersonal relationship at all.

His life was merely the background for his career as an actor. His bare skin was merely the foundational bricks for the red and white makeup that would adorn him once he was out on the stage.

When he was under the spotlight, his monotone voice resounded loudly – louder than the drums, louder than the shamisen, louder than the biwa. Subaru became gigantic under his costume. His movements were sharp and hypnotic, the flow of his kimono as he walked down the hanamichi and the pierce of his gaze turned all heads towards him. He was a genius, a talent like no other, the future of the kabuki theater.

And he did not see himself in any of it.

Here lies the true tragedy of a burned out genius child: to go under insurmountable levels of pressure, only to find that the dreams of your parents were never your own.

Subaru did not want to be under the spotlight, no matter how much the spotlight wanted him and no matter how much others wanted him to be under it.

As he was forced to keep walking the flower path, his chances of living life as a normal kid were gone: he had no friends, no acquaintances, nothing that helped him find out who he was for himself.

So, he had no experience.

But he knew that he could pick out the feeling of belonging somewhere after spending time with you.

Eagerly, he waited for the clock to reach 5PM everyday, knowing that you would come through his door to spend time with him.

Routine was always something he appreciated, anxious as he was. He didn't like surprises, he wanted things to be predictable, to give him even the slightest sense of control over his new life as a student.

Therefore, to know that you would come to visit everyday, at the exact same time, was his comfort – even if the thought of you made his heart skip a beat, although he didn't quite understand why.

Not even standing behind the greatest stages made his heart drum loudly after a while. As the green, red and brown curtains of the stage were pulled, his body went on automatic. The takemoto went through his ears, unnoticed, and the geza became white noise. He moved gracefully, although his mind flew into other planes. As the audience clapped enthusiastically as he stood in his mie pose, Subaru wished he was somewhere else. He felt extremely guilty for not being able to appreciate the hard work of the musicians and the actors, but after he figured out that the passion he thought he had was merely a reflection of his parents’ passion, everything became black, white and gray.

Yet, planning fancy snacks for you made his hands clammy and his heart restless – and it wasn't the most comfortable feeling, however, he didn't hate it. He knew you'd come through with the routine and wash his anxieties away.

However, much to his dismay, his comfort had been ripped off of him for the past three days. His precious routine had been broken and Subaru would be lying if he said he wasn't counting the hours, the minutes and the seconds until it was restored, somehow.

He just had no idea how to fix it.

You had been fiercely avoiding him for three days, ever since the last meeting was cut short, and he blamed himself for hurting you in the worst way he could have ever done it.

Subaru has always had awful self-esteem.

No matter the compliments about his genius, none of them stuck to him. When you despise what you do, being good at it just brings forth more bitterness towards oneself.

Subaru was a rarity in the kabuki world – someone who could represent a captivating tachiyaku or the most elegant onnagata. He could be the hero or the princess, something that most actors could not do. To don the costumes of two genders was the cause of endless praise and awe from the audience and members of his acting house alike – none of which he accepted.

To him, his talent came as second nature. There was no need to hone his skills – they were already there, much like an additional organ he was born with – and he loathed that fact. He loathed how this pushed him towards a world in which he didn't want to participate. 

He truly valued the hard work he was now putting into his studies, something he was creating with his own hands. He could see his own growth and pat himself on the back for it – even if he still had a hard time accepting compliments (he knew the only reason he was the captain of Hotarubi was due to his status, after all. He was just a figurehead).

Subaru’s stigma was an even bigger burden towards his path of bettering himself. 

If he hated being an actor, he hated himself even more for his powers. Much like his talent, he did not ask to be bestowed with such a repugnant stigma. It was the reason why his parents would never touch him, never hold him. He was a walking breach of privacy, a dangerous little thing that could easily become a weapon, if the truth of his stigma was found out. He was untouchable in every way, figuratively and literally.

He truly couldn't understand how Lyca, Zenji, Haku and you were so quick to accept his ugliness. 

“You aren’t disgusting, something like this could never be your fault”, you had said, when he wallowed in self-pity after revealing his secret. But to step out of his cycle of self-hatred was a tough task.

Your visits helped, however. For the first time in his young life, someone saw him as himself and stayed. 

Haku and Zenji were his true friends, but they still saw him through the lens of that one genius kabuki actor. And Lyca… he was alone and desperate.

You, however, had the ghouls of Darkwick Academy wrapped in your little finger and, still, you chose him. Despite his social awkwardness, his anxieties, his anger, his stigma. You chose him whenever it was time to get lunch, when you could be resting, when you could have anyone else. The thought of it made his heart skip a beat again. He was sensing a slight pattern.

Yet, it had been three days, and you were gone. No messages, no visits, no news.

He understood your avoidance despite it all. He had committed the worst sin he could have done to his dearest friend.

He had touched you.

You had come to Hotarubi at your usual time, 5PM, sharp. Your hair was disheveled and a few droplets of water stained the tatami of the tea room as they fell from your face and hands, while you hurriedly took off your shoes.

“I’m so sorry for making a mess, Subaru! I had to run here to arrive on time and ended up forgetting my umbrella… I had to walk under every cover I could find, but I still ended up being sprayed by the rain.” you said, as you stood at the entrance, shaking your body as if you were trying to get rid of the excess water.

Subaru shot up from his spot, his face contorted in worry.

“Oh no, please don’t do that!” he said, as he ran to quickly rummage through the drawers of the room for towels “You always have to use an umbrella when you come to Hotarubi, what if you get a cold?”

You grabbed the towel he gave you, smiling awkwardly.

“I know, I know. I just didn’t want to arrive late. I didn’t want you to get anxious.”

Subaru blinked, face blank, as he was caught off guard by your answer.

“You… you don’t need to worry about me. I’m not that anxious.” 

You laughed, and he felt his breath hitch on his throat.

“Suuure, and I don’t breathe oxygen…” you said jokingly, hanging the towel on a nearby hanger after you finished patting your face and arms dry, giggling as you noticed the way he was pouting slightly. “I’m just playing with you! I’m sorry.”

“No no, I’m sorry about worrying you to the point of you having to hurry…”

You rolled your eyes and raised your hands to put them on his shoulder, quickly stopping yourself before you could actually touch him, resting them on your hips instead.

“Subaru. You don’t have to apologize for something like that. I am doing this because I care about your well-being. You're my friend and I want you to be okay. It’s not something to feel apologetic for. Instead, you can just thank me for being a great friend.” you winked and he immediately looked away from your face, that was too bright for him to stare at.

“O… okay… Thank you.” Subaru murmured, forcing himself to look at you again, from under his lashes, a small smile adorning his features.

“You’re very welcome.” you nodded “Now let’s drink some tea please, I do need something hot to warm myself!”

“That’s true, let’s get you warm so you won’t get a cold, please.”

Soon, time slowed down as you two sat and chatted about everything and nothing at all. You talked about how weird Darkwick's shopkeeper is, how awfully crowded the dining hall is (Subaru avoided it like the plague), how scary Professor Hyde can be sometimes, how loud Kaito and Luca are, how cute are the little cats running around all day…

How funny it is that you two always met for lunch in a place where only romantic couples hung out, you mentioned in passing, almost mumbling to yourself like you didn’t want to be heard.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” Subaru asked, already looking apologetic, hearing you despite your low voice.

“No, no” you were quick to dismiss his concern “It’s, um, I don’t know... Doesn’t it make you a little nervous?” you said, laughing sheepishly, a foreign blush warming the tips of your ears, which went unnoticed by him.

“You get nervous when we’re there? We can eat somewhere else, you don't have to stay in a place you dislike just to appease me…” Subaru muttered, frowning “I’m so sorry I didn’t notice that it was making you uncomfortable…”

“No, no, no” you shook your head vigorously “That’s not what I meant at all! I… I don’t think I can explain it to you just yet. I don’t think I’m… ready, or… whatever, I don’t know…” you trailed off, incoherently.

“Ready? I’m sorry, I don't understand.”

“It’s okay” you flashed him a smile and grabbed one of the kimono catalogs that were littering his table, fidgeting with it, mindlessly “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just keep eating there, okay? Promise we’ll keep eating there?”

“But I want to understand what you mean- oh!” Subaru cut himself off as he saw a thick sheet of paper cut your thumb while you flipped it anxiously “Your thumb…”

You looked at the small cut that was letting out a single droplet of blood and shrugged.

“Oh, I didn’t even notice… it’s okay, I’ll put a bandaid over it later. Wait, Subaru? Wait… wait, no!”

The boy didn’t quite register his own movements, as his hand went to grab your bleeding one, gently grasping your pulse with his soft fingers, running his own thumb over your cut, as if his touch could heal you faster. 

His hands were bare.

You inhaled sharply and, instantly, it all flashed into his mind in quick succession. Like a large wave overwhelming an inexperienced swimmer, he was pushed down into the deep waters of those memories, causing him to gasp, breathless.

Subaru was swarmed by visions of himself in every possible situation. He saw how your gaze followed him when you spotted him from a distance in the campus; how you searched for him in the crowd of students during lunch time, on the tranquil balcony in which you two have shared your food together plenty of times before; and how you turned your head around whenever you heard someone mention his name in passing.

He had glimpses of the way his hands moved while making tea; his profile as he smiled gently when he tried explaining your homework to you; and his own eyes softening as he talked about Lyca. In your eyes, he looked magical. Ethereal, even. Someone who deserved to be admired, loved, praised and he knew these were your own emotions being whispered so subtly to him.

Subaru saw himself in a way the mirror had never reflected back to him. He discovered parts of his being that he wasn't able to find out for himself, because they would only come to the surface when he was with you.

In his mind's eye, right then, Subaru laughed, loud and breathless, as he clutched his stomach – all the restraint he built through his lifetime, gone through the window, after you had merely told him some silly joke. The way he brightened with your words, making your heart beat in a terrifying, yet delightful way, made your breath catch on your throat.

And much like a dying man seeing his whole life flash through his eyes, he arrived back to the present and saw himself, staring wide-eyed at his own hand tightly gripping yours.

He blinked, and his consciousness came back to him.

Subaru, like usual, felt incredibly weak after using his stigma, yet he still quickly turned his gaze towards you, eyes wide and mouth opening and closing like a fish, unable to say a word.

Your face was beet red and your eyes were blankly staring at your own lap, lips pursed into a thin line and eyebrows furrowed. Your free hand was clenched into a fist, knuckles pale with the force in which you dug your own nails into your palm.

“I…” Subaru murmured, trying his best to weave a coherent thought.

You got up quickly, breaking the hold Subaru had onto your arm, and grabbed your things in a hurry.

“I think- I think I should go.” your voice cracked and you cleared your throat harshly “Thank you so much for the snacks and tea, they were delicious like always” you blurted out, quickly making your way to his door.

“Wait, no, I- I'm sorry, I-” Subaru held his hand out, as if he tried to reach you but you were too far away, oceans of distance between you two.

“There's nothing to apologize for!” You said, way too cheerfully for him to believe you “I just gotta go now. I have… I gotta go. Yeah. See you soon, Subaru.” you stepped out into the rain and soon disappeared into the mist that surrounded Hotarubi, not waiting for whatever he tried to say.

Subaru stared at his own hands. The little droplet of your blood stained his fingertip, and he took a deep, shaky breath.

He had betrayed you. He had seen your innermost memories without your consent and now you were mad at him. He had to apologize. He had to beg for your forgiveness, until you took pity on him and allowed him to be your friend once again. 

Falling into a deeper pit of self-hatred was hard, but he tried to keep it together, for you. He needed to be lucid in order to beg for your pardon once you came back to visit him. He just hoped it would be soon.

But you did not see him soon at all.

“I don't think they're mad at you for seeing their memories, it’s not really like them. But maybe they're embarrassed?” Haku pondered, taking a bite of the mochi Subaru had set out for you out of pure habit.

“No” he shook his head, adamant “They wouldn't simply disappear if it was just that. I don’t believe that. I have done something that made them angry at me. I saw something I definitely shouldn't have seen.”

It was the fifth day of you avoiding Subaru and he was hanging on by the thinnest thread. He was so close to snapping that it was becoming clear to the other Hotarubi students. And so, Haku and Zenji came to intervene.

“Well... I can't really give you my proper opinion if I don't know what you saw.” Haku said bluntly, making Subaru flinch.

“I can't tell you. I would be breaching their trust again. That’s the last thing I need to do right now.”

“You are absolutely correct, my dear friend!” Zenji remarked “However, we can’t possibly figure out the true essence of your situation if you can't tell us the whole entire story! How can we write an ending without knowing the beginning and the middle of the plot?”

“I don’t know…” Subaru murmured, looking more miserable with each second.

Haku sighed loudly, shifting his legs on the seat.

“Subaru. We don't want to gossip. We just want to know the situation better. We are their friends as well, you know?” he smirked “We can help you figure out their emotions. If anything, you might feel better after venting. How’s that phrase? A burden shared…”

“Is a burden halved!” Zenji finished, boisterously.

A pang resounded in Subaru's heart at how his friends were doing their best to help him.

“O…okay. I'll tell you”

After finishing recounting the last day he saw you, Subaru sighed loudly.

“Well?”

After a moment of silence, Zenji exclaimed loudly, startling the other two.

“Oh!! The spring begins!!” he yelled, one hand on his chest as the other went up in the air “How lovely it is to see young buds bloom into perfect flowers!!”

Haku slowly nodded at Zenji’s words and chuckled, rubbing his own face in disbelief while he noticed how absolutely perplexed and confused Subaru still was.

“I see now…”

“What?” the brown-haired boy fidgeted, almost desperate to grab Haku and Zenji and shake them by their shoulders “What's going on?”

The other boys looked at each other, before turning back to him. 

“Subaru, I don’t want to beat around the bush so I’m just gonna say it straight away. They're like… very much in love with you.”

He blinked slowly, as if the words were entering his brain at a snail’s pace.

“What?” was all he managed to utter.

“Yes, my friend! Our lovely flower seems to be completely smitten by you!”

“No” Subaru shook his head “That can't be. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Man, if there’s one thing that makes sense in the world, is what we’re telling you right now” Haku said, while laughing “Specially after everything you said you saw. You just… saw their feelings when they weren't ready to tell you yet, so I bet it feels embarrassing. It's probably eating them alive right now. That’s why they’re not visiting.”

Subaru stared at his own lap, his mind not properly processing the depth of the situation – the word “Love” bouncing in his brain like a lost temari.

“Then…” he whispered, throat hoarse “What should I do now?”

“What do you feel for our little flower, my friend? Do you correspond to their feelings? Do you love them back?” Zenji worded gently, as if he was talking to a scared wild animal.

“Do I love them back…” 

Haku nudged Zenji, motioning for both of them to get up and leave Subaru for the moment.

“Figure that out first. If you do, go after them and tell them you correspond to their feelings. If not, just let them deal with it on their own. Also, if you don’t like them back, don’t ask for them to come visit you again like nothing ever happened. You’d just be rubbing salt on their wounds.”

“How do I figure that out though?” Subaru looked up at the two men as they leisurely walked outside of his room, eyes already brimming with tears.

“You're a smart guy. You'll figure that out by yourself.” Haku winked at him and both him and Zenji slipped away, leaving Subaru at a loss.

Subaru did his due diligence the only way he knew how: by studying. He started reading romance mangas and watching romance movies. It was the type of media his family would never approve of, as they deemed it unworthy of someone refined like him.

Still, despite him thinking that that “forbidden knowledge” would give him all the answers, it still led him nowhere.

He wasn’t like any male lead from these works. He could never run after someone in an airport and yell their name, begging them to stay and forgo all of their life plans. Subaru wasn’t like that. He couldn't run, couldn't yell and could never see himself as more important than anything.

His self-esteem wasn’t nearly as good as what was necessary for him to feel even the slightest kinship towards the strong, bold male leads, who always had something impressive to show – something that made them who they are, even if they had failures in their personalities.

Subaru could say he had his career as a Kabuki actor as something impressive, but again, it wasn’t him. Kabuki was a part of him, yes, but he wanted to shed it like a cocoon.

Despite that, he thought, then, of all the romantic plays he had performed.

He remembered the pain of most love stories, the tragic end of most sewamono plays he performed and he felt the thorns of grief strangle his chest, tightly.

He remembered the star crossed lovers who could never be together, the man who was promised to someone else and couldn’t be with his beloved, and the woman who had her life binded to a place that would never let her be with the one she desired the most.

All of them, lovers who could never be together, so they chose to erase their own light, because being without one another was more painful than dying together.

Subaru thought about not having you in his life for a moment and he figured: maybe not having you was its own type of death. A life without his most beloved friend felt like an empty one. A loveless one.

He paused.

Love. He thought of this word so candidly, it came to his mind without conscious thought – like it was second nature, like it was the obvious conclusion. And so, he decided to allow his thoughts to flow naturally, without pressure or expectations for once.

He thought of the way he searched for your gaze whenever you two were in public, seeking your comfort and approval. 

His heart skipped a beat whenever he glanced at you and you found his eyes, smiling silently at him, as if you two had a secret inside joke. 

His chest swelled with pride whenever you agreed with him (it didn’t matter the subject) and he almost felt like he could burst with it whenever you thanked him for his help studying, or when you praised him, or when you giggled at something he said.

Subaru cared for your tastes and opinions, always asking for your favorite foods, flowers, scents and colors. He made sure to smother you in your favorite things, in order to keep you more comfortable – in order to keep you with him just a little longer everyday.

His thoughts wandered over to you at any given moment and he didn't even notice. He'd question himself whether you'd like something, which sweets he could order for you, which teas he could brew.

Without noticing, he based his life around you and it felt absolutely right when he did that. It felt like belonging somewhere.

Subaru inhaled sharply.

The place in which he belongs is wherever you are, he figured.

Subaru hastily got up and bolted out of his room, out of Hotarubi and into Darkwick's campus, where the rain was pouring heavily, accumulating around the lamp posts and pitter-pattering loudly on the asphalt. His clothes were drenched in mere seconds.

He had forgotten his umbrella.

Subaru banged as loud as he could on the door of the rundown cathedral, trying to blink away the raindrops that stuck to his eyelashes and blurred his vision. He could barely see through the heavy rain anyway, so he missed the lights on the windows flickering on and your shadow hurriedly descending the stairs to walk towards the tall doors.

“Subaru?!” you yelled through the sounds of the storm, his hands still raised in fists, ready to keep on banging at the door. “Oh my goodness, Subaru, you’re drenched!”

You pulled him by his uniform’s sleeve, doing your best to avoid touching him without his consent. ‘Always so thoughtful’ he thought to himself, feeling a little floaty after finally seeing you after a whole week.

With his realization, the dam that was keeping his feelings for you safely contained inside a hidden part of himself was no more.

Subaru acknowledged that he was madly in love with you and he immediately began feeling foolish. His fingers itched to touch you despite his fears and he could look at you for hours on end, drinking every detail and every mannerism.

It was like admitting his love was also letting go of his self control. He felt like something inside him nudged him to be as close to you as possible and it flustered him.

No wonder the movies and mangas said that being in love made people a bit sillier, a bit dumber. But the extent of it was almost ridiculous.

He followed you like a lost puppy when you motioned for him to come with you, and soon you two found yourselves in the kitchen.

“Okay” you let out a loud exhale “This is the warmest place in this dorm. You’re lucky I was already making myself some tea. Also, I’m gonna bring some towels and a change of clothes for you, although I might not have something that’s your size. Geez, Subaru, what were you thinking, walking all the way here in this storm? And this late? Without an umbrella!” you rambled on and on, pouring boiling water into a mug for him to drink and dipping a tea bag inside, carelessly.

Subaru grabbed the warm mug and looked at you, with saddened eyes that felt like an arrow through your heart.

“I missed you.”

You took a long breath as you heard the words coming out of his lips, and stared at him, dumbfounded, like he had suddenly grown a second head. You were about to reply, when Subaru shivered intensely despite the warmth of the kitchen, and you came back to your senses, walking briskly towards your room, in order to fetch the towels, leaving his words unanswered.

Subaru sipped on the tea, suddenly every insecurity bubbling up to the surface while he waited for you to return. What if he totally misunderstood your memories? What if you just loved him as a friend and nothing else, what if Haku and Zenji were totally wrong, what if what if what if-

The sound of your hurried footsteps interrupted the avalanche of thoughts that were most definitely about to bury him under a panic attack. He focused on your silhouette approaching him with a handful of towels and what appeared to be a big nightgown.

“Okay, let's get you near the stove.” You said, beckoning him to sit where you were standing.

As soon as he sat down again, you covered his head with a towel and began drying him up as best as you could. Subaru focused on the feeling of the soft fabric rubbing against his head, and then his neck and his arms.

“I'm gonna turn around and close my eyes. Meanwhile, please try to dry yourself properly and then put on this nightgown I found, okay?” you said, quickly turning around on your feet, not waiting for his input.

Subaru stared at your back for a moment, and began doing as he was told – the thoughts that were plaguing him calming down and silencing on your presence, as if you were a protective charm. His protective charm.

“I'm done” he muttered, hair still dripping, but mostly dry when it came to his whole body.

You sighed, looking at his wet mop of hair and began drying him again, in silence.

“I’m sorry for touching you” Subaru was the one who first broke the comfortable stillness between you two. 

“You know I’m not mad at you because of that, right?” you replied.

“You disappeared” he stares at you, the hurt in his eyes clear as spring water.

“I know, and I'm…” a beat passes by, longer than it actually was “I apologize. I know running away isn't the best approach, but that was all I came up with.”

Subaru stayed silent, as if he was waiting for you to complete your answer.

“It's just… I can imagine what you saw and I wasn't ready to discuss it yet.” you finished, shoulders slumping after you finish drying his hair.

Subaru moved a few strands of his brown hair away from his eyes.

“What do you think I saw?”

You glared at him, cocking an eyebrow at the question that sounded way too much like a tease.

“I don't think you’re in a position to ask questions like that, are you?” you replied, unintentionally snappy.

“Oh, I'm sorry… it truly wasn't my intention”

But it was Subaru that was standing before you, not anyone else. Truthfully, you knew he would never in a million lifetimes think of teasing you on purpose. It was one of the reasons why you ended up so lost in your feelings for him.

You sighed, more in frustration with yourself than anything else.

“I know, I’m just… Look, Subaru… I'm sorry too.”

It was his turn to raise his eyebrows, but in confusion.

“For what?”

You chewed on your bottom lip, avoiding his eyes even though you were standing so close to his sitting form that his whole presence overwhelmed you. 

“For putting this burden on you. I know you saw my… like…”

He waited yet again for you to finish.

“I know you saw my feelings for you.”

Subaru could immediately feel a warmth spread through his chest, cheeks and ears at your words. So he wasn't mistaken? So you liked him back? Truly?

“But I didn't want to burden you with them.”

The smile that was tugging at the corner of his lips suddenly dissolved into nothing.

“B-burden me?”

You pursed your lips, transferring your weight between your legs, back and forth, back and forth, anxiety clear on your face as you thought of how you could tell him what was on your mind.

“I didn't want to ruin what we have, I think? But there's no point in hiding now, right?” You chuckled nervously “I mean, you already know, but I really like you, Subaru. If I ruined our friendship because I got too greedy, I think I wouldn't be able to handle it.”

You looked at him, eyes swirling with emotion and, for a second, Subaru thought this could all be a dream – the only thing that confirmed otherwise being the uncomfortable chill of his body, a sign of a fever approaching.

“Everything you do… every interaction we have, I just get more and more in love” you cringed at how emotional your own words sounded “But I am so scared of your rejection. I think in part I was hoping you'd forget about that incident during my time away from you. I didn’t imagine you’d come after me.”

Subaru's heart beat drummed loudly and fast inside his chest, although he tried to keep it hidden (his face betrayed him, however).

“Did you think of me while you were away?” He managed to mutter.

“Are you kidding me?” you laughed, breathlessly “You were all I thought about this whole week.”

His ears burned red.

“I… thought about you all the time too.” he mumbled, gaze fixed on his own hands.

“What?”

He took a sharp breath and steadied himself, training his eyes on you as he spoke his next words.

“I'm so… I'm so sorry I'm not good with emotions and I'm sorry that it took me a whole week to understand things when I could have relieved you of this earlier but… I figured it out. I finally did.”

“Figured out what?” you tilted your head to the side and his chest warmed once again at the effortlessly cute gesture, giving him even more certainty to keep saying what he had to say.

“I like… no… I love you too.” he watched the way your eyes widened and darted all over his face, as if to search for a sign of truth behind his words.

“I am so blind and afraid of other people that it took me that long” he proceeded “But I know now. I.. I really do love you and I don't want to be away from you any longer. You don't have to stay away anymore. So please.” He got up from his seat and took a small step towards you “Please don't leave me behind like that anymore.”

You shook your head, tears welling up on your eyes, his intensity squeezing your lungs until you thought you could die, breathless, his eyes stealing every ounce of air from you.

“Subaru… Please… please don't tell me you're doing this to appease me.”

He paused.

The thought of you not believing in his words tugged a little at his heartstrings, but he also couldn't blame you. Not when he was so unsure of all of his feelings on a daily basis, towards everyone and everything, and you were the main witness of the way he clumsily stumbled his way into understanding himself.

He was absolutely sure of this, though.

“I'm not.” he said, voice steady as he looked at you.

“Because if you're saying this just because you want to keep me close, I would never be able to forgive you.” You looked away from him, pain over this imaginary scenario clouding your face. It was the time for him to extinguish your anxieties and insecurities for once.

“I'm not.” He took a step closer towards you.

“Please… don’t try to please me if you don't truly feel the same way.” You shut your eyes tightly, throat clenching as you felt the tears threaten to fall.

“Look at me.” He pleaded, and you hesitantly complied, breath hitching on your throat when you noticed how close he was standing to you “I promise you. I'm not.”

Subaru leaned forward, capturing your lips into a quick, chaste kiss, a fire burning on his cheeks at his own boldness.

He was still afraid of his stigma and how it would work with the other parts of his body besides his hands, but once he noticed he was still grounded in reality and not locked in another memory of yours, he got a bit bolder once again, and kissed you for just a little longer, lips melding together just a little more. The softness of your kiss made him sigh and his heartbeat deafened his ears. 

He tentatively rested his forehead on yours once the innocent kiss was broken.

The first thing he noticed was the warmth you radiated while he stood near you. Both of you had beet red faces and your minds were hazy, as if they were made of clouds.

You were the first to come back to reality and giggle at how overwhelmed both of you were with just a little kiss.

Slowly, hesitantly, your hand came up to cup his cheek, and he leaned into your touch like a cat.

“The stigma?” you whispered

“Not activated”

“Good.”

Your other hand came up to run your fingers through his hair, on his nose, on his chin. 

“Do you believe me now?” Subaru asked, wholeheartedly.

“Maybe, I think I'm going to need a few more kisses to fully believe you.” you smiled, teasing him a little bit.

“Really?” He leaned away to look at your eyes, still a bit worried he hadn’t convinced you yet.

“No” you snorted “I'm just joking.”

“Oh I see… sorry I didn't get it right away” he furrowed his brows, apologetically.

“I don't mind getting more kisses though!” you squeezed his shoulders, reassuring.

Subaru chuckled, still a bit flustered at your proximity. Suddenly, however, he scrunched his nose and stepped backwards.

“Subaru?”

“Oh. Oh, I think I'm gonna–” Subaru quickly turned around and sneezed into the towel that still hung on his shoulders “Oh-oh. I think I'm getting a bit sick.” he said, nasally, nose dripping a little bit as he sniffed loudly, back still turned towards you.

You fretted, hovering all around him as you scolded the poor boy.

“See! What did I tell you!” You quickly placed your hand on his forehead and gasped “Let's get you to bed right now, Subaru. You're already feverish!”

You pulled him quickly towards your room, hearing his wheezes as both of you climbed the stairs that led to your quarters.

“But I don't regret what I did” he stifled another sneeze “I needed to talk to you.”

You blushed, opening the door to your room, and glared at him.

“And now you're sick…”

You two climbed the stairs to your lofted bed and you pulled the covers, motioning for him to lay down.

He sat on your bed and looked at you, puppy eyes blinking his allergy tears away.

“But… it kinda looked like a movie thing, didn't it…?” he said, sheepishly.

You pushed him towards your pillows and covered him thoroughly, pouting a bit.

“I think it did…” you stared at the giddy smile that tugged on his lips and sighed, shaking your head.

“I'm going to be down there” you pointed to the bottom of your room “So if you need anything, I'll be here. I'll just grab you some water and medicine and come back quickly, okay?”

You got up, but as you began to leave, Subaru held your hand. His eyes were already droopy, the events of the day getting to him, along with the cold that was quickly racking his body.

“Are you going to start visiting me again?” he asked quietly.

You felt your heart skip a beat as you looked at his sleepy face, the question making you fall even deeper in love with the adorable boy in front of you, if that could be even possible.

You nodded.

“Everyday, for as long as you want me near you.” you said quietly as well.

He shifted on the bed, snuggling closer to the blankets, and closed his eyes, letting sleep wash over him.

“Forever, then.” he mumbled, and, soon afterwards, began snoring softly.

[wwinterwitch]

right person, all the wrong times - anthony bridgerton

summary: you and anthony have been in love with one another from the moment you met, but it seems as though nothing will ever happen between you. after you catch the attention of another gentleman, he realizes perhaps it's time to finally do something about his feelings pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!reader word count: 7.3K tags: mutual pining, best friends to lovers, angst and fluff, period-typical topics (marriage is everything, gender roles, all that stuff), daphne being match maker as always, kissing, it gets briefly suggestive like once, if i skipped anything please let me know. note: i started this show two days ago and i'm already halfway through season 2. i couldn't hold myself from writing whatever this is and i thought i'll share since it's the longest fic i've ever written. english is not my first language so writing in a way that resembles the show was a whole challenge for me!

a reblog and/or comment really helps me out as a content creator so thank you in advance if you take the time to do either!

all masterlists | buy me a coffee

You and Anthony have been best friends for years now. Even when he's a few years older than you, the two of you became inseparable shortly after knowing one another. No one seems to know or understand you quite like he does, and you've become the person he always turns to when he needs someone.

It happened just a few months after you were introduced into society. You were lucky to bump into him that night in Ms. Danbury's ballroom, and after repeated apologies and quick introductions, you stayed with him for the rest of the event.

Your families were excited to see the two of you talking, already picturing the moment when he shows up to your house and asks for your hand in marriage. However, as time passed, it was evident for everyone that nothing was ever going to happen.

And as embarrassing as it is to admit, you were just as disappointed to realize Anthony considered you to be just a friend. From day one, you were absolutely captivated by him, and you truly thought he was as interested as you were. Unfortunately, it seems as though your feelings have never been –and never will be– reciprocated.

Of course, you never let that stop you from trying to find in others what you so effortlessly found in Anthony from the moment you laid eyes on him. It hasn't been easy, but you continue to look for that special someone.

Despite everyone knowing about your proximity to the Viscount, a fair share of suitors were always there available for you. Some move past the mere privilege of dancing with you if they prove to be interesting enough, but none of them have made it far enough.

Perhaps the search would be easier if you weren't deeply in love with your best friend, but there's no way you'll ever be able to control how you feel. You can't control the butterflies in your stomach when you notice him approaching you, or how it seems as though everyone around disappears when you two are together.

Anthony doesn't contribute to making your situation any easier. His friendship is one of the greatest gifts you've ever received, but it has caused you a great deal of pain and confusion. Even when he's nothing but your friend– even when he has confided in you many times that marriage is the last thing on his mind, you can't help but notice certain things. Certain gestures, certain stares...he has surely given you reasons to believe your feelings might be reciprocated.

One of the many things he does that inevitably lifts your hopes up is the fact that he absolutely despises every possible suitor you've ever had. Whether he claims to know them and they're the worst person imaginable, or he starts speculating based on his own prejudices, it seems as though no man is worthy of you in Anthony's eyes. You've always wondered why he's so adamant about that claim.

"There you are!" Daphne excitedly greeted you one evening at yet another social gathering. "I was afraid I'd miss the chance to spend even a moment with you tonight, considering how busy you seem to be with all your suitors," she smiles, quickly glancing across the room.

"Well, I could say the same thing. I've seen you dance for most of the night," you remark. "I bet your brother is furious."

"Oh, believe me, he is! But I'm not the only one he's concerned about," her smile only grows after her insinuation. It's no secret that Daphne has always hoped for you to officially join their family, as she's convinced her brother is ridiculously in love with you. "I was only able to escape from him because he couldn't stop telling Benedict just how awful the men you were dancing or talking to are."

"He does have that habit, yes. Poor Benedict," you joke, turning around to spot the two brothers still talking.

Before Daphne could say a thing, a man approached the two of you. As you laid eyes on him, you recognized him as the first gentleman you had a dance with tonight. Both of you smiled at him as he extended his hand your way. "May I have another dance with you, my lady?"

You look at Daphne, who quickly takes a step back to let you know you can go. He gently grabs your hand once you've accepted his invitation, guiding you to the dance floor.

Mr. Demrick is a fine gentleman. He's been nothing but kind, charming and attentive, not to mention he's ridiculously handsome. This isn't the first evening you two have crossed paths, having the honor of dancing a few times before. He seems to have a strong interest in you. Your Mama has expressed many times that it's a matter of time before he's asking for your hand.

You do, however, notice a big flaw in this seemingly perfect man. He's no Anthony Bridgerton.

And speaking of, as you're dancing with Mr. Demrick's hand on your back and the other gently holding one of your own, you can't help but notice Anthony exactly where he once was. He's already looking your way and even from a distance you notice he's as stiff as ever, arms crossed, muttering things to Benedict.

It leaves you to wonder once again if he's being protective over his friend or if there's a deeper meaning to his apparent disgust for all the men that have ever shown interest in you.

After that night, Mr. Demrick's interest in you was more evident than ever. All Daphne could talk about with Lady Bridgerton and your Mama during supper the next day was the different bouquet of flowers he sent you and how breathtakingly beautiful they were.

"Needless to say, I'm very happy for you," Daphne seems to be finished with her talk about the flowers, turning to look at you from across the table. "You two make a very lovely match."

"No doubt you'll be very happy with such a nice and handsome gentleman for a husband," Lady Bridgerton agrees.

Everyone quickly turns to look at Anthony when he lets out a quick chuckle, looking down at his food and pretending he was barely listening.

"Something wrong, Anthony?" Lady Bridgerton asks shortly after with a rather serious tone.

He finally looks up, smiling at his mother. "Not at all. Please, continue with your...delightful chat."

You glared at him and despite you trying to ignore it, something deep within you made it impossible not to say something else regarding Mr. Demrick just to upset Anthony further. "He has invited my family to a picnic to meet his own," you say, noticing the way your best friend immediately turns to look at you with a horrified expression.

"We're really looking forward to that," your mother chimes in, trying to keep the conversation going after Anthony's interruption.

"Cheers to that!" Eloise exclaimed ironically, and you noticed she was looking directly at her eldest brother. "A man brave enough to pursue the heart of a lady is always a reason to celebrate, right?"

Now it was Colin and Benedict the ones who couldn't hold back their laughter after noticing their brother's reaction to that comment.

"What's so funny?" Hyacinth asks, looking impossibly confused.

Eloise's comment evidently made everything a lot worse. Little Gregory joins his sister in their inquiry to know what was going on, until Lady Bridgerton ordered them to stay quiet.

You didn't like El's insinuation one bit, as it does nothing to help with your delusions, but at least you were appreciative of the fact that she was willing to be with you on this one despite her disgust towards the whole idea of marriage and the position a woman is put in because of it. Perhaps she's willing to overlook that detail for the sake of upsetting one of her siblings.

As soon as dinner was over, Anthony offered to accompany you and your mother outside to your carriage. You didn't protest, and quickly calmed Daphne and Lady Bridgertons worries after they started apologizing fervently for his behavior during the evening.

Anthony immediately knew you were upset. It was evident in the way you walked in complete silence without acknowledging he was there next to you.

"Can I have a word with you before you leave?" Anthony asks as soon as the three of you are outside the Bridgerton home.

"Is it okay? If you're too tired we can leave right away."

"It's perfectly fine, dear. I'll wait in the carriage," your Mama replies. "Thank you, Lord Bridgerton, but there's no need," she quickly added when Anthony offered his arm to help her walk down the steps of the entrance. "Please reiterate my gratitude to my dear Violet for having us today."

"Of course," he nodded, returning your Mama's smile. Even when he behaves rather poorly, your mother absolutely adores him. It warms your heart to see how good they get along.

Your Mama walks to the carriage, leaving you and Anthony alone. "I apologize for my behavior tonight."

"I don't think your apologies are sincere."

"I don't know what else do you expect, if I'm being honest," he replies, and immediately knows he has to say something because of your reaction to that comment. "That man is not a good match for you. He's not on your level, and I'm quite certain that he won't be able to make you happy."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Because I know you. And I know when someone is not right for you."

You scoffed. "No one ever seems to be good enough for me."

Anthony nodded. "Yes, exactly."

"Can't you just be happy for me? Or at least pretend that you are?" you ask, exasperated. It's one thing that he doesn't reciprocate your feelings, but to stand here and claim to be your best friend when he acts like this is something entirely different. Something you can't and won't stand for. "I don't understand why you have to try to ruin every chance I get to find someone."

"Because," he says sternly, as if it was obvious. But is it really that obvious? Is it obvious to you, or even to him?

A dim light of hope shines through in the depths of your heart, knowing very well how dangerous that has been in the past. "Because what?"

He stood there in front of you, looking rather troubled. You notice the way he hesitates and for a moment you almost could've sworn he wanted to take a step closer to you.

But that never happened, and instead all you got was a "because you're my best friend, and I care about you," from him. The same thing you've heard over and over. That godforsaken phrase that has shattered your heart into million pieces over the years.

You try to hide your disappointment, looking up at him with a stern glance. "If I'm truly your best friend, you'd support my decisions instead of brutally questioning them like you always do."

With that said, you didn't wait for any sort of answer as you quickly walked towards your carriage, barely acknowledging your driver and your mother as you headed back home.

Anthony watches as you walk away, once again feeling like a complete fool for not saying something else. For not daring to take that extra step and reveal the real reason why he won't accept anyone else as your husband. It's quite simple, really. The real reason is that he wants to be the one you marry.

But he didn't say anything yet again, and all that's left for him to do is go back inside his house to listen to Eloise and Daphne calling him a fool while the rest agree with them. He doesn't say much about their claims, as they couldn't possibly be more true.

This is exactly what he deserves for acting so cowardly. He gets shamed by his siblings for not doing something about his feelings while you go home, probably thinking about that absurd picnic with Mr. Demrick until you go to sleep.

Next day, you try to forget all about Anthony Bridgerton and focus on your date with Mr. Demrick. Your families were sitting around all together while he asked if you would like to take a walk with him.

He's lovely. Offering his arm for you, complimenting you every chance he gets, making you laugh with his endless anecdotes and quick remarks. He's everything you should need, yet your mind wanders back to your best friend. You can't help it. All you want is for him to be the one kissing your hand and telling you you're the most captivating sight of all.

Your Mama could barely hold her excitement when she read what Lady Whistledown had to say about you and Mr. Demrick after the families were seen spending time together. "The union of the season", she called it. And it shouldn't come as a surprise, as both of you come from wealthy and respected families. It's evident everyone takes a great interest in the possible union.

Still, you were very much intimidated by it, as all eyes will be on you until there's news about an engagement.

And just as you predicted, every lady turned to look at you as you went to visit the modist for a new dress for the next ball. You must look absolutely perfect to earn the approval of everyone and capture Mr. Demrick's heart for good.

At that point, the realization finally started to settle. You're soon becoming a wife, moving to your own home and starting a family. And all of that with a man that you respect and care for, but are incapable of loving.

But perhaps this arrangement will make your feelings for Anthony become nothing but a memory. A memory you won't even care to think about when you have such a wonderful husband by your side.

Days passed and Mr. Demrick continued to send all sorts of gifts to your house. You made the choice of inviting him over so the two of you could spend more time together before the next ball. He was sitting on a couch with your mother while you played the piano for them.

"That was certainly a very beautiful performance," he says once you're done playing. "And you said you composed that yourself?"

"Indeed. I like spending my days playing the piano," you smile brightly.

The entire reunion was quickly ruined when someone burst inside the room. You turn around in your seat to find Anthony standing there, barging in completely unannounced and unexpectedly. It was unclear to you why you felt the need to stand up from your seat to greet him but you did, feeling your heart rapidly beating in your chest at the sight of him.

Oh, how badly you've missed him.

"What are you doing here, Anthony?" you ask, immediately remembering your soon-to-be fiancée and your mother are also in the room. "I'm afraid I'm with a guest right now. Whatever it is, it'll have to wait, my lord."

You never call him that, ever. It was evident by his reaction that he absolutely hated the fact that you refer to him as such.

"My apologies. I didn't mean to disrupt, but I believe it's an urgent matter."

"My lord, I–"

"I must insist," he quickly cuts you off, looking rather desperate.

You try to come up with something to say, knowing you should stand your ground and make him leave, but you were so happy to be in his presence again that the feelings completely clouded your judgment.

"No worries, my lady," you hear Mr. Demrick say, standing up from his seat and sending you a reassuring smile. "I'm sure whatever Lord Bridgerton is here for requires your immediate attention, given his insistence," he added shortly after, giving Anthony a not so friendly look. "I'm sure we can visit the gardens while we wait?"

Your mother nodded after his question. "Of course. That should be more than enough time for Lord Bridgerton to communicate his urgent matter."

Neither Mr. Demrick nor your mother were pleased by Anthony's presence, but you couldn't thank them enough from sparing you this one time. You know this man like no one else does, and you're certain that he wouldn't take a no for an answer and that would've made the situation a lot worse.

"Perfect," Mr. Demrick says before gesturing for your mother to lead the way. Before he leaves the room, he gives Anthony one last look before turning his attention back to you. "Perhaps we should discuss where you'd like your new piano to be in our future home once I'm back. I'd love for my wife to continue doing what she enjoys, especially when she's so extraordinary at it."

You smile after his comment, trying your best not to look at Anthony until Mr. Demrick is officially gone because you can imagine his features are clearly expressing his thoughts regarding that last comment. Once both of them are out of sight, you finally look at him.

"What is wrong with you?" you snapped almost immediately. "I'm glad Mr. Demrick is a patient and understanding man! He could've easily decided to leave the very instant you walked through that door demanding to have a word with me."

"I think he's captivated enough, my dear. I doubt you'll ever get rid of him," he replies, evidently disgusted by the thought of him.

"I don't intend to get rid of him. And do not call me that again."

"Why not? I've always called you that."

"That was before I met Mr. Demrick. Now, it is completely inappropriate."

"Oh, please. It's not like you're already his wife."

"But I will be soon," you point out. He's quiet after that, which gives you room to continue talking. "You must understand that a married woman cannot have other men calling her such things."

"So am I supposed to start addressing you like you're nothing but a stranger? Or perhaps you'd like me to already start calling you Mrs. Demrick? Is that how things will go? You marry this insufferable man and I have to just accept the fact that I no longer have my best friend?"

"I don't know what else you want me to say," you mutter, feeling like you could cry any minute now. "This was going to happen sooner or later."

"It was never supposed to be this way," he sighs, and your soul aches for him when you notice the way he's looking at you. Defeated, exhausted, disappointed, frustrated. You've never seen this particular mixture of emotions reflected in his eyes before.

"And how exactly it was supposed to be?"

Anthony was quiet, too quiet for your liking. You see his hesitation once again and you brace yourself to hear yet another confirmation of the fact that you're nothing but a friend. It doesn't matter that he glances at you from across the room like he can't help himself. It doesn't matter that all the Bridgerton siblings have made insinuations about you and Anthony's relationship. It's all in your head, because you're nothing but a friend.

In a surprising turn of events, you watch as he takes a few steps closer to you. He's cautious of every move, not wanting to scare you– or himself. The beat of your heart speeds up and your hands shake slightly when he's finally in front of you.

You look up at him like a deer coming face to face with a hunter, but in this case you're unable to run away for your life. He's dangerously close to you, gently moving his hand up to touch your face.

The second his fingers brush against your cheek, a shiver travels down your spine and you can't help but close your eyes because his touch is absolutely heavenly. Your breath hitches in the back of your throat when his digits trace down your neck until his hand settles there, holding you with his fingers behind your ear and his thumb still caressing the skin of your face.

"It should go like this," he whispers, and you finally open your eyes to see him looking at you with such adoration, you were certain your legs could betray you any second now and completely give in, causing you to fall straight to the ground.

He leans slightly closer after seconds of just contemplating you, and even though you closed your eyes again, feeling his nose brushing against yours, you're able to snap out of your trance before he could actually kiss you.

"It's not right..." you're able to say, pulling back from him but not nearly enough. He's still very much holding you.

"It is, my dear. I can tell you wish for this as badly as I do."

"Please, Anthony..." you try, but your body betrays you when your hand is resting on his bicep.

"I've always adored the way my name sounds when it's you the one calling me," he confesses, and your stomach fills with butterflies.

You realize he's leaning closer again, but before he can do so you manage to gather all traces of self-control that were almost stripped from you to move back, setting free of his touch.

Anthony stands there, absolutely confused and heartbroken, and is right then when you can't keep your tears in any longer.

"I'm afraid it is too late," you mutter. This has got to be the most painful thing you'll ever have to do. "I'm getting engaged soon."

"But you're not anyone's yet. There's still time if you haven't accepted any proposals."

"Please, don't make this any harder than it should be," you sob, wiping your tears away.

"Darling–"

"Believe me, no one would want this more than me," you interrupted. "You have no idea how many times I've found myself fantasizing about this very moment. For you to say all of this, to be yours forever..." Tears continue to roll down your cheeks and the sight is too much for Anthony to endure, as his own eyes are starting to fill with tears as well. "But it is not possible anymore. I'm sorry, I really am. I won't ask you to understand or accept my decision, but I'd appreciate that you can at least respect it."

"I won't. I refuse to let you marry someone else when we both know we belong together."

"Anthony, Mr. Demrick–"

"You still can't even call your future husband by his own name?"

You sigh, frustrated. "Charlie will become my husband. I don't doubt that he'll be an excellent companion, and that you'll find someone else in time. Soon enough, we'll be nothing but a memory."

"Is that really what you want?" he asks, and your heart sinks when you notice his voice breaking slightly.

You take a few seconds to answer. Of course that's not what you want. You want Anthony to be your husband. You'll always want him and him only. But it's already too late for any of that.

Feeling more heartbroken than ever before, you have to look back at Anthony and fight the urge to run to his arms. "Yes. And I also want you to leave."

Anthony was barely keeping it together, not wanting to cry in front of you. He's once again taking a few steps closer to you, but stops at a reasonable distance to grab your hand to kiss it. "Very well, my lady," he says with a quick bow of his head. "I apologize for wasting so much of your time. Let me assure you, I'll never bother you again."

He let your hand go and immediately turned to the door to leave. As soon as you no longer hear his footsteps, you fall to your knees and allow yourself to cry, feeling like the sorrows from this conversation will haunt you for the rest of your days.

Knowing Mr. Demrick and your mother could be here any minute, you decided to stand up from the ground as soon as you could to lock yourself in your room, where you could be away from everyone for a while until you feel ready to go downstairs and pretend you're content with this life that you've chosen for yourself today.

You really know you shouldn't, as you've played a part just as big as his in the downfall of everything you could've had together, but you can't help it as you curse Anthony for taking so long. You curse him for deciding to do something about his affection for you when it's far too late. And most importantly, you curse him because despite knowing it's over, you are certain that there's nothing you can do to ever get over your feelings for him.

As soon as you realize you're being unfair by putting all the blame on him, you also curse yourself for being as blind and coward as he was. And you curse life itself while you're at it, because you feel like making everyone and everything responsible for not being able to live the life that you wanted.

―

It's been a few days after the last time you and Anthony spoke. Just days, but it has felt like years and years without him. He hasn't reached out to you, and you couldn't deny that not having him around was absolute torture. There was no greater pain than this.

But you were hopeful that you could see him again at tonight's ball. It was all you could think about as you were getting ready.

"You look lovely, sister," the youngest of your family says, watching as one of the maids is finishing with your hair. "I can't wait to join all of you next season!"

"Thank you, my dearest," you smile at her. "I cannot wait for that either. Perhaps I can help you choose your dress and do your hair for your first ball."

"Yes, please!"

Your youngest sister stayed in your room with you until it was time for everyone to leave. Your father waited by the door while your mother put all of your siblings in line to check their appearance and make sure everyone was looking flawless.

Like the Bridgertons, your family was also quite large. Your older sister is already married so she no longer lives with you, but your parents still have a handful of children to take care of. Your two older brothers haven't married yet and neither have you. There's also your little sister, who's debuting next season, and your baby brother who's barely ten years old.

To this day, you have no idea how they were able to handle the chaos that six children can bring. For that, you admire them deeply.

Once your mother made sure everything was in order, you and your brothers followed her and your father to the carriage. They start a conversation, but you're barely paying any attention, as Anthony is keeping your head occupied again.

Eventually, you reach the residence where the ball's taking place and the five of you make your way inside. As all of you are standing outside the doors of the hall where the event is taking place, you feel a hand reaching out to grab yours. You turn around to look at your mother staring at you with a sympathetic smile.

"I'm so sorry, Mama," you say out of nowhere, though it's practically the only thing you've been able to say to her lately.

"You made the right choice, dear," she reassures you. "Are you ready?"

You nod, inhaling deeply before your mother lets go of you, standing with your father as they wait for you to take the first step. As soon as all of you are entering the room, you notice everyone staring your way, their eyes still filled with expectancy and excitement.

They still believe you're going to marry Mr. Demrick.

You quickly scan the room as you walk down the stairs, the familiar feeling in your stomach appearing when you spot Anthony along with his siblings, his eyes never once leaving you. Despite everything that has happened, he still looks at you like you're the only person in that room.

Your parents go off one way to mingle with other parents attending the event while your siblings scatter around the ballroom to greet their friends and find possible matches.

Having a chance to talk to Anthony was the only reason you decided to attend. Still, you didn't know how and when it'd be okay for you to approach him. Things didn't end on the best of terms, so it's normal for you to have your doubts.

Instead of immediately approaching him, you walk around the room, never losing sight of him. You couldn't help but smile to yourself the first time you catch him looking around the room, unsuccessful to locate you.

"I was hoping to see you tonight," you hear Daphne's voice next to you, sending you back to reality. "You look as beautiful as ever."

"Thank you, so do you."

Your friend smiles at you, briefly looking to where you previously were. "Are you looking for someone?"

"No, not at all," you immediately shake your head, imitating her smile.

"I apologize for what I'm about to say. I don't believe it is the time nor place, but I cannot hold myself back," she says with obvious concern as her smile is replaced with a frown. "My brother told me everything that happened the other day. I don't think I'll ever be able to express how sorry I am."

"Oh, Daphne, that's really not necessary..."

"But I think it is. As ashamed as this makes me, I'm afraid I was the one responsible for his actions."

"What do you mean?"

"I couldn't help but notice the way you two look at each other, or the way you smile when you're together. Believe me, I've never seen my dear brother so infatuated with anyone else before. To see you slip away from him and him doing nothing about it was not only painful, but it angered me enough to intervene," she explains. "After much convincing to do, I finally made him realize he needed to do something about his feelings. Evidently, I stood out of line and got myself involved in something I never should have, and for that I'm terribly sorry."

"You didn't do anything wrong. I know you had good intentions. There's absolutely nothing to forgive."

Daphne reaches out for your hands, relief evident in her features. "I was afraid you wouldn't want to talk to me again. You had all the right to do so, but I'm happy to see I was mistaken."

"I would never do such a thing."

She nodded, glad to know you two are still friends. "Well, with that situation out of the way, allow me to say I'm still very happy about you and Mr. Demrick. My love for my brother won't change the fact that I support your decision entirely."

You debated whether or not to say something, but the hesitation quickly slipped your mind when you looked at Daphne. She's been a great friend, you know there's nothing wrong with confessing this news to her.

She looks a bit confused when you grab her arm to guide her to a corner of the room, as far away from other people as possible. "I appreciate your words, but I'm afraid Mr. Demrick and I are no longer courting."

"Really? Did my imprudence make him change his mind?" she asks, worried she was to blame for this.

"Not at all. He actually proposed to me that very same evening."

"And...you said no?"

"I couldn't marry him, Daphne," you sighed. You'll never forgive yourself from breaking a good man's heart in the way you did with him, but deep down you knew it was the right thing to do. "I couldn't doom him to spend the rest of his life with a woman that doesn't love him the way he deserves."

"I don't judge you for it. My Mama has always taught us that marriage should be formed out of love. It's the only way a union like this can work," you friend offers, immediately wanting to show her support.

"If anything, my dear friend, I should be thanking you for your intervention," you quickly add. "If you never had that chat with your brother, I would've been engaged to a different man by now."

"I...Oh my, are you–?"

"I was as much of a fool as him. I could've said something a long time ago and yet I remained silent. And when he went to my house to give us a chance, I was once again deciding not to do a thing about my feelings. It was only when he left that I realized I made a terrible mistake."

Daphne is once again reaching for your hands, looking more excited than ever after your words. "You have no idea how pleased I am to hear you say all of this."

"You don't think it's too late, do you? I came here to talk to him, after all."

"No, no, not at all! He was devastated when he came back, I've never seen him like that in my life. We got to talk a little– and it's probably best if he's the one who confesses his true feelings in detail to you personally, but there's no doubt in my mind that from everything he said to me, he's deeply, madly and truly in love with you."

"I assure you I love him just as much."

"I don't doubt it either. And I think I speak for all my family when I say there's no one else we would like to be Anthony's wife but you."

"That makes me so happy to hear," you say with obvious excitement. Even Daphne looked like she could start crying any second. "Should I go talk to him now?"

"Please, I'm sure you can't wait any longer! He's over there, with Benedict and Colin."

"I shall tell you how it goes then."

"It'll go wonderful," she assures you, giving you one last smile before she allows you to leave.

Every second of that walk towards Anthony felt like centuries. Your mind spins with all the possible scenarios and everything you're going to say to him, but by the time you're in front of the three siblings your mind is completely blank.

"Gentlemen," was all you could say. The three of them immediately greet you with a quick bow. You notice Benedict and Colin exchanging looks, while Anthony's eyes are fixated on you. "I'd like to have a word with you– alone, if that's okay."

"Of course, my lady," was all he said.

"Oh my, you could cut the tension with a knife," Colin says suddenly. Anthony is so focused on you he barely acknowledges his comment.

"Shush, brother!" Benedict quickly warns, lightly pushing his little brother so he would start walking. "Excuse us," he smiled your way, starting to follow Colin.

You and Anthony are finally alone, but the people around you are still bothering you. "Is it okay if we go outside for a walk?"

"If it's okay with you," he says, a bit confused at first since you two had apparently agreed that you must keep your distance.

Anthony follows you to the gardens in complete silence. The music and chatter could still be heard. You were glad to realize it was only the two of you outside.

"What is it that you wanted to say to me?" he immediately asks, starting to walk next to you.

"I wanted to apologize for everything that happened."

"No need. Like you said, you made your choice and I'll have to respect it."

"It was the wrong choice. I see that now."

He was a bit surprised to hear that, but agreed with you nonetheless. "I'm afraid I can't say otherwise. At least I hope you find comfort in the fact that Mr. Demrick will be a fine husband, as you so fervently claim."

The two of you have reached a part of the garden that surrounds the two of you with large hedges decorated with beautiful flowers. It was then that you stopped walking and turned to look at him, knowing no one would be able to see or interrupt you here.

"I wanted to let you know that Mr. Demrick proposed and I said no," you blurted out simply, not wanting to keep it from him any longer.

"Why?" was all he could say.

"Because," you say, and this time it was painfully obvious.

Anthony couldn't believe your revelation at first, which would explain why he didn't move from his spot at first. As the realization of it all starts to sink in, he immediately walks closer to you and grabs your face with his hands. This time, you let him touch you as your hands move up to place them above his own.

"You're not marrying him?" he asks, barely above a whisper, still not entirely believing it. He really thought he had lost you forever.

You shake your head, unable to hold back your smile any longer. "There's only one man I'd like to marry."

Anthony smiles wider than ever after your comment and he's not able to control himself any longer, immediately closing the space between the two of you as he kisses you.

His kiss is everything you expected and more. So gentle, yet so passionate. It makes you feel like you're the most delicate thing in the entire world, but he must take a taste, so he does eagerly, yet carefully.

The moment doesn't last as much as you expected as he's abruptly pulling away. "Forgive me, I shouldn't have done that."

He takes a step back but he's gladly surprised when you wrap your arms around his neck to stop him. "Don't," you immediately say, "I want you close."

"I really shouldn't, my dear," he insisted, but you can tell it takes everything in him not to kiss you again at that very same moment.

"Is that so?" you tease him, inching just enough. "So you won't continue to kiss me? Not even if I'm so clearly desperate for you to do so?"

He's really trying to remind himself to be a gentleman. "I don't...it's not appropriate."

"Alright, them. It's perfectly fine, Mr. Bridgerton," you promptly agree, moving back from him entirely as you start walking away from him. "Perhaps we should go back then, before anyone notices our absence."

You're barely able to turn around to face him before he's one again in front of you, grabbing the back of your neck to pull you in for another kiss.

This time, the kiss is anything but gentle. His tongue explores your mouth with a hunger completely unknown to you as his hands explore your body. The hand previously holding the back of your neck trails your collarbone before it explores further down, cupping one of your breasts while the other holds you close to his body, resting dangerously close to your ass.

His lips move down to your jaw until they settle on the skin of your neck. You close your eyes as you enjoy the way he explores you, a few moans escaping past your lips that only seem to encourage him further.

"Anthony," you whisper into the darkness of the night, holding onto his shoulders for dear life while he kisses all over your neck.

"You're such a delight, my love," he mutters against your skin. "You drive me absolutely mad."

He moves back to your lips now, your mind clouded with desire for him and making it impossible for you to think of anything else other than how badly you need him to continue to touch you and kiss you. You could never get tired of this.

But much to your disappointment, he's pulling away from you again shortly after. His forehead rests against yours as both of you are gasping for air. You open your eyes when he's no longer leaning against you, just to catch him looking down at you with a smile.

"You're so beautiful," he comments, one of his fingers tracing your lower lip. "I could kiss these lips all day if I could."

"And I'd have no complaints about that."

He chuckles after your comment before taking a second to contemplate your beauty under the moonlight. "I deeply regret wasting so much time we could've spent as husband and wife."

"We have many years to make amends for that."

"Is that so?" he asks with a smile, his arms wrapped around your waist to keep you close.

"Well, that is if you ask for my hand."

"We'll go back to the ball and I'll talk to your father right away."

You fake to be offended by his comment. "Without asking for my opinion on the matter, Lord Bridgerton?"

"Forgive me, how rude of me," he follows along with your theatrics, but you immediately notice the shift in his eyes before he continues. They look softer than ever and shine as bright as all the stars in the sky combined. And you feel warm, at peace, so loved by the man standing before you. "My dearest, from the moment I met you, I knew we were destined to be together. You not only captivated me with your beauty, but with everything that you are. And as I started to know you, you kept proving me right. I saw it in the way you'd stay practicing your music for hours with such intent and passion. I saw it in the way you care so deeply about the ones fortunate enough to have you in their lives. I saw it in the way my mother instantly adored you, and how Hyacinth wouldn't stop asking me to invite you over so she could play with you. There's no doubt in my mind that you are the one for me."

You were completely speechless, absolutely mesmerized by his words. He takes a moment to gently wipe a few tears falling down your cheeks. He has always said to you how he's terrible at things like this, yet here he is proving himself wrong.

"If all previous words hold any room for confusion, allow me to clear it all right away. I've been yours from the moment we met and I couldn't possibly be more in love with you. And there's nothing that would make me happier than spending the rest of my life with you," he continues, finally taking a step back to grab both of your hands as he kneels in front of you. "Would you make me the honor of accepting me as your husband?"

You couldn't stop smiling at that point, immediately nodding after his question. "Yes. Now and forever, it'll always be yes."

Anthony kisses both of your hands before standing up to pull you in for a hug. "It pleases me to hear you accept. For a moment, I feared the tears were a bad sign."

You laugh at his little joke before breaking the hug. "Perhaps we should get back. I'm afraid we've been gone for quite a while now."

"That shouldn't be much of a problem now that we're engaged. I shall ask to have a word with your father as soon as we get back– and ask my mother for her ring."

"Is it okay if I inform Daphne?"

"I have absolutely no objections if you decide to announce the news to every person inside that ballroom, my love. Let everyone know you'll be the next Viscountess. Nothing would make me happier."

He offers his arm and you immediately accept it, starting to walk back to the ball with him– your future husband. At that very moment, you've sworn you've never been happier.

[southaway]

Tzedek Tzedek Tirdof and Tikkun Olam

Long post, buckle up. I have Feelings.

This concept is something I've been turning over in my head for awhile and trying to get the composition right. So I guess a quick history lesson for people who don't know yet (though I feel like it's becoming common knowledge) the comic book industry exists because of Jewish people. DC, Marvel, and everything that came after. Superman, Batman, Spider-Man, Captain America, and SO many others came from Jewish writers and artists. And try as people might, it is impossible to separate that from these characters. My roommates and I (three Jews and a goy, but like a cool one) are specifically into DC and were talking a while back about the core ideas of Superman and Batman. And yeah, the first things that probably jump to most peoples' heads are maybe hope and fear, justice, maybe the American way or whatever is happening in New Jersey. And yeah, to an extent I think that's right but it's not the whole story. See, what seems clear to us is that Superman and Batman specifically embody two Jewish principles: Tikkun Olam and Tzedek Tzedek Tirdof. A quick-ish and simplified explanation:

Tikkun Olam (Superman) is at the heart of Judaism. It means repairing the world, and while there is a more complex religious and ritualistic meaning, the broad takeaway is that it is our job to make the world a better place. You can't save the world but you have to try. It's hope. While the light is shattered it can be repaired and it is our duty to do what we can, to put good out into the world no matter how large or small. What matters is that you try, you always try.

Tzedek Tzedek Tirdof: Justice, Justice you shall Pursue! (Batman) Another core of Judaism. Tzedek Tzedek Tirdof is not merely the pursuit of justice, but justice for those who need it most. The most vulnerable, the people at the greatest disadvantage, that continue to be hurt the most.

And when Superman and Batman are being written well, written correctly they embody these ideas. These characters and their stories where not created in a vacuum, nothing is. They where made by Jewish men, sons of immigrants. Their ideas of the world and concepts of justice would be inherently Jewish. Tikkun Olam and Tzedek Tzedek Tirdof are the definition of justice and making a better world for Jewish people. These characters and the stories they tell and the ideas they exemplify are and always have been at their heart Jewish. Try as some people might you can't take that away, it is sown into their creation whether you know it or not. We won't be removed from our own narratives.

[minafeu]

I'm not the greatest at writing when tired and it's 11 pm before I got to school the next day but I thought I'd give a snippet of what I have so far. The chapter will be called "Girl, So Confusing" because the tension I've written is utterly divine and fits the title because the way Red be acting is so confusing to Chloe.( @uhhhh-em-draws-stuff this is for you pookie 😘)

Theatre class. A place where many don't have academic rivals but Chloe was unlucky enough to have her academic rival in her Theater class. Today they were doing line readings just to make sure the teacher picked the right people for the roles. Chloe reading for Juliet and Red reading for Romeo. An irony Chloe could care less for but still funny none the less. Red takes her hand as per the directions of staging "If I profane with my unworthiest hand. This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: My lips two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss." Red had an annoying sly smile on her face, knowing she was slightly getting under Chloe's skin.

She take a deep breath and begins her line. "Good Pilgrim, you do wrong your hands to much, which mannerly devotion shows this; for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch. and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss." They make eye contact whilst Chloe recites her lines lines. It's obvious to Red that Chloe has honed the craft of theatre for many years which is almost impressive if it weren't for the fact she acted slightly cocky about it. It elicits a small chuckle out of Red, it being humorous that Chloe thinks so highly of herself.

"Have not saints lips, and holy palmers' too?" Reds voice is soft but firm. Chloe laughs slightly and states "Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer." She give an unserious smile, emulating the character of Juliet. It's almost impressive how well Red is doing as Chloe has never seen her so theatre. Red simply brushes off the slight look of disbelief on Chloe's face and responds. "O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do: They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair." Her smile growing more cocky, her head tiltes slightly to the side as she watches to see how Chloe react. "Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake" Chloe speak softly, shaking her head lightly during my lines. She lightly looks Red up and down as she recites Red next lines.

Red steps a bit closer to Chloe. "Then move not while my prayer's effect I take." She takes Chloe's chin in her hand, just a few inches from her face. "Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged." Chloe rolls her eyes lightly, breaking character for but a moment. She clears her throat, takes a step back from Red and delivers the line promptly. "Then have my lips the sin that they have took." Chloe's gaze is questioning with a hint of innocence, replicating how a child of Juliet's age would have said it. "Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again." Red looks into Chloe's eyes, a mischievous smile on her lips. "And scene!" Their teacher calls out.

After a few moments, Chloe goes to her seat and grabs her things, intent on getting to her next class to have peace for just a few moments. The only bad thing about next hour being AP history was perhaps the fact that the seating chart just had to have Red sitting right next to her. It was the only class they sat next to each other and every moment felt like hell on earth. As the teacher begins to give Red compliments on her compelling acting Chloe checks her phone and texts back her mom. After about a minute, the teacher begins to compliment Chloe who dutifully takes them. Red simply rolls her eyes. Ah yes, little miss perfect taking compliments like it's nothing. It's almost as if she isn't Satan incarnate in academia clothing and a pretty smile.

(now published as a full chapter on ao3)

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

rewrite the ending in the scars of sea glass・l.f

—From the moment Felix saw you drawing your dreams in the sand, he knew you were a daughter of the seas, with frozen fingers and feelings like the tide. So when the waves rush overhead, he will place his soul upon your tongue so your hollow heart can finally feel the warmth of the sun.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・felix x mommy issues!reader 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・angst, smut, a collection of moments the two of you have ever wanted to say I love you 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・10k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・I tried to make this as gender-neutral as possible so if there are any pronouns let me know and I'll fix it :) The reader had mommy issues that are heavily described, manipulation, verbal abuse, references to physical abuse but it really isn't described, love bombing, alcoholism, references to blades and knives, self-harm is kind of mentioned but its a metaphor for how her love feels, an ungodly amount of crying, panic attacks, PIV sex, CONSENT, ngl this is just some passionate lovemaking, tears during sex, references to the princess bride the greatest love story of all time I will die on this hill, nothing else so far...

𝐚/𝐧・I have poured my heart and soul into this fic this was my beckon to live my hurt through the scenes of this story I hope that it heals you the way that it healed me

screenplay

❝ "In every lifetime?" you utter ❞

i. It is the wounds we hide from the light that beg most to be seen.

— For the first time at age twelve, stuck in sweat-caked sand, your heart formed the words I love you.

ii. I could find your soul in the sky because yours is the only one that smells like home.

— After a long night, caught in a bubble of beer, all you want to do is collapse. But what will you do if you're in the middle of school and the teacher just announced a test?

iii. There are so many things in the world that must first collapse before they are born; why do we not believe humans are the same way?

— You show up at Felix's house, broken and distraught. What will he do with your shattered heart?

iv. Just once, let him rewrite the story; just once, he promises you will never have to watch the same ending again.

— You were still friends, even as he fucks your pain away.

vi. She is only in your DNA.

— Well... I think we'll just leave this one a surprise.

❝ "In every lifetime." Even the earth knows he means forever ❞

Fair warning: I have written around 8k words of this, but I'm through the middle of iii., and I've already written iv. So, assuming the length of the rest plus any add-ins, it will be around 10k-11k. I have a terrible habit of changing my mind, so all of this is fit to change, though I doubt it will. Most likely, I'm just going to add more.

Okay, I hope you're excited to read it, and let me know if you want to be tagged!

[h2llish]

【╰ヾ❝ COULD'VE BEEN ✧„

VIL SCHOENHEIT ── when it could've been ☆ angst, heartbreak, requited feelings, gender neutral, lowercase intended, not proofread

inspired by my fic from me to you

he remembered the moment you came to him, with a smile so sad and ready to be rejected as you gave him a envelope with your handwriting at the top, for vil. with it, a rose wrapped safely in ribbon. by the look on your face and the shyness in your tone as you gave it to him, he could guess what was in the letter tucked inside the envelope must've been important, at least to you. you didn't bother to wait for him to open and read it, you didn't seem to want a response if he did, only apologizing and thanking him before turning away.

rook was with him, with a knowing look that looked a little sad in similar to your smile. he questioned it, but rook brushed him off in rook fashion, telling him it wasn't his place to speak on your behalf. what did he know that vil didn't? the actor wondered silently but trusted his friend despite his question and worry for you.

so vil tucked the letter away and waited till he was alone in his room. as the day ended and he finished his night routine, he sat comfortably on his bed and grabbed the letter.

dear vil,

i've written this letter six times now, and i know that if i continue to read over this, i'll never gather the courage to give it to you. so please excuse how messy it is, and the mistakes you may possibly find.

by the time you get this, i'll be ready to leave for my world. ortho found me a way home, and i wish to return there, even though i'll miss a lot of people here. i'll miss you the most. i'm sorry you had to find out through a letter, a lot of my friends remained unaware, but when you get this, they'll all know just like you.

perhaps you've caught on, but rook was one of the few who knew, he also knew you were going to receive this letter. but, if you are upset at all, please don't be upset with him. i asked him to keep things to himself, he wasn't even meant to know. he was just respecting my wishes.

to the reason of my letter, this is where it might get messy, i hope you understand.

vil, i think you're wonderful, amazing even. while i know how we started off may not have been the most eventful or greatest, you've been respectful. even after you overblot, and forgive me for bringing it up, you've been nothing but kind to me and i thank you. when you offered your own money to ramshackle and then helped rebuild it when it was damaged, i was incredibly grateful.

you work hard, and you care about your dorm. not everyone may see it, but i do vil. you've done your research, have gotten to know everything about your dormmates, and made diets and routines just for them. it shows you really care.

we've gotten close. i care about you, and i think you care about me. we're friends.

but i'll be honest with you, my feelings for you have become more. i'm falling in love with you. i understand if you don't feel the same, i'd feel better if you don't, knowing my feelings were unrequited so i can leave with the guilt of only leaving my friends.

i'll probably be gone by now, and if not, i ask that you don't approach me. i wouldn't be able to keep myself together if you do. i want to go home, nothing will stop me from doing that. i'm sorry we can't have a proper goodbye, but for my own reasons, selfish i understand, i can't face you so this will have to do.

goodbye vil. and thank you for being my friend.

perhaps things could've been different.

sincerely, your friend, [name].

romantic feelings were new for the actor, you were the first person he'd felt anything for. he loved you; he realized as he sat there, hair pulled back neatly and mask on his face. he pinched the end of the letter in his feelings, relaxing when he worried he would tear it.

he respected your wishes in the letter, remaining in his room as he read over the words once more. although it was heavy on his shoulders, he knew even if he had left to confess his requited feelings, your decision would have never changed.

perhaps things could've been different, but you'd always choose your home, and he could not blame you.

patting myself on the back for managing to write something even if it's short. my headaches chilled out again and i took advantage.

do not repost, translate, copy or run my writing through an ai

[dilf-lover99]

Playing Pretend | J.P.

Pairing: James Potter x Female Gryffindor!Reader

Summary: When Reader's best friend James requests her assistance capturing the attention of Lily Evans, the two decide to make some changes to their relationship. Sort of.

Warnings: fluff, best friends to lovers / fake dating (two superior tropes), not much of a slow burn (sorry guys), a healthy amount of pining, maybe a teeny bit of angst if you squint, a kiss, i think that's it this is like the softest thing i've ever written

Word Count: 5.1k

a/n: i'm sorryyyyyy !!! i'm sorry i ghosted you, i promise it was an accident ! i've been working a TON lately, but i finally found a bit of time to write and i missed it so much. i hope this was worth the wait ! let me know what you think. p.s. love u lots<3

There were three things in life of which you were certain.

The first is that, no matter how skeptical one may be, the sorting hat irrefutably knows best. Being sorted into Gryffindor on your first day at Hogwarts was the greatest thing that ever happened to you, it introduced you to the friends who became your family.

The second is that you will never, swear on Merlin’s beard, read a book you’ve borrowed from Remus in the bath; Some lessons are best learned after making mistakes.

The third, and most important, is as follows : James Fleamont Potter is, and always will be, your very best friend.

You’re confident that there’s nearly nothing in the world the two of you wouldn’t do for each other if asked.

James has always been there for you in times of need, with a comforting embrace or a ludicrously ill-advised joke. He always talks out your problems with you, agreeing with your side of the situation even when you think you’re in the wrong.

There’s not a single problem the two of you haven’t been able to overcome together.

You’ve also spent countless waking hours of your life pretending to hold a flicker of interest in the precise mixture of colours in Lily Evans’ eyes, the scent of her hair, or wether or not she laughed at James’ joke that day.

The price of friendship, you suppose.

“This is the year, (y/n), I can feel it!” Your bespectacled best friend announces from his position sprawled across your bed on his stomach.

You withhold the good-natured urge to roll your eyes, exhaling an small breath through your nose with a smile, “You say that every year, James.” Ceasing the previous circles you were spinning in your desk chair, you make eye contact with James and continue, “Though I admire your persistence, perhaps it’s time to give it a rest? Maybe take up another hobby? Clearly quidditch isn’t keeping you busy enough to leave Evans be.”

“Ha Ha.” James grumbles sarcastically. The two of you have conversations like this regularly, though your attempts to divert his interests have consistently proven futile. “It’s different this year. I’m different this year. I’m trying something new,” He slowly pulls himself up from his relaxed position, now sitting at the edge of the bed to face you directly, “If you agree to my plan, that is.”

“Well, that depends,” You hesitate, eyeing your best friend suspiciously. Over the course of your friendship you’ve always had a difficult time saying no to James, which has gotten you into more than your fair share of trouble.

“Is there any part of this plan that could result in our expulsion? Or worse- Will my hands be stained again? It took me weeks to get the dye off my fingers after your last so called plan.” 

Without recounting each and every detail, James’ last plan involved the two of you, a pint of florescent pink hair dye, and the head of an unsuspecting Severus Snape, and resulted in semi-permanent dye-stained hands and a rather stern talking-to from Dumbledore.

James laughs mirthfully at the memory, “Come on, people loved that! We loved that!”

“Yes, we did.” You agree with a grin despite yourself.

James throws a wink your way, shaking his head amusedly before speaking again, “No, this’ll be nothing like that. Entirely free of repercussions, I swear it.” His tone resembles that of when he’s asking you for a favour, and judging by the way he’s dancing around the words, you have a feeling you’re not going to welcome his idea with open arms.

“Alright, Potter. Out with it, will you?” You voice lightly, “It can’t be worse than any other plan you’ve had.”

“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend.” He rushes out, the shadow of a blush forming evenly across his pale cheeks at his own words.

“O-kay,” You draw out, eyes wide, “Perhaps I was wrong.”

“I know it sounds mad, but hear me out.” He starts quickly, “I was talking to Pads about it and he was all ‘Maybe if you weren’t so available all the time, she’d actually want you around’” He lowers his voice an octave, a dramatized attempt at impersonating your shared friend, “And I know what you’re going to say, ‘Why would you take relationship advice from Sirius of all people’” His voice raises higher now as he butchers an impression of your own, “But he had a point! And I thought, well, I wouldn’t be available if I had a girlfriend, would I?” 

You’re unsure if you should interrupt him or not, equal parts amusement and disapproval swirl around in your brain as he speaks.

“But I couldn’t do that to a real girl, y’know?” If he notices the icy glare you shoot his way at this, he does a bang-up job pretending he doesn’t, “Just string her about whilst I’m in love with Evans- But I could pretend! And who better to pretend with than my own best girl?” He finishes with a smile so sweet you almost forget the preposterous nonsense he’s just spouted.

Almost.

“There are about ten things wrong with what you’ve just said- Eleven if you count that horrible impression of me! Merlin, James, do I really sound like that to you?” James chuckles at you, running his lithe fingers through the charming mess of his curls.

“Don’t answer that.” You speak before he has a chance to reply, abandoning your chair in favour of standing in front of him.

“You really have gone mad, haven’t you? What exactly do you think is going to happen? She’ll see us together and be overcome with jealousy? Leaving her no choice but to confess her undying love for you?” You highlight the absurdity of his proposition, poking fun with dramatic sighs and emphatic hand gestures.

“Well it sounds a bit nutty when you say it that way, with your sarcasm and the like, but yes. That’s what I’d like to happen.”

“It’s not going to happen, James.” You deadpan.

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not how it works!” You state, humour and disbelief mingling together, “If she doesn’t want you now, why’d she want you after you get a girlfriend? And if she did, would that really be the type of girl you’d fancy anyhow? A boyfriend-wanter?” 

James chuckles amusedly, completely missing the nuance of your words, “Boyfriend-wanter?” He echoes teasingly.

You sigh emphatically, taking a seat on the bed beside your best friend, “You’ve lost the plot, mate.”

James’ previous contentment is no longer at the forefront of his emotions, instead there’s a vulnerable sincerity that tugs at your heart strings with all its might. “Look, I know it’s a long shot, but if there’s even a chance of it working, I just- I have to try, (y/n),” His warm hazel eyes are boring directly into your own with a distinct sense of desperation as he mutters a final, “Please?”

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this, James.” Your voice wavers with nerves at the thought of walking hand-in-hand with James into the Great Hall where all your friends sit, blissfully unaware of the delusional plan James has concocted to win the affections of Lily Evans.

“Come on, (y/n), it won’t be so bad. You used to love holding my hand.” James jests with an irritatingly loveable grin, not-so-subtly referencing the ancient crush you harboured toward him in the beginning of your first year.

“Yes, very well, James. I had a crush on you when I was eleven. I also slept with a Beatles nightlight and cut the crusts off my toasts.” You’re starting to wonder how on earth you could’ve agreed to this when James grabs your hand, intertwining his slender fingers with your own and giving a gentle, reaffirming squeeze.

“Thank you for doing this. I know it’s barmy, truly, but it means everything that you’re willing to try.” His voice is softer than you’ve heard in a long time, and in the back of your mind you can’t help but think this is the boy you’d fancied all those years ago.

You squeeze his hand back assuringly, “I’d try anything for you.” You smile sincerely.

“Oh really? Should you have happened to change your mind about a certain prank involving-”

“Almost anything.” You interrupt with an amused roll of your eyes.

The two of you share another smile before turning toward the looming entryway to the Great Hall.

“Shall we, darling?” James emphasizes the final word teasingly.

“We’d best, before I change my mind, love.” You retort.

You’re familiar with the expression ‘so silent, you could hear a pin drop’ but you’ve never experienced anything of the sort. Until now, that is.

The moment you and James walk through the doors, all eyes are on the two of you. More specifically, all eyes are continuously moving from you, to James, to your intertwined hands, then back again.

In the two days since you agreed to James’ scheme, you’ve remained confident that it wouldn’t work, surely nobody would believe you went from best friends to being in a relationship overnight.

Your confidence was misplaced.

As the two of you walk closer to your usual spot at the Gryffindor table, your hand squeezes James’ tighter than you’d like to admit, painstakingly aware of just how many eyes are on you. You can hear the poorly concealed whisperings of each gossiping classmate you pass by, “Finally!” “See, I told you they were shagging.” “What does he see in her?” The latter may have stung just a bit.

“Alright?” James whispers close to your ear, fuelling another buzz of observations from your peers.

You nod your head perceptibly, a tad caught off guard from all the attention you’re receiving, “Yes, swell. You?”

“To be determined.” James tugs your hand gently, signalling you to stop walking as you’ve reached your destination at the Gryffindor table.

“Good morning.” You greet your friends with a smile in an effort to maintain normalcy. Taking your usual seat, Sirius is on your left and James sits to your right beside Remus. You promised James to keep the plan a secret from everyone, including your shared best friends, but with the way they’re looking at you now, you’re ready to spill your guts.

“Good morning? S’that it then?” Sirius starts incredulously, “The two of you leg it in here holding hands and we’re supposed to go about our day as normal?” 

“I think what he means to say,” Remus interjects, his tone soft, a welcome juxtaposition from Sirius’ brash one, “Is that this-” he gestures between you and James with a mild wave of his hand, “Is new. We hadn’t realized the two of you were… Romantically involved.” His statement ends as more of a question, a gentle probe to explain what’s going on.

You look to James, raising your brows questioningly as if to say you've created this plan, now you have to do the ground work.

He gets the message.

“It is a bit out of nowhere, isn’t it?” James smiles, not so subtly making eye contact with Lily, who’s sitting directly across the table, “We spent all these years as friends and never thought twice about it, um- But then…” He trails off, realizing he’s not half as good a liar as he’d hoped he was.

You close your eyes with a deep sigh, knowing it’s now your responsibility to make this believable.

James Potter and his bloody plans.

“It’s alright, James, love,” You speak up after he’s gone silent, “We can tell them.” He’s going to owe you for this, and you intend to cash in the favour for once, “I’ve fancied you as long as I’ve known you.”

Your friends are paying more attention to you now than they have to anything, ever, clinging onto your every word, “Bit embarrassing if I’m honest, cos’ you never really saw me that way.” 

You remember hearing once that the most believable lies stem from the truth, and though it was back in year one, and hardly went as deep as you’re leading on, this is a version of how you’d felt about James at one point in time.

You work hard to fight back a chuckle at the look of pity on Dorcas’s face as she takes in your words, “But, I guess after I finally stopped trying to get you to see me that way, that’s when you actually started to.” Now you’re just discussing the plan in plain sight, though your friends are drinking it up quicker than their pumpkin juice.

James squeezes your hand with a firm grip, as if to warn you not to say anything more and spoil his plan right in front of Lily.

But he’s also looking at you with a discernible note of gratitude in his eyes, never quite tiring of your knack for rescuing him in these situations.

“Yes, quite right, love, I’ve seen the light. Thank you all for tuning in, this concludes the interview portion of our breakfast. Now, over to Padfoot for the weather!” James voices deftly, eyes scanning Lily for any semblance of a negative reaction, and failing to hide his displeasure when all she offers in return is a bright smile and a soft “Congratulations, you two!”

That could’ve gone better.

“Figures the first time I’ve a date to one of these things, he’s only going for another girl.” You voice to James in the other room as you struggle to reach the zip on the back of your dress. 

You’re joking, though it’s not lost on you that this is the only time someone’s asked you to be their date to a dance. But you aren’t inclined to waste the opportunity. You’ve picked out a lovely dress and your hair is behaving particularly graciously tonight.

“Come on, love, I’m sure you’ll get plenty of offers once our plan takes off. And tonight’s the night! I’ve a good feeling about it.” Ever the optimist, your best friend.

“Oh, bugger off!” You shout frustratedly after multiple unsuccessful attempts at zipping up.

“I wasn’t trying to upset you! I only meant-” James’ panicked tone brings an instant smile to your face, all previous traces of dissatisfaction long gone.

“Not you, James, my dress. I can’t get the bloody zip to go up!”

“Oh,” He chuckles minutely, “Well c’mere then, let me help.” 

It’s a proper cliche, you think to yourself. Like something you’d see in a cheesy romance film, when the girl walks down the staircase in a fancy dress, everything’s suddenly in slow motion, and the lad’s just standing there thinking how am I just now realizing how beautiful she is?

It’s a proper bloody cliche, yet it’s exactly how you feel as you walk into the room and see James standing there in his dance attire.

His crisp white dress shirt is clinging faultlessly to his chest and arms, the muscles he’s defined playing quidditch showcasing themselves quite proudly, the black fabric of his dress pants pulled taught against his thighs. His mop of dark curls sits charmingly atop his head, a perpetual vision of captivating chaos. His rounded glasses are resting perfectly on the bridge of his nose, shimmering hazel eyes blinking delicately from behind them.

How are you just now realizing how beautiful he is?

“(y/n)?” James’ voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you’re thankful beyond words that he can’t hear your thoughts.

“Yes?” You clear your throat, simultaneously attempting to clear your mind.

“Turn around, love, I’ll fix your zip.”

Right.

His nimble fingers make quick work, sliding the zip from the small of your back to the top of the dress, a subtle trail of gooseflesh makes itself at home along the skin that’s been gently grazed by his own.

“There we are. Go on then, give us a twirl.” James’ playful voice sounds, you oblige good-naturedly and give a quick spin.

“That’s a lovely dress. Is it new?” His eyes scan your frame appreciatively, not quite as lengthy as the tour your own eyes had taken upon him moments ago, but you feel your chest grow tighter at the thought that, just maybe, he could be having one of those cliche moments too.

“As a matter of fact it is,” Your smile grows as you think back to the day before, when Dorcas dragged you and a reluctant Marlene to Diagon Alley to buy your outfits for the dance, “It’s her first dance with a date! Not just a date, a boyfriend. We have to pick the perfect dress.” She was far more excited than you were, especially considering it isn’t a real date, but her enthusiasm had made it a day to remember. “If Dorcas were here, you’d have just made her entire week.”

“Do you know what Lily’s wearing?” 

Not an unexpected question in the slightest.

What is unexpected, however, is the pang in your chest at it.

That’s new.

“No, I don’t. Sorry. ” You say, not particularly sorry at all.

“Are you alright?” James’ voice is laced with confusion at your sudden shift in mood.

Curse your best friend for knowing you so well.

“Mhm. Shall we go?” You place a smile back on your lips, taking care not to let it fall this time.

“After you, your majesty.” James answers in his most posh voice, gesturing toward the door and lowering his head in a mock bow.

It’s not real.

When you first agreed to James’ plan, this thought brought you comfort, peace, even. It’s not real, thank heavens, and it will be over before you know it.

Why does the thought feel so violent now?

Why is it tearing at the seams of your mind with each of his gentle touches and crooked smiles?

Why are you so reluctant to let go of James’ arm when you arrive at the dance?

And why have you spent the last twenty minutes sitting here, watching James watch Lily, as an unwelcome sense of envy blooms in your chest?

Because you wish it was real.

“Oh, come on! That was proper funny!” Sirius’s voice sounds from beside you, pulling you away from your internal revelations.

When did he get here?

“Was it?” You question. Your words come across sarcastic, but that’s a farce, you’ve no idea what he said.

“Yes, it was actually. You were just too busy making eyes at Prongs to notice.” 

And when did he get so observant?

“I was not.” You lie.

“Right,” Sirius starts, not believing you for a moment, “This is my life now, is it? My best mates’ll be too busy snogging to laugh at my jokes? What a cruel fate. Worse than death, really. Just put me out of my misery now.” He throws himself back into his chair melodramatically, posture now resembling a sickly figure in an old victorian painting.

What a drama queen.

Still, you feel the need to reassure him. Cutting off his theatrics, you place your hand on his bicep, giving a tender squeeze of affirmation, “Leave it out! I could never be too busy for you,” He straightens at that, lips lifting into a grin as you continue, “You just have to tell funnier jokes.” His grin disappears faster than it formed.

“Cheeky!”

You continue bantering back and forth, resulting in a fit of laughter that finally breaks James’ gaze from Lily. 

He focuses his attention on the two of you, unwilling to acknowledge the feeling blossoming in his chest when he sees your hand on Sirius, a brilliant smile having overtaken your face.

“Care to dance, love?” James questions, faster than you have time to process.

You remove your hand from Sirius’ arm, sparing a glance toward Lily. He’s trying to make her jealous, that’s why you’re here after all. But she’s not looking at you and James. In fact, she’s looking in another direction entirely.

“I’m alright mate, thanks. Take (y/n), though.” Sirius quips, ushering you onto your feet.

James guides you to the dance floor with a gentle hand on the small of your back, spinning you in a half circle to hold you properly once you’ve reached your destination.

Your heart is beating at an accelerated pace but you’re doing your damndest to hide it. “Is she looking?” You question softly, hiding any dejection from your voice.

“What’s that?” James asks.

You wonder how he didn’t hear you, his eyes having been glued to you since you started dancing. You were beginning to wonder if you had something on your face.

“Lily,” You start again, “Is she watching us?” You don’t know why you ask again, you’re not sure you want to know the answer.

“Oh. Yes-” James clears his throat, “Yeah, she’s looking.” 

Right.

His eyes never actually waver from your own. He doesn’t do much to pretend that he’s spotted her in the crowd or discerned wether she was looking or not. To be honest, he’d forgotten about the plan for a moment.

The song ends but before you can move from James’ hold he pulls you closer, “We should keep dancing.” He mumbles, then continues, almost as an afterthought, “Y’know, make it look more realistic.” 

But he couldn’t care less about that right now, he’s simply not ready for you to leave his arms.

It’s been six weeks since the plan started, an entire month and a half of pretending.

And you don’t think you can pretend any more.

Pretending to be James’ girlfriend isn’t the hard part. In fact, it’s the best part. Countless days of holding his hand in the Great Hall and resting your head upon his shoulder in the Gryffindor common room. Those moments are purely blissful.

Pretending that your feelings for James aren’t real? That’s the hard part.

In the beginning, James had started calling you love or darling for show, a way for you to appear more like a real couple. He must have grown accustomed to it, because they’re all he seems to use anymore, even when nobody else is around.

And your heart still skips a beat each and every time you hear it.

Somehow, it’s become routine for you to do your homework while watching his quidditch practices, despite the fact that Lily has only ever seen you there once. You tried explaining this but all James had said was “That’s alright, having you here helps me play better.”

Now you attend every practice.

You don’t know how to respond when your friends tell you how happy they are that you and James have gotten together, that they can tell how deeply you care for him. They’re right, partially anyway, you do care for James deeply.

But you’re not together. Not for real, anyway.

And it’s driving you mad.

Which is why you’ve decided that it has to end.

You’ve been thinking about this for weeks, ever since the night of the dance, when you realized you wanted more. But you weren’t sure what to tell James.

If you tell him the truth, that you’ve fallen for him, it could end your friendship, which is a chance you’re not willing to take. But you’ve also never been good at lying to him, he knows you far too well.

You’ve finally decided on a good old-fashioned half-truth.

You’re going to tell him that the plan hasn’t been working, that if he wants to get Lily’s attention he’ll have to go about it another way. Spending another year watching him pine over Lily won’t be easy, but it can’t be any harder than this; Seeing what a wonderful boyfriend James would be, being so close to the boy you want but never truly being able to have him.

The soft click of your door notifies you of James’ arrival. Taking a final deep breath, you find your eyes meeting his own, willing yourself not to get lost in them and lose your resolve.

“Hello, love. How was your day?” James questions earnestly, taking a seat in your desk chair, his eyes hold an undetectable glimmer of adoration as they take in your figure.

“I think we should break up!” You rush out at once, afraid if you wait another second you’ll chicken out again.

James’ eyebrows pull together in a wistful display of despondence, “What? Why?” His voice is rather melancholy and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was being broken up with for real. 

You sigh dispiritedly, taking a seat at the edge of your bed as you face James.

“Think about it. The plan isn’t exactly working, is it? I mean, when was the last time you even talked to Lily?” 

James is quick to defend, “We’ve just spoken yesterday! In the common room, remember? When you and Moony were talking about that smarty-pants book, she was all ‘your girlfriend’s too good for you, potter’, and I told her she was right. Surely you remember that?”

You fight back a smile at the memory, of course you remember that, you think of his words about as often as you breathe.

“James that was last week.”

He stops for a moment, counting the days on his fingers before deciding you're correct, “Okay… Alright, well, that doesn’t mean we should break up! We’ll just- We just have to try harder.”

You shake your head in opposition, but he speaks again before you have the chance.

“We can make it work, I know it.” James’ voice holds a perceptible air of desperation.

He knows you’re not really dating, right?

“Come on, James, it’s for the best. Surely you’re tired of me by now.” You joke, trying to appear unaffected by the nuance of your words.

“No.” James voices immediately, sounding as though he’s offended at the very idea of it, “I’m not tired of you. I could never be tired of you.”

“Have you any idea how much harder you’re making this?” You mumble under your breath, though it wasn’t quiet enough to go unheard by James.

He’s looking at you softly, almost tenderly and he lowers his voice a bit, no longer on edge, “What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Try again.” James tilts his head, pushing his glasses up when they attempt to slide from the bridge of his nose.

“I just don’t think we should do it anymore, that’s all.”

“That’s all?” He knows very well that’s not all. He can tell by the way you’re avoiding eye contact that there’s more to it.

“Yep! So what do you say, friends?” You finally chance eye contact, holding your hand out to shake his own in an effort to regain control of the situation.

His hand grabs your own and holds it delicately.

“What aren’t you saying?”

“Nothing! I’m saying plenty of things. Loads of things. Things, things, things!”

“(y/n).” He states plainly, though he’s unable to hide the glimmer of amusement in his eyes, “If there’s something going on, you can tell me. We can tell each other anything.” He’s pleading with you now.

And you aren’t sure if it’s his words, or the way he speaks them, or the fact that his hand is still grasping your own, but you’re unable to keep the words from tumbling out of your mouth.

“I can’t keep pretending, alright? You’re driving me mad.” Both of your eyes widen at your confession, and James takes his hand back smoothly.

“Oh,” He clears his throat, a teasing undertone returning to his voice, though you can discern a hint of sadness in his eyes, “It’s you who’s tired of me then, innit?”

“What? No! That’s not-” You sigh frustratedly, standing from the bed and beginning to pace a small path back and forth on the floor, “James, if it were possible for me to be tired of you, it would’ve happened a long time ago.”

He breathes out a chuckle at this, visibly relaxing once he realizes he must’ve misunderstood.

You stop pacing, looking at James as he stands up in front of you.

“Can we start this whole thing over? It’s gotten a bit confusing if I’m honest.” You question.

“No, it’s okay. You were right, it’s best we call it off now.” James starts, adding quietly, “Before anyone gets hurt.”

Your gaze snaps up to his own, confusion etched upon your features, “Why- Why would anyone get hurt?” You swallow thickly, ignoring the sudden uptick of your pulse.

James sighs, bringing a hand up and running it through his curls, “Because it’s true. What you said before, about the plan not working. It’s not. And If I’m being honest, I couldn’t care less. I haven’t given a thought to the plan, or Lily, in weeks.” 

You know he can’t mean it the way it sounds, he can’t mean it the way you want him to mean it. But your heartbeat is racing rampant at the possibility that he does.

“And it’s why I don’t want to end things,” He continues, “Because, the way I see it, if something makes you sad when it’s ending, it must’ve been pretty wonderful while it was happening.” He’s rambling, but the contents of his words, and the fact that they’re directed at you, makes you want him to go on forever.

“You’re my best friend, and you always will be, I swear it! But, I just… I can’t help but want more.”

You’ve heard enough.

Well actually, you could never hear enough, but you’ve heard enough to propel yourself forward, urgently pressing your lips to James’ own.

He wasn’t expecting it, but he doesn’t waste a moment once he realizes what’s happening. 

James places his calloused hands on either of your cheeks, gently pulling you closer to himself. He smiles slightly into the kiss when you bring one of your own hands up to the nape of his neck and run your fingers softy through the curls there.

The kiss feels as though it’s lasted forever, and yet you never want it to end. But your lips part a fair distance as you rest your foreheads together in contentment, taking a moment to catch your breath.

“So that’s what you meant when you said I was driving you mad.” James teases, donning a grin so beautiful your heart could burst just from looking at it.

“Yes, I suppose it is.” You try to sound annoyed but you’re sure you’re missing the mark, wearing a blinding smile of your own.

“Well that settles it then,” James loops his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to his body, “No more pretending.” His delicate lips meet your own once more in another intoxicating embrace.

Note to self : James Fleamont Potter’s plans don’t always end in disaster.

[genericpuff]

I’m gonna have to disagree with you that Kaos is any better than LO. It’s all the same bull crap.

Kaos just seems like live-action LO, both having a boring storyline with bad or fetishized characterizations of the Greek Gods and figures, and both looking artistically beautiful and some cool concepts, but badly executed. The only difference is that Kaos has more LGBTQIA+ themes than LO, has a tiny bit more Greek references, and gets much darker. That’s pretty much it.

As a Greek who studies our myths and stories extensively, I’m tired of the west trying to take and rearrange our stories and retell them ‘with a modern, western lense’. It’s exhausting and infuriating.

It’s time the west gets over its fascination with us and move on.

Fair opinion! Honestly, the initial post I made about it was after only watching the first couple episodes. Now that I've finished it, I can definitely see actual glaring issues with it, both in their characterizations as well as in how they kind of lose the intrigue after a few episodes of the setting and elements of them being gods. Which are all issues that LO have as well.

Though I will say, LO has those issues far more than Kaos does, but what really separates LO from Kaos, in my opinion - the creators of Kaos aren't pretending that Kaos is more than it is. To me, Kaos isn't in any way a singular Greek myth retelling, more so a fun "Greek epic" style story featuring the gods in a modern setting, the way LO could have been if Rachel hadn't tried to make it into something bigger than it was (and if she didn't put herself on a pedestal as a "self proclaimed folklorist"). I can watch Kaos and appreciate it as a fun Greek myth inspired piece of media because that's pretty much all it's trying to be. Meanwhile LO gives us middle-school-level writing with very little real Greek myth influence (aside from what it benefits Rachel to do so) that even goes so far as to outright disrespect the myths that they were based on... all the while people praise it as the greatest Greek myth retelling ever.

I think Kaos is miles better than LO because it at least tells a more coherent story than LO ever could have, with a lot more attention paid to the stylization of a Greek epic (compared to LO which tried and failed to implement those same things, such as the Fates, self-fulfilling prophecies, and witty narration as to retell a story that's already happened).

Granted, that story still takes a lot of liberties with the source material (some that I enjoyed, others not so much), but in that regard, I refer to the above - Kaos isn't trying to be an actual retelling like LO did, so I view it the same way I do as something like Hercules or Hades, where the people who made it clearly love Greek myth and wanted to do some Greek myth-inspired story with their own twists on the narratives, and it paid off in a story that, in spite of their flaws, still feels intentional and thought out.

LO, by comparison, is just a mess of ripped off half-baked ideas thrown at a wall and filled in with self-fulfilling power fantasy garbage written by someone who claims to have deeper knowledge of the myths but clearly doesn't. It's hard to enjoy LO in spite of its flaws because it's all flaws and they're so deeply-rooted in the context of Rachel's own biases and sexual preferences that you really can't separate it from that once you know if it.

I do have some criticisms of Kaos and some of its more creative choices - Hera cheating on Zeus with Poseidon (literally wtf lmao), Persephone still being the "I went down there willingly!" archetype (though at least she's not 19 in this, the casting for her and Hades was great), as well as the fact that things weren't wrapped up by the end of the first season which really bums me out because now it's up to the mercy of Netflix to give it that second season - but ultimately, from a story-writing perspective, Kaos absolutely did accomplish having an actual narrative with themes and goal-driven writing that LO failed in having. That comparison doesn't make Kaos a 100% perfect show without flaw, but I made the comparison initially anyways because much of what I enjoyed in Kaos was what I expected from LO (and ultimately didn't get).

That's just my own two cents though! And I need to make it clear - I am not a Greek person! I have no say or merit within the discussion regarding Greek myth and how it's been appropriated!! - so ultimately... my opinion of these things really aren't as valuable as someone who actually is Greek or studied heavily in it.

So that said, I can completely see the merit in your own arguments that a lot of these "modern retellings" tend to miss the point of the stories they're trying to retell (esp with the criticisms I outlined above) and are often chewed up through a Western lens. The lesser of two evils is still evil. But if we're purely talking Kaos vs. Lore Olympus here as modern entertainment that are both attempting similar things... I'd be way more likely to rewatch and recommend one over the other. Plus there are a lot of adaptions out there made by Westerners / non-Greeks that are incredible and are, at the very least, amazing stepping stones into the world of Greek myth for those who want to learn more about it. Out of the pool of ongoing modern Greek myth retellings/inspired works - Blood of Zeus, Hades/Hades 2, Kaos, Epic: The Musical, Hadestown, Hercules, Percy Jackson & The Olympians, and Lore Olympus - it's not hard to guess which one I'd be the least likely to recommend as gateways into Greek mythology. If those titles were organized in a list of best to worst, Kaos isn't at the top of that list, but it's sure as shit higher than LO 💀😆