emistoast

em | she/they/he | i spend too much time thinking about dead gay wizards from the 70s

[emistoast]

❀ emily, she/they/he, nineteen

❀ gemini sun and moon, libra rising

❀ infj, ravenclaw

⋆ masterlist tumblr ⋆ masterlist ao3 ⋆

⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

em’s fics — my writing

lock me up please — my thoughts/rants

(painting at the top is “the sirens” by john longstaff, other two pictures are taken by me) ((pfp is “ophelia” by friedrich heyser))

[emistoast]

if i say i’m writing a bartylus modern au where regulus is living with sirius and barty is reg’s best friend and sirius lowkey hates him but would also kill for him because he makes his brother happy and that’s all he wants in the world would anyone read it?

i’ve only got a chapter and a half so far but…

[crimsonlovebartylus]

yes.

us bartylus fans would READ IT and consume it

[emistoast]

the first part is posted :)) don’t know when ch 2 will be done buttttt it’s started at least

[itsreallynotriri]

Forever you

Lee is cursed with immortality, and he finds Y/N's reincarnation every time.

Vampire!Lee x Reincarnation!Reader

words: 3.5k

warning: mentions of death, blood, m*rder, reincarnation, abuse , war (brief)

note: school is taking up my time. Unedited

find more here: masterlist

It was the year 1060, the village sat on the edge of a dense forest, untouched by war but not by whispers of creatures that lurked in the dark. Lee had no business here, yet he found himself drawn to the small stone hut at the heart of it.

A storm had rolled in, and with it, the gnawing hunger he had grown to hate. He needed to leave before he did something unforgivable. But then, the door to the hut creaked open, and she stood there—Y/N, her lantern’s glow illuminating wide, cautious eyes.

“You look half-dead,” she remarked, stepping forward.

He nearly laughed at the irony. “I suppose I do.”

“Come inside before you freeze.”

She wasn’t afraid of him—not when he stumbled in with wounds that should have killed any normal man, nor when his skin remained ice-cold even by the fire. She asked no questions, only tending to him as her mother once had for wounded knights.

Over the weeks, Lee stayed close. He helped gather wood, watched her mix herbs, and listened to her hum old songs that stirred something ancient in him. Y/N was kind, but sharp-witted, never failing to call out his silences.

“You always look like you’re carrying a burden.”

He glanced at her, stirring the pot over the fire. “Maybe I am.”

“Well,” she huffed, leaning against the table. “You should set it down every once in a while.”

It happened by the river. The sun was dipping below the trees, setting the sky on fire. Y/N stood barefoot on the bank, watching the water swirl between her toes.

“You’re staring.”

Lee blinked. “Am I?”

She turned to face him fully, something unreadable in her gaze. “You always do.”

Before he could think, she reached for him, fingers curling in the fabric of his tunic. When she kissed him, it was nothing like the hesitant, fleeting gestures of courtly lovers. It was warmth, life, the taste of honey and herbs.

For the first time in centuries, Lee felt human again.

The night was still, but Lee knew danger when he felt it. He woke to the scent of blood, not Y/N’s, but the slaughtered lamb outside the hut. A warning.

He knew he couldn’t keep this from her any longer.

That night, he found her sitting by the fire, waiting for him. Her eyes followed him as he paced, struggling with the words.

“I need to tell you something,” he said, voice low.

She curled a brow. “Oh? You’re secretly a nobleman? Or—gods forbid—a bard?”

He almost smiled, but the weight of the truth held him back. “I’m not… like you, Y/N. I haven’t been for a long time.”

She tilted her head, curious but unafraid. “Go on.”

He took a breath, then met her gaze. “I don’t age. I don’t die—not in the way humans do. I… survive on blood.”

The silence stretched between them. Then, to his utter shock, she smirked. “You’re not about to tell me you sparkle in the sunlight, are you?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You know,” she waved. “Shimmering skin, brooding forever, that sort of thing.”

Despite himself, a laugh escaped him. “No. I avoid the sun because it weakens me, not because I… glisten.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “So, are you going to eat me?”

His amusement faded. “Never.”

She studied him for a moment before shrugging. “Good. Then I see no reason to be afraid.”

“You should be,” he murmured. “You don’t understand what I am.”

“I understand enough,” she said, softer this time. “You’re Lee. You help me gather wood, you listen to my terrible singing, and you burn the stew when I let you cook. That’s enough for me.”

They stayed together after that. Y/N made jokes about his brooding and inhuman coldness, but she never feared him. They danced under the moonlight, shared whispered stories between breaths, and Lee let himself love without fear for the first time in his immortal life.

But time was cruel.

Sickness took her slowly. Lee tried everything; fetched herbs, stole medicines, pleaded to gods he didn’t believe in. Nothing stopped the inevitable.

“Stay,” she whispered, voice weak in the flickering candlelight.

Lee clutched her hand, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’ll find you,” he swore. “Every time.”

And as her last breath left her lips, Lee sat in silence, knowing this was only the beginning of his endless search for her.

He wandered for years, waiting for the pull, for the feeling deep in his bones that would lead him back to her. And then he found her again. Different life, different name—but it was her. It was always her.

He never told her, not at first. He let her fall in love with him the way she always did—slowly, sweetly, as if for the first time. But the truth always came out. Sometimes she laughed when she learned what he was. Sometimes she was afraid. But always, in every life, she stayed.

And always, in every life, she left him in the end.

And still, he searched.

The year was 1300s and this time he found her in the bustling market square, the scent of fresh bread and spices filling the air, the chatter of merchants blending into a steady hum. But it was her laughter that cut through the noise, clear and familiar, sending a shiver down his spine.

He knew her the moment he saw her. He always did.

For two days, he followed at a careful distance, watching the way she moved, how she spoke with ease, and how she tossed a playful remark to the baker’s apprentice. He wanted to approach, but how could he? How did one explain centuries of longing?

It was she who finally ended his hesitation. Spinning on her heel in a narrow alleyway, she caught him lingering in her shadow.

“Are you following me?” she demanded, hands on her hips. Her sharp stare knocked the breath from his lungs. It was her, through and through—that stubborn courage, that fire he had loved before.

“I was hoping to talk to you,” Lee admitted, voice low, almost reverent.

She raised an eyebrow. “Then speak.”

And somehow, he found himself walking her home that evening, conversation flowing as if they had known each other forever. In a way, they had.

Lee learned that Y/N was headstrong, witty, and too clever for her good. She spoke of faraway places with longing, of adventure and stories that she dreamed of living by herself. She was restless in this life, much like she had been before, though she didn’t yet know why.

He became her shadow, not out of fear but out of need. He couldn’t leave her, not again. He helped carry baskets when she let him, stole apples from carts to hear her gasp in feigned disapproval, and listened to her hum old songs that stirred something ancient in his chest.

“You don’t talk much,” she mused one evening as they sat by the river.

“I talk when it matters.”

“And when does it matter?”

He looked at her then, the last light of the sun catching in her hair. “When it’s with you.”

The spring festival soon came with laughter, dancing, and the scent of blooming flowers. Y/N had dragged him into the square despite his protests, her hand warm in his as she spun them into the crowd. The music was fast, the world around them a blur, but Lee only saw her—her flushed cheeks, the way she bit her lip when she laughed.

When the dancing ended, they stumbled out of the crowd, breathless. Lanterns glowed above them, flickering light casting golden patterns on her face. Without a word, she grabbed his hand and kissed him.

It was sudden, impulsive, her laughter still on her lips when she kissed him again.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured against her mouth.

She grinned. “Then why are you still here?”

Because I always am, he thought, but he only kissed her in response.

Summer turned to autumn, and as the leaves fell, so did the last of his resolve. He had to tell her. He owed her that much.

They sat by the fire in her family’s home, the warmth doing nothing for the chill in his bones. Y/N watched him, something unreadable in her gaze, as if she already knew.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he began. His hands clenched into fists. “Something about what I am.”

Y/N tilted her head. “You say that like you’re about to confess to murder.”

His silence stretched too long.

She blinked. “Lee?”

“I’m not human.” The words felt heavy, final. “I haven’t been for a long time.”

She studied him, quiet for a moment, before crossing her arms. “You’re not about to tell me you’re some kind of… what do they call them—creature of the night, are you?”

He let out a breath. “Something like that.”

To his utter shock, she only smirked. “You’re not going to start lurking in dark corners and calling me ‘mortal one,’ are you?”

He stared. “What?”

“I mean, if you start hissing at garlic, I might reconsider our whole relationship.”

Despite himself, he laughed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“But you love me.”

“Yes,” he said, softer this time. “I do.”

She reached for his hand, squeezing it. “Good. Because I know who you are now. And I don’t care.”

They spent that autumn wrapped in each other, in whispered words and secret smiles. She asked him endless questions—what it was like to live forever, if he had met kings, if he missed the taste of food.

“I don’t remember the taste,” he admitted one night, tracing patterns on her bare shoulder.

“That’s tragic,” she murmured. “I’d die if I couldn’t have honey cakes.”

He chuckled. “You say that as if you haven’t eaten five today.”

She gasped, shoving him playfully. “How dare you keep count?”

“I can’t help it. You get this look—like a fox that just stole from the henhouse.”

She laughed, burying her face against his chest. “Maybe in my next life, I’ll be a baker.”

He smiled, but the words sat heavy in his heart. There would always be a next life. And she would always leave him behind.

The winter was cruel.

She fell ill not long after the first snowfall. It started with a cough, then a fever that wouldn’t break. Lee tried everything; stole medicine, bribed healers, prayed to gods he didn’t believe in. Nothing worked.

He held her through the fevered nights, whispering stories she had loved, pressing cool clothes to her burning skin. He stayed when her strength faded, when her voice turned to a whisper.

One morning, just before dawn, she stirred. Her fingers curled weakly around his, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Lee?”

“I’m here.”

Her lips parted in the faintest of smiles. Her eyes softened, full of something deep, something knowing. “You’ll find me again,” she murmured.

Tears burned his eyes. He kissed her hand, pressing it to his cheek. “Always.”

And with a final, shuddering breath, she was gone.

Lee sat in silence, holding her long after her body turned cold.

The cycle would begin again. It always did.

And when it did, he would find her.

Because he always did.

It was the 1800s and in this life, she was a noblewoman.

Y/N.

Distant. Unreachable. A vision draped in silks and adorned with jewels, moving through candlelit halls as though she belonged to another world entirely. But Lee had seen her in every world, in every life. And even if she did not remember him, he knew her. He always did.

She was wed to another. A man of power, of wealth, of status. Someone safe. Someone human. Lee had seen him once, standing beside Y/N at a lavish banquet, fingers pressed possessively against the small of her back. It should have been him. It had always been him. But in this life, she did not belong to him.

So he watched from afar.

For months, he lingered in the shadows of her world, a ghost haunting the edges of candlelight. He caught glimpses of her in the garden at dusk, her face turned toward the dying sun. He listened to the sound of her laughter carried on the wind, a cruel reminder of all he had lost before. He kept his distance, even when the ache in his chest became unbearable.

And then he saw the bruises.

Dark, blooming things hidden beneath the high collar of her gown. The way she flinched when her husband reached for her at the next banquet. The hollow look in her eyes that had never been there before.

Lee had always told himself he would never interfere. That she deserved to live these lives as they came, untouched by the monster that lurked in the dark.

But this time, he couldn’t stay away.

He followed the man through the winding streets of the city, footsteps silent on the cobblestone. The nobleman was drunk, swaying as he staggered down a deserted alley, humming a tune that grated on Lee’s nerves. He reeked of wine, of expensive perfume, of cruelty. The kind of man who took pleasure in his power. The kind of man who believed himself untouchable.

Lee stepped out of the shadows.

"Who’s there?" the nobleman slurred, squinting into the darkness.

Lee didn’t speak. He let the silence stretch, watching as unease flickered across the man’s face. Then he moved.

It was over in seconds. A hand around the nobleman's throat, squeezing just hard enough to feel his pulse thrumming beneath his fingers. The man barely had time to gasp before Lee struck, fangs piercing flesh, warm blood spilling over his tongue. It had been so long since he had fed. He had denied himself for so long.

But this kill was not for hunger.

It was for her.

When the man finally went limp, Lee let his body crumple to the ground, blood staining the stone beneath them. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but the coppery taste lingered. The taste of vengeance. Of justice.

Then he looked up—and saw her.

Y/N stood at the mouth of the alley, candlelight from the street casting a golden halo around her. Her expression was unreadable, her eyes locked on the lifeless body at Lee’s feet. Then, slowly, she met his gaze.

"You killed him," she murmured.

Lee swallowed, his throat thick with something he couldn’t name. "He hurt you."

She stepped closer, unafraid. "You’re dangerous."

"I am."

She should have run. She should have screamed for the guards. Instead, she looked down at the man who had tormented her for months, the man she had been forced to smile for, to obey, to endure. And then she exhaled a long, shuddering breath, as if some unseen weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

When she looked back at Lee, her eyes were softer. "But you’ve saved me more times than I can count."

Weeks passed, and the rumors of her husband's mysterious disappearance faded into whispers. Y/N remained in the estate, and Lee remained in the shadows, always near, never too far. But this time, he did not watch from a distance.

One evening, beneath a sky heavy with rain, she found him waiting on the balcony of her chambers. The city stretched below them, lanterns flickering against the darkness. The air smelled of wet stone, of lavender, of her.

She stepped closer, the silk of her nightgown whispering against the cool night air. "You always find me."

"Always."

She reached for him then, fingers tracing the curve of his jaw, as if memorizing him for the first time. And then, slowly, deliberately, she kissed him.

It was not rushed, not desperate like their first kisses in other lives. It was steady, filled with understanding. As if she had known him for years rather than weeks. As if, deep down, she had always known.

Lee stayed with her.

As the years passed, he remained by her side, a silent guardian in a world that did not know what he was. He held her at night, pressing kisses to her skin as she murmured dreams of other lives. He traced the lines of her face, memorizing every expression, knowing one day, he would lose her again.

And when time finally caught up to her, when the silver in her hair outnumbered the gold, he never left.

He sat at her bedside when she grew frail, holding her hand, whispering stories from their past. Some she remembered. Some she did not. But she listened all the same, her fingers curled around his, as if afraid to let go.

One night, as the fire burned low in the hearth, she turned to him, eyes heavy with sleep. "Will you find me again?"

Lee pressed his lips to her knuckles, breathing in the last traces of her warmth. "Always."

And when she passed, he kissed her brow one final time before slipping away into the night, the cycle beginning once more.

It was now the 21st century and Lee hadn’t meant to talk to her. He had spent months ensuring that their paths never truly crossed, keeping his distance like he always did.

But fate had a cruel sense of humor.

It was late, the city washed in a misty drizzle, the glow of neon signs reflecting off the wet pavement. He had been trailing her like always, keeping a careful distance.

Then, without warning, she turned around.

Lee barely had time to react before she was standing before him, eyes bright with something unreadable.

“Hello, Lee.”

His breath caught.

No.

She couldn’t have just—

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

The world tilted.

It took everything in him to stay still, to keep his expression unreadable even as his mind reeled. His name. She had said his name.

She remembered.

For centuries, it had been the other way around—him searching, him finding, him remembering while she moved through life unaware of their past.

But now…

Now, she was the one who had been looking for him.

Lee’s pulse pounded in his ears, though he knew it was just a phantom sensation, a habit leftover from when he had been human.

He forced himself to meet her gaze, searching for some sign that he had misheard. That this was just some cruel coincidence.

But her expression held no doubt. No hesitation. Only quiet certainty.

She knew him.

Truly knew him.

“Say something,” she teased, tilting her head. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He let out a shaky breath, barely managing a smirk. “Funny. That’s usually my line.”

Her lips quivered in amusement, but her eyes remained steady, waiting.

“How?” Lee finally asked, voice hoarse. “How do you remember?”

She hummed, crossing her arms. “Not all at once. It started as dreams—flashes of things that didn’t belong to this life. You were always there, though.” She smiled softly, like she had finally solved a puzzle that had been plaguing her for years. “Your face was the clearest thing.”

He couldn’t breathe.

For so long, he had carried their past alone. Shouldered the weight of lifetimes of love and loss, knowing she would never share the burden.

But now…

Now, she was standing in front of him, looking at him like she had been waiting for him just as desperately as he had been waiting for her.

“You were watching me,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence. “Every night. Weren’t you?”

Lee stiffened.

Caught.

He should lie. Should tell her she was mistaken. But what was the point? She already knew.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I was.”

She didn’t look surprised.

“Why?”

Lee swallowed, debating how much of the truth he was willing to give her.

Because I couldn’t help myself. Because I’ve lost you too many times. Because I swore I wouldn’t get close, and yet I can’t seem to let you go.

Instead, he settled for, “Old habits die hard.”

Her gaze softened, seeing right through him.

Lee hated how easily she had always been able to do that.

“Will you keep running?” she asked.

The question settled between them, heavy and unspoken for far too long.

Lee had run for centuries—run from getting too close, from the pain of losing her, from the cruel hand of fate that always wrenched them apart.

But this time was different.

This time, she remembered.

And she had been the one searching for him.

He exhaled slowly. “I don’t know.”

Y/N reached out then, her fingers curling around his in a way that felt so natural, so achingly familiar, that it nearly unraveled him.

“Then let me find you,” she said, her grip steady. “For once, let me be the one who stays.”

Lee looked down at their joined hands, at the warmth seeping into his skin.

For the first time in lifetimes, she wasn’t slipping away.

And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to let go.

[emistoast]

𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐎𝐏𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐒 — 𝐂𝐇 𝟏

here’s chapter one of the bartylus fic i mentioned !! i don’t necessarily have a plan for where this fic will go (or how long it will be) but that’s how most of my fics go tbh. title is from “true love waits” by radiohead

CW: muggle/non-magic au, references to child abuse, mentions of blood, making out, neck kisses, shirts come off (fade to black so no actual smut though)

word count: 965

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It had been two months since Regulus moved in with his brother. Two months since Regulus showed up at Sirius’ door in the middle of the night with nothing but tear stained cheeks and blood dripping down his arm. Sirius had frozen, and despite the anger in his eyes he calmly helped Regulus inside and tended to his cut. He didn’t ask what happened, he didn’t need to.

Surprisingly, his parents hadn’t kicked up a fuss when Regulus went back to grab his things. Perhaps they didn’t see a point in it, after all, Regulus would be 18 soon and free to leave anyways.

No matter what the reason was, he was relieved when they let him walk away.

It was nice living with Sirius, despite his habit of leaving dirty dishes in the sink. He always asked what Regulus wanted when he went grocery shopping, and he didn’t care if Regulus closed the door to his room. He even let Regulus have friends over, despite his clear dislike for one particular friend.

Sirius didn’t hate Barty, but he often lamented about how annoying he was and why didn’t Regulus’ other friends come over more often. In all honesty, Regulus thought Barty enjoyed riling Sirius up and seeing him get frustrated.

“You could try being nice to him from time to time.” Regulus said one day while sitting on the sofa next to Barty who simply grinned in response.

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

Regulus rolled his eyes, trying desperately to hide the amused smirk that was taking over his face. “He thinks you’re a bad influence, y’know.”

Barty laughed at that. “And is he aware that you’re the bad influence? I was a perfect little swot before we met.”

Regulus chuckled, it wasn’t entirely false, though he always found it amusing that Sirius assumed he was being corrupted by Barty. He always had been quite good at concealing his mischievous streak.

“Apparently not.”

If possible, Barty’s grin widened. He leaned closer, arm resting on the sofa behind Regulus. “Bet he’d have a heart attack if he knew the kind of things you’ve done while away from his watchful eyes.”

Regulus hummed as Barty’s other hand came up to trace gently over his jaw. Barty was hardly ever gentle, he seemed to move through life as loudly and quickly as possible. He took up space and demanded attention, with his loud laughs, harsh words, and even harsher actions. Regulus smiled softly at the thought that Barty could be gentle around him–with him.

Barty’s fingers traced over Regulus’ jaw up to the back of his neck, where he threaded them through the dark curls. Regulus let his eyes flutter shut at the gesture. He could feel Barty moving closer, tugging softly at his curls in order to tilt his head back, and predicted the lips on his neck before he even felt them.

He let Barty kiss softly up and down his neck, feeling warmth erupt in his chest at the affection he held for this boy. Regulus allowed Barty to tilt his head and let out a small breathy sound that made the other boy grin against his skin.

“Sirius’ll kill you if he comes home and finds us like this.” Regulus muttered.

“We’ll go upstairs then.” Barty suggested, nipping at Regulus’ neck one last time before pulling away. “Your door has a lock, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” Regulus confirmed. Barty’s grin widened and soon the two boys were sprinting up the stairs, giggling like children up to no good.

As soon as the door to Regulus’ room was closed and locked behind them, Barty pinned the darker-haired boy against the door and captured his lips in a heated kiss. It was unlike the gentle, feathery kisses from before, but it still made Regulus’ heart flutter with affection (and something else). Barty seemed to simply have that effect on him.

“You're perfect.” Barty whispered as Regulus wrapped his arms around his neck and tangled his fingers in the other boy’s hair.

He groaned in response, hands moving from Regulus’ face to roam over his body as if trying to memorise every inch of him. Regulus tilted his head as Barty’s lips moved down his neck, his pulse beating wildly under Barty’s touch. Soon Regulus became lost in a haze of pleasure, Barty’s mouth and hands making him feel hot as he arched into the other boy’s touch.

He felt Barty bite into the sensitive skin, making Regulus let out a soft moan in response. He tugged the taller boy closer by the hair, the inches between them feeling like miles in his desire-filled state.

“Off.” Barty said with a ragged pant as he tugged at Regulus’ shirt. “God, I don’t think I can stand another minute with you in this.”

Regulus shivered at his tone, stomach clenching in anticipation. He obliged, quickly dropping the shirt to the floor. Not even a second after the garment touched the ground Barty’s hands were once again on Regulus. It was intoxicating–his touch, his lips, his smell, his smirk. Everything about him made Regulus’ skin tingle and heart beat faster.

“Beautiful.” He said as Regulus tried to fight the blush rising to his cheeks. He settled for tugging at the hem of Barty’s shirt and whispering in his ear, “Your turn.”

Barty wasted no time removing his own shirt, relishing in the way Regulus looked at him like he was the most beautiful thing on earth. He always felt cherished with Regulus, like he could do anything and still be loved. “Like what you see?”

“Just gets better every time I see it.” Regulus replied, resting a hand on Barty’s waist to pull him closer.

Barty grinned and Regulus simply prayed that Sirius wouldn’t be home anytime soon.

[emistoast]

𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 — 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

a short little lee fic because he’s my fave <3

CW: smoking, late night talks, stargazing, gender neautral reader, not proofread so pls ignore any spelling mistakes, can be read as platonic

word count: 478

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It’s dark when you wake up. The truck bed is cold and hard under your back, the thin blanket doing little to ward off the wind as it rushes through the trees around you. You roll over onto your side—hoping a change in position will help you fall back asleep—and notice Lee is gone. Panicked, you sit up, looking around for any sign of his dyed hair in the dark of the camp site.

Your panic subsides slightly when you notice a familiar figure sitting a few feet away, the soft glow of a fire from his lighter surrounding him.

“It’s late.” You say in lieu of a greeting, sitting down next to him. Lee doesn’t startle at your presence or words, simply shrugging in response and blowing out a puff of smoke.

You don’t say anything else, still tired despite the momentary panic you had. You let your gaze drift away from Lee and to the stars above you. Out here, away from the city, they glisten like water droplets in the sun. Though of course there is no sun, only stars and vast darkness.

“That’s the big dipper.” Lee’s voice cut through your thoughts and you look over at him in surprise. Despite having been travelling together for a few weeks now, he had barely spoken to you. You didn’t push even though you were extremely curious. Everyone had their things, secrets just seemed to be one of his.

Lee must have noticed your surprise because a small crooked grin crossed his face before he lifted the cigarette back to his lips. “Right there.” He said, pointing up with his free hand.

You follow his gesture and stared up at the sky, looking for the constellation. The stars all seemed to melt together, making it hard to find the specific shape—that or your half asleep mind was to blame.

“You know a lot of constellations?” You ask, gaze still fixed upwards.

You could see him shrug out of the corner of your eye as he spoke. “Not really, but everyone knows the big dipper right?”

You let a small laugh escape you even though the joke wasn’t particularly funny. “Yeah.”

The silence that falls after isn’t uncomfortable. You and Lee haven’t talked much at all during your journey, but it’s never been awkward or uncomfortable. His presence is warm, there and noticeable, but something you’ve come to enjoy. When you reach your destination you’ll part ways, you know you will, but even so the idea of it makes you feel a little sad. These past few weeks with Lee have felt like a dream, and you can feel yourself getting closer to its end.

“We’ll start to Nebraska tomorrow.” He says, breaking the silence. His cigarette is gone now, the only piece of light flicked away, leaving you with darkness and the water droplet stars.

“Okay.”

[tanketorskk-deactivated20250827]

It feels like this trend was so long ago but ncfnjcnf it’s finally done 💪

[emistoast]

if i say i’m writing a bartylus modern au where regulus is living with sirius and barty is reg’s best friend and sirius lowkey hates him but would also kill for him because he makes his brother happy and that’s all he wants in the world would anyone read it?

i’ve only got a chapter and a half so far but…

[honeycaksy]

AU where Regulus’ karma is having a son who happens to be the carbon copy of Sirius.

[gethighbreatheunderwater]

the wind is a woman and she is my valentine’s date

[emistoast]

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒

number one rule: be respectful and patient, i have a life outside this blog :)

masterlist

♱ i’m open to fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, smut, etc.

↳ i won’t do anything too hardcore for smut (no noncon, incest/fauxcest, large age gap)

↳ feel free to request anything though, just note that i may change details to fit my comfort level

↳ i will not write anything with active self-harm (but i do love some comfort so am open to that)

♱ i write x reader and actual ships/pairings

↳ reader will be gender neutral unless specified otherwise

♱ if you’re going to request something please interact with it once posted !!

[moonstruckme]

my queen of comfort 🙇🏻‍♀️

can i pls request a marauders with reader who has seasonal depression and it gets bad especially during the winters??? thank u 🫶

Thanks for being patient with me lovely <3

cw: depression, no harmful thoughts but general apathy and lethargy

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 995 words

It’s warm in your bed. Almost too warm. The backs of your knees and the place where your arm is folded against your side feel uncomfortably heated. But Sirius kisses the back of your neck when he wakes, and you wouldn’t move for anything. 

“Let’s go to the farmer’s market today,” he says, voice sticky with sleep.

You look out the crack in the curtains covering your bedroom window. “It’s so cold out, though.” 

“So we’ll bundle up. You can put your hands in my pockets if you don’t feel like wearing your gloves.” His nose bumps your nape as he kisses you again. “It’ll be very romantic. The woman who sells the apple tarts said she’d be back this week, remember?” 

“Oh, yeah. I’m okay.” 

“You won’t let me get my girl a sweet? I thought you really liked those.” 

“I do, just.” Just. It feels like it’s all you say lately, like all you do is make excuses. Just, just, just. “It doesn’t seem worth it. It’s really gross outside.” 

Sirius’ arm comes around your waist. He doesn’t contradict you. It’s dreary and gray out your window, drizzling rain that bites like ice when it lands on your skin. You’d rather lose track of the day lying here with him, let it slip through your fingers and not think very hard about what it means that you have. Sirius’ fingers playing with yours make this all the more appealing. 

“What if we went to the cinema?” he asks. “That comedy film is showing this weekend.” 

“Didn’t James want to see that one?” 

“Think so, yeah.” 

“You should take him.” 

“I don’t want to take James.” Your joined hands press to your hip, a gentle request for you to turn around. But you don’t want to look at him, and Sirius doesn’t make you. He squeezes your fingers instead. “I want to take you.” 

That’s the important bit. Sirius doesn’t care about the farmer’s market, or even really about the film. You know he only wants you to get up, to go anywhere and do anything at all, and you feel like shit for resisting him. You shouldn’t, either. You know how sadness can sink its talons in the longer it holds you. 

“I’m sorry. Yeah, let’s go.” 

“Don’t be sorry, lovely girl,” he chides fondly. “We don’t have to go if you won’t enjoy it. What do you want to do?” 

You try to muster something for him, you really do, but after a handful of hapless moments you can only be honest. 

“I don’t think I want anything.” 

“That’s okay.” Sirius drops a kiss on your shoulder. “Hey, could you look at me? Please?” 

You roll over, miserable and made more miserable by the aching tenderness in your boyfriend’s expression. This new spot on the bed is colder than where you’d been, but Sirius’ knee bumps against yours, his palm slipping beneath your head on the pillow. He doesn’t hesitate to touch you. Doesn't treat you like you’re breakable or wrong or contagious. His hand flattens under your cheek and warms your skin like he can bleed goodness into you. 

“It’s okay,” he says again, softly. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Sirius tsks. “Now what for?” 

“Making things so hard,” you murmur. You’re trying not to disturb his palm with your mouth movements. 

“Sweetheart, nothing’s hard when I’m with you. I just want to be with you. We can just sit here and talk all day if you want.” 

“I don’t think I’m very nice to talk to right now.” 

“What does that matter? I know I’m awful to talk to half the time. We can be morbid bellyachers together.” 

With some effort, you lift one corner of your mouth. Sirius kisses it rewardingly. 

“You are a delight to talk to, by the way. Always.” 

“A delight?” you whisper. 

“Mhm.” 

There’s a piece of his hair that’s arching over his face, all sprightly and mussed about by the pillowcase. You’re close enough that it moves when you breathe. You blow, and it tickles Sirius’ nose. He smiles. 

“I don’t think I want to talk,” you admit. 

“That’s okay.” 

“I know I’m not fun to be around right now. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make everything miserable.” You look at the dip of his cupid’s bow rather than his eyes. “I love you.” 

It feels important to say. Even when you’re dropping it in his lap awkwardly, like a plea. 

Sirius tilts his head until his eyes meet yours. Dark lashes and silver pools, like moonlight glancing off water. “I love you,” he says, so sincere it burns. “I have another idea.” 

You hum. 

“We watch a film here instead. Or a show, whatever. But first, you tell me how to make french toast so we can have some for breakfast.” 

“You don’t want me to make it?” You don’t want to, but you’d try for him. 

“I want to do something for you.” He kisses you, soft and sweet. He tastes like sleep. “But you’re allowed to help if you like.” 

Allowed amuses you, though you don’t smile. Sirius’ eyes glint like he can tell just the same. 

“You do lots of things for me,” you say. 

“Good. I’d like to continue adding to the tally; it’s how I keep my edge.” 

You look at Sirius, thinking of how much you must love him for it to ache this deeply. Thinking of how he loves you, and how unfair it seems. He keeps doing it even when you give him every reason not to. 

Sirius can tell you’ve slipped away. He strokes his thumb over your cheek. “So, what do you say, gorgeous?” 

You don’t really want to eat french toast. You think you’d swallow battery acid if he made it for you, though. “It sounds nice.” 

“Yeah?” He grins. “Okay, let’s go then, yeah? I’m starving.” 

You give Sirius your hands when he reaches for them, and you let him pull you up.

[thatdammchickennugget]

Just My Luck

pairing - james potter x fem!reader

summary - you get stuck in a shed with your quidditch captain

warnings - gryffindor!reader, quidditch player!reader, kinda grumpy x sunshine vibes

a/n - week one of hogmarch! using the dialogue prompt "if we're stuck here, we might as well make the best of it"

wordcount - 2.3k

The last thing you wanted was to be stuck alone with James bloody Potter.

And yet, here you were.

It had been a long, grueling practice, made worse by the fact that you were forced to take orders from James—James of all people—because he was Captain now, and you weren’t. You were still bitter about it, still fuming over the decision McGonagall had made at the start of the season.

Not that you had wanted to be Captain, necessarily. But if anyone deserved it, it was you. You had been on the team since second year, worked your ass off every season, knew how to run drills better than anyone. And yet, somehow, James—show-off, golden boy, bloody Potter—had been the one to get the title.

And of course, he was obnoxiously good at it.

You huffed under your breath, gripping the heavy crate of practice Bludgers tighter as you trudged toward the equipment shed.

James was beside you, carrying the other half, his usual, infuriating grin still plastered across his face despite having spent the last two hours barking orders at the team.

“Y’know,” he said, effortlessly adjusting his grip like the crate weighed nothing, “if you weren’t so busy glaring at me during practice, maybe you’d actually manage to listen to the strategy I was explaining.”

You shot him a glare that could have set his broom on fire. “Oh, sorry, Captain. Next time I’ll be sure to hang onto every brilliant word that comes out of your mouth.”

James just laughed, completely unaffected, his hazel eyes bright with amusement. “That’s all I ask.”

You groaned, shaking your head as you reached the shed. He had this way of getting under your skin—like an annoying little itch you couldn’t scratch. It wasn’t just the fact that he was a talented player or a natural leader or that he made Quidditch look so damn easy.

No. It was the fact that he knew all of this, and he enjoyed pushing your buttons about it.

The two of you set the crate down inside the shed, the worn wood creaking under the weight. You turned to grab the last few Quaffles, and James, ever the show-off, tossed his into the storage bin without even looking.

“That was luck,” you muttered.

James smirked. “That was skill, darling.”

You rolled your eyes, about to retort, when—

Click.

The sound was so quiet that it almost didn’t register. It wasn’t until you turned back toward the door, reaching to grab another broom, that you realized it had swung shut behind you.

You frowned.

James frowned too, as if the same realization was dawning on him at the exact same moment.

Slowly, you reached for the handle and twisted it.

It didn’t budge.

You twisted harder.

Still nothing.

There was a beat of silence.

James blinked. “Did you just—?”

“It’s locked,” you said flatly.

James let out a nervous chuckle. “That’s funny.”

You turned to face him, arms crossed. “Yeah. Hilarious.”

Another pause.

Then—like the absolute idiot that he was—James reached for the door handle himself, as if that would make a difference. He twisted. Pushed. Pulled.

Nothing.

He let out a sheepish cough. “Okay. So it’s… properly locked.”

You stared at him, unamused. “Brilliant deduction, Potter.”

“Well, no need to panic. Just grab your wand and—”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

James stopped.

You saw it—the exact second he realized.

“No,” he said, his voice dropping into something close to horror. “No, no, no—tell me you have your wand.”

You didn’t answer.

“Tell me one of us brought their wand.”

Silence.

His face fell.

“Oh, bloody hell,” he groaned, running a hand through his already-messy hair.

You let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of your nose. “We left them in the locker room.”

“Because Quidditch robes don’t have pockets,” he finished, nodding grimly.

More silence.

Then, James turned to you, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “I mean… at least we have each other?”

You deadpanned. “I’m going to kill you.”

His grin widened. “That would be counterproductive.”

You groaned, slumping against the wall of the shed. “This is your fault.”

James raised his eyebrows. “My fault?”

“You’re the Captain. That makes everything automatically your fault.”

He scoffed. “That’s not how it works.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know, because I’m not Captain.”

James let out a dramatic sigh. “Are you still salty about that?”

You glared at him. “I hope someone finds us in here tomorrow.”

James just laughed.

And, Merlin help you, you hated how much you liked the sound of it.

Because for all your irritation, for all your sharp words and glares and gritted teeth… you didn’t actually hate James Potter. Not even a little.

And that was the real problem.

James stretched his arms behind his head, utterly unconcerned about the fact that you were well and truly stuck. You, on the other hand, were pacing a tight line along the cramped space of the shed, trying to think of a way out.

“Maybe if we both threw our weight against the door at the same time, we could—”

“Shatter the entire thing?” James cut in, amused. “Brilliant idea. McGonagall would love that one.”

You whirled on him, scowling. “You got a better plan, Captain?”

James, to his credit, pretended to think about it. “Not really. But if we are stuck here, we might as well make the most of it.”

You gave him a deeply unimpressed look. “And how exactly do you suggest we do that?”

James smirked, leaning lazily against the wall like this was all just a minor inconvenience, like you weren’t actually trapped inside a tiny wooden shed with only old broomsticks and deflated Quaffles for company. “Well,” he said, voice infuriatingly casual, “we could always sit and have a nice chat.”

You let out an exaggerated groan. “I’d rather take my chances with the door.”

“Come on,” James said, tilting his head at you. “I’m trying to be civil.”

You shot him a glare but begrudgingly slumped against the opposite wall, arms crossed.

“Alright, since you’re so interested in chatting,” you said, voice thick with sarcasm, “why don’t you enlighten me? What is it, exactly, that makes you so insufferable?”

James laughed, bright and easy. “Dunno. It’s a talent, I suppose.”

You rolled your eyes. “You would think that.”

He grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. But then, to your surprise, the amusement in his expression softened just a fraction.

“Alright,” he said, a little more serious now. “Your turn. What is it, exactly, that makes you so mad at me?”

You scoffed. “Oh, where to begin?”

James just raised his eyebrows, waiting.

You hesitated.

Because, really—what was it?

What was it that made your blood boil every time he smirked at you? What was it that made you grind your teeth when he swooped past you on his broom, looking like some Quidditch poster boy? What was it that made you so incredibly bitter about him being Captain, when, deep down, you knew he was actually pretty damn good at it?

You cleared your throat, shifting uncomfortably. “You’re just… you,” you said finally, though even you knew it was a weak answer.

James hummed. “Right. And that means…?”

“You’re arrogant. You’re annoying. You think you’re the greatest thing to ever happen to Quidditch.”

He grinned. “I am the greatest thing to ever happen to Quidditch.”

You gave him a look. “See? That. That right there.”

James laughed, but his hazel eyes stayed fixed on you, sharp and searching, like he was seeing something beyond your words. Like he knew there was more to it.

And the worst part? He wasn’t wrong.

James leaned in slightly, his grin never faltering. “You know, I think you secretly like it.”

You snorted. “Like what?”

“The way I get under your skin.” He tilted his head, watching you closely, like he was trying to read you. “The way I push your buttons.”

Your stomach did an annoying little flip. You ignored it. “Oh, please.”

James smirked. “You wouldn’t glare at me so much if you didn’t care.”

A silence stretched between you, not quite tense but not entirely comfortable either. The shed was small—too small—and now that you weren’t moving around, you were painfully aware of how close the two of you were.

James must have noticed it too, because his smirk softened, something flickering in his hazel eyes. “Listen,” he said, a little quieter, “if this is about Quidditch—about me being Captain—I didn’t take it to spite you.”

You frowned. “I never said you did.”

James gave you a knowing look. “You didn’t have to.”

You looked away. Because, maybe he had a point.

Maybe it wasn’t just about the title. Maybe it was the fact that when McGonagall had announced James as Captain, your heart had twisted in a way you hadn’t expected. Because you had worked so hard, and yet—James had gotten it without even breaking a sweat. Like everything else.

And maybe it stung because James—golden, charming, ridiculously talented James—had always been just one step ahead of you.

You exhaled, crossing your arms tightly. “I know you didn’t take it to spite me,” you admitted, voice quieter than before. “It’s just… frustrating.”

James watched you, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, after a beat, his mouth curved into a slow, lopsided smile.

“Y’know,” he said, voice teasing but warm, “for what it’s worth? You’d make a bloody brilliant Captain.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but you masked it with a scoff. “Yeah, yeah. Flattery’s not gonna get us out of here, Potter.”

James grinned. “No, but it might make you like me a little more.”

You rolled your eyes. But this time, it was harder to fight the smile tugging at your lips.

James must have noticed the way your mouth twitched because his grin widened. “Was that a smile?”

You scowled on instinct. “No.”

His eyes sparkled. “It was.”

“It was not.”

James hummed, looking insufferably pleased with himself. “It’s alright, you know. You can admit it. You like me.”

You scoffed, leaning your head back against the wooden wall with a dramatic sigh. “Being trapped in a storage shed with you has made me delirious, that’s all.”

James chuckled, and for once, it wasn’t the teasing, self-satisfied kind of laugh that usually made you want to throw a Bludger at his head. It was softer. Warmer.

And that was almost worse.

Because James Potter was supposed to be arrogant and annoying and completely, utterly insufferable. He wasn’t supposed to look at you like that—like he actually wanted to understand you. Like he wasn’t just playing a game.

You exhaled, shifting slightly where you sat. “I do take Quidditch seriously, you know.”

James tilted his head. “I know you do.”

“I don’t just get annoyed at you for the sake of it.”

“Well,” James said, smirking, “maybe a little.”

You rolled your eyes. “I just—Quidditch is the one thing I’ve always been really good at. And then you come along, and you’re just… better.” You hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud.

James blinked. “Wait—do you actually think that?”

Heat rose to your cheeks. “I—shut up.”

James stared at you like you had just told him the sky was green. “You think I’m better than you?”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Forget I said anything.”

“Not a chance,” James said, still looking mildly offended. “You’re one of the best players I’ve ever seen. I mean it.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, skeptical. “Even better than you?”

James grinned. “Obviously not.”

You let out a strangled laugh, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Git.”

James just laughed, but then his expression softened. “You know I admire you, right?”

You blinked. “What?”

James shrugged, like he hadn’t just casually thrown that out there. “You work harder than anyone. You make plays even I wouldn’t think of. And you never back down from a challenge. It’s kind of impressive.”

Your throat felt oddly tight. “Oh.”

James smiled. “And a little terrifying.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Good.”

A comfortable silence settled between you. The shed was still small, still cold, still locked. But somehow, it didn’t feel quite as unbearable anymore.

James shifted, bumping his knee against yours. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think McGonagall gave me Captain because I’m better. I think she gave it to me because I’m loud and she wanted me to yell at people so she wouldn’t have to.”

You laughed. “That does sound like her.”

James grinned. “And you would’ve been a nightmare. Can you imagine? You’d have us all doing drills in our sleep.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And you don’t?”

“Fair point.”

Another pause. Then James nudged you again, his voice quieter this time. “Hey.”

You glanced at him.

His hazel eyes were even softer now, searching. “I really don’t want you to hate me.”

You swallowed. “I don’t.”

He held your gaze, like he was waiting for you to take it back. But you didn’t.

And then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned your head against his shoulder. Just for a second.

James stilled. You could hear his breath catch, just slightly, before he let it out. Then, slowly—hesitantly—he leaned his head against yours.

You sighed, closing your eyes. “If you tell anyone about this, I will deny it.”

James chuckled, quiet and warm. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And for some odd reason, you almost didn’t mind being stuck with him.

Masterlist

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[emistoast]

𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 — 𝐓𝐂 𝐅𝐈𝐂

timmy comes to your house to get something off his chest: friends to lovers, little bit of angst, gn reader (not proofread so let me know if there’s any mistakes spelling or pronoun wise)

word count — 1239

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It wasn’t unusual for Timothée to show up at your place unannounced. You had been friends for years, so it was only natural to barge into each other’s houses whenever. But it still surprised you when a knock on the door came around midnight, and you opened it to find Timothée standing there.

“Hi.” He looked slightly sheepish, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck and tapping his foot softly.

“Hi.” You answered, looking even more startled by his unusually nervous demeanour. “What’s up?”

Timothée, uncharacteristically, was at a loss for words. He had been planning his interaction, so why did he suddenly feel so unprepared now that he was right there standing in front of you? Shoving his hands into the front pocket of his jeans, he shifted his weight to his other leg. “Can I come in? I need to talk to you.”

“Yeah, sure.” You stepped aside to let him in, closing and locking the door behind him. He made a beeline for the couch, sinking down in his usual spot with you following closely behind. He continued to fidget nervously and you couldn’t help but feel your own nerves build up. He was never like this, it was making you anxious.

“Timmy, what’s wrong?” You asked finally and he looked up with a sigh.

Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward slightly, trying to collect his thoughts and form them into words. “There's ... There's something I need to tell you.” He spoke quietly, his gaze flickering down for a moment.

You fidgeted under his intense gaze, your hands rubbing up and down your thighs. He was starting to worry you, he made it sound so… intense. “Okay…” You spoke carefully, trying to hide the anxiousness in your voice. “You can tell me.”

He nodded once at that, looking back up at you and for the first time since he arrived, you noticed the intensity of his gaze, the kind that you had rarely seen. It made your breath catch in your throat, a shiver running down your spine.

“Promise me first …” He spoke quietly, his eyes still burning into yours. “Promise me that no matter what I say, you will hear me out. That you won't freak out.”

His voice had dropped even lower, and you gulped. You felt as if your heart was going to hammer right out of your chest and you almost wanted to turn away, but a part of you couldn't. “Okay. I promise.” You said, surprised by how breathy your voice sounded.

Timothée seemed satisfied with your answer, even if he could still see how nervous you were, and nodded. He fiddled with his fingers, as if he was trying to find some kind of distraction. Another moment passed before he finally spoke, “I can't ... I can't be just your friend anymore.”

It felt as if all air was sucked right out of your lungs, your breath getting stuck in your throat as the words processed. He… what? Did you not mean something to him anymore? Was the years of friendship not worth the effort it took to maintain it?

You tried to keep your composure, knowing that you had promised that whatever he said, you would hear him out. “What do you mean...?”

Timothée’s gaze flicked back up to you as he heard the strangled word leave your mouth. He almost felt bad, he knew you weren't ready for this conversation, but his desire to finally let you know how he felt was overpowering, and he knew he needed to get this out.

"I..." He started, his fingers stilling as he leaned even closer towards you. "I can't be your friend ... Because I want to be more than that."

Your heart felt like it was going to jump straight out of your chest. What was he talking about?

You'd known Timmy for a long time, of course you thought he was attractive, of course your mind sometimes went places, but you'd always known that for him, you were just a friend. Sure, sometimes he was more touchy, he'd hug you more often, more intimately, and sometimes his hands would linger just a moment too long on your body, but that didn't mean anything. Right?

Timothée could see the flurry of emotions on your face, your confusion, disbelief, hope, everything. "I ..." He swallowed, his tongue suddenly feeling too big for his own mouth. "I have feelings for you. And I’m sorry to drop this on you out of the blue, but it’s eating away at me.” He didn't know what else to say, how to explain just how intensely he felt for you. How long he has been wanting to say this to you, to hold you and kiss you and just be with you.

It felt like hours as you processed his words, staring at his wide, hopeful eyes with an expression of shock and something else. You didn’t know how to feel, surely this wasn’t really happening? Your best friend confessing his feelings for you just didn’t seem like the type of cliche thing to happen in your own life.

“Please say something.” Timothée said, snapping you out of your thoughts. Yep, this was actually happening.

“I… don’t know what to say.” You could practically feel his heart drop at the words, but you were still too confused and surprised to feel guilty about it. “What exactly are you trying to tell me?”

“I like you, Y/N.” He said firmly. “As my friend, but also as more. And I totally get it if that’s not what you want, you can just tell me to leave and we’ll forget this ever happe—“

“I’m not going to tell you to leave.” You interrupted, trying to sound softer. “And there’s definitely no way I can just forget this.”

“But you don’t feel the same?”

“I didn’t say that.” You watched as his eyes lit up, hope etched across his face. It was endearing and it definitely proved he wasn’t lying. “I’m just…. well I’m a bit nervous.”

“What? Why?” He leaned closer, then paused and scooted back a bit. Space was probably best right now.

“We’re friends.” You shrugged, as if there was no other explanation. And to be honest, you couldn’t think of a better one. Friends getting together could get messy, and if there was one thing you didn’t want it was to lose your friendship with Timothée.

Timothée rolled his eyes, clearly he wasn’t having the same thoughts. “Plenty of friendships turn into relationships. That just means we won’t have an awkward ‘getting to know each other’ phase.”

“But—“

It was his turn to cut you off, fixing you with an intense stare not all that different from when he first confessed. “Tell me you don’t feel the same.”

You didn’t give an answer and that was answer enough. Timothée moved closer (fuck the space rule) and grabbed your hand. “Just one chance, Y/N. If it doesn’t work out I promise we’ll still be friends.”

“You can’t make that promise.”

“Too bad, I just did.” Despite the conversation, you felt a smile playing at the corners of your mouth. He always had a talent for making you laugh, especially when you didn’t want to.

“One date.” You said and the smile that broke out across his face practically blinded you. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let it turn into something more.

[spideysbruh]

Fourth Time's The Charm

a/n- FUCK THE OSCARS

~~

Timothée proposed to Y/n a total of four times. He knew she was his future wife, it was always just a matter of when.

1st- Karaoke

The first time Timothée ever proposed to Y/n was the first night they met, Zendaya had brought her over to introduce them to each other, and after a few minutes of conversation, he quickly realized that he had met his soulmate that night. 

They had spent pretty much the entire time talking to each other, cracking jokes and learning about each other. They were sitting in a booth together, watching her friend Kate completely butcher ‘Love Story’ by Taylor Swift when he spoke up over the music, “I’m one hundred percent sure I’m gonna marry you.” 

She quirked an eyebrow and smirked, “Are you proposing?”

He shrugged, “If you want me to be.”

She laughed, “Mmm maybe not yet.” She replied, a blush appearing on her face.

He chuckled and nodded, silently repeating her words. “Not yet.” He looked down at his drink, stood up, walked to the karaoke stage and typed in a song. 

He said something to Tom who was nearby and Tom turned around and looked at Y/n, sending her a nod. She furrowed her brows but nodded back. Tom laughed and said something to Timothée, who laughed and began the song.

She recognized it immediately and smiled as Kate sat down next to her, “You guys are hitting it off, huh?” She slurred, poking her arm.

“I love this song.” Y/n mumbled, her eyes never leaving him on the stage as he began to sing ‘I Want You’ by Bob Dylan.

Timothée maintained eye contact with her, a smile on his face while he finished the first verse.

Tom turned around and smiled when he saw Y/n start to sing along.

“I want you…. I want you!” Timothée pointed a finger at Y/n as he sang, “Oh, Y/n I want you…”

“So bad!” She had yelled out, making Kate snort as she downed another drink.

Timothée smiled and serenaded her for the rest of the song, he was suddenly shy as he walked off the stage and back to her.

She grinned up at him and stood up, pulling him in by his collar and pressing her lips on his. He hummed in surprise but quickly kissed back, his hands on her waist.

“I love that song.” She said against his lips.

“Yeah?” She nodded in response, “...I'm Bob Dylan.” He breathed out, making her laugh. 

“You're funny.” She giggled, not knowing that he was literally in preparations for the biopic.

2nd- Dinner

The second time, they were on a date at a restaurant. In the midst of their meals, Timothée spoke up.

“Remember when we first met?”

She smiled, “Of course I do, how could I forget? You told me you were Bob Dylan.” She giggled, “You also said that you wanted to marry me.”

“No no no! I said that I'm one hundred percent sure I’m gonna marry you.” He clarified, “I remember that day like it was yesterday.” He smiled, his eyes scanning across her face as she laughed.

“You serenaded me.” She blushed, “For the first time.” Timothée laughed at that.

About once a month, she makes him sing one of her favorite songs and chooses which instrument he should play.

He chuckled and reached across the table to hold her hand, “We should get married.” He said simply.

“Eventually, baby.” She replied, blushing at his words.

He shrugged, “Why not now? You're definitely my forever someone.” 

She smiled and squeezed his hand, “I would love to marry you, Timmy. Just not right now. I mean, I just got my new job and you're about to be away filming for the next few months. I don't want to start our engagement with us apart.” She explained, he listened and nodded.

“Yeah… yeah, you're right baby. I don't want a long engagement either. It'd be nice to plan everything together, in person. It's how it should be anyway.” He replied and they contently went back to their meals, Y/n tried to hide a smile by looking down at her lap. Timothée noticed and smirked.

Just not now.

3rd- SAG Night

Y/n loved her job and Timothée had just returned from filming for months. They'd missed each other, but tonight was his night. He was nominated, and she was 100 percent sure he was gonna win. He's waited forever for this moment, and she just knew that it was finally going to happen.

She looked gorgeous, he couldn't keep his eyes or hands off her, not that she minded.

“I don't even care if I don't win tonight, cause I get to take you home.” He said quietly on the carpet, she giggled and shook her head.

“You're funny.”

“I'm serious.” He said, taking her hand and guiding her further down the carpet.

Several hours later, Timothées award is about to be announced, she takes his hand and grins at him. 

He was nervous, he would never say it out loud but he really wanted it, and she knew it. He worked so hard for this role. He deserved it. She was excited and got him hyped during the commercial break right before.

When the announcers were naming the nominees and said his name, he squeezed her hand so tightly at the sound of the applause and she rubbed her thumb over his hand.

“And the Actor goes to…” They both held their breath as they opened the envelope, which felt like an eternity, “Timothée Chalamet!” 

Y/n jumped up, applauding and cheering so loudly for him, he grinned and stood up, pulling her in for a kiss. One that was maybe a little too passionate for TV, but she wasn't one to complain. 

“I'm so proud of you!” She exclaimed over the applause, her eyes getting watery. 

He smiled and kissed her again, “I love you, baby.” he said before walking up onto the stage.

Her tears fell out her eyes as she sat back down and watched him accept the award, he pulled out his speech from his pocket and began speaking.

She had seen him writing the speech a couple of weeks prior, and had asked to hear it but he said no because it would be too embarrassing if he ended up losing. She rolled her eyes at him, but accepted his answer.

His speech was beautiful, well said and empowering. And then- “Finally, Y/n. You have supported me through everything, your brutal honesty at times is not only refreshing, but needed.” The audience laughed at that and he laughed and met her eyes, his cheeks red, “Ahaha, you have made my life infinitely brighter and happier, I love living life with you and I can't wait to spend the rest of it side by side. I love you, my girl. More than there are stars in the sky and galaxies in the universe. For as long as I breathe. Thank you."

She sobbed at his final words and wiped her eyes which didn't help because she couldn't stop crying anyway. Timothée made his way back to her and wrapped an arm around her, kissing her head.

She looked up and saw that he was crying too, she reached up to wipe at his eyes, “I'm so incredibly proud of you. I knew you would win, but I still wasn't ready for your speech.” 

He smiled and kissed her again, slipping her some tongue. They could taste the saltiness from each other's tears but they couldn't care less. 

“Will you marry me, baby?” He mumbled against her lips, making her gasp.

She was quiet for a moment, she opened her eyes and saw him already staring at her, excitement and a bit of hope in his eyes. 

She smiled, but shook her head, “No, baby. Tonight is your night.” 

He pouted, but nodded, “You better fucking say yes next time.” He said, making her laugh. 

“I promise you that I will. Celebrate your Award!”

“We could be celebrating something else, too.” He teased, pinching her cheek.

She giggled and shook her head, “No no no, let tonight be about you, my love.”

4th- Forever and Always

A few weeks later, they were heading to one of their favorite restaurants, he was quieter than usual which she chalked up to him being hungry. 

When they park the car and get out, he takes her hand and they start walking to the doors, he opens it for her before he says, “Wait here for a second.” 

He walks to the hostess and they exchange words for a minute before he turns to look at her, his eyebrows now furrowed and stress etched all over his face. 

He turns back and says something, to which the hostess shakes her head. He sighs and turns back around, slowly walking over to Y/n, “Our reservation got fucked up baby, I'm sorry…. but we got something to look forward to in eight months!” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

She giggles and shrugs, “Hey, that could be an early dinner for your birthday or something.”

He laughs and sighs, walking them out and back to the car, “Fuck, now what?”

She hums and looks around, “There's some food trucks over there, let's get something from two different ones and we can split it.” She suggested, pointing her thumb to the trucks behind them.

He was quiet for a second, a pout on his face as he looked over at the trucks.

“I- I dunno, it's not- it's just- I was… I was looking forward to this place tonight.” He stuttered, she laughed and waved it off.

“It's okay, babe. Plus, we're gonna come back in eight months, remember?” She grins and takes his hand, pulling him towards the food trucks.

His mouth turns, but he follows her, he really was hungry.

She ordered some tacos and he got a burger, cut in half so she could try it. They sat on a park bench, taking food from each others plates as they chatted about anything and everything.

She sat criss cross facing him while he sat with one leg over the other, “We should get ice cream or something after this.” She suggests, he's quiet for a second but nods.

“Yeah baby, whatever you want!”

She smiles and continues eating, looking around at how pretty the park is right now. “It's so pretty here.” She simply says, sighing in contentment. He perks up a bit, thankfully going unnoticed by Y/n, and smirks, looking down at his pocket. 

He slowly reaches his hand down, his hand almost in his pocket when-

“AHHH! Oh my god it's Timothée Chalamet and Y/n L/n!” A girl yells out to her friends.

He groans and his hand quickly comes back up, moving his plate to the side as he stands up to greet the girls.

Y/n eyes him curiously before standing up as well, talking to the girls.

After taking pictures and chatting with them, they walk hand in hand to a nearby ice cream shop. Timothée is once again oddly quiet, she tries to dramatically swing their hands back and forth to make him laugh or something, but to no avail.

She orders two scoops of cookies and cream ice cream, and he goes to order just plain vanilla but-

“Sorry, we ran out of vanilla earlier today.” The worker says apologetically.

He groans, “How do you run out of vanilla?” He lightheartedly jokes, but Y/n can sense his underlying frustrations.

She awkwardly laughs, “They have like 30 other flavors babe.”

“Yeah I know, I know. Just reallyyyyy wanted vanilla… I'll have butter pecan then.” He says, tiredly rubbing his face.

They get their ice cream and head back to the car. They eat it on their walk.

“You want me to drive, Timmy?” She offers, throwing her empty ice cream cup out. He simply nods and hands her the keys, still opening the door for her before going around and getting in the passenger seat.

She starts the car and makes sure he puts his seatbelt on before driving away. He's quiet, too quiet. She hums along to the song on the radio, and he reaches over and grabs her hand, intertwining their fingers. 

He brings her hand up and presses his lips on the back of it, kissing it softly, “I love you.” He says, leaning over the console and nuzzling his head against her shoulder.

She smiles and squeezes his hand, “I love you too, baby.” 

They get home and she gets changed and is sitting at their vanity, doing her nightly skincare routine when she sees Timothée grab his guitar and sit on their bed, softly strumming.

He's humming a song, one she instantly recognizes, one that they consider to be their song, one that, for him, solidified the fact that they were soulmates.

“I want you… I want you…” He softly sings, meeting her eyes in the mirror, she suggestively raises her eyebrows at him. He smirks and blushes before looking back down at the guitar.

“Timmy, I want you… so bad.” She sings, making him chuckle.

He goes to sing the next verse but his guitar string suddenly breaks, “Fuck!” he yells, shooting up off the bed and roughly putting the guitar in the corner. He groans and rubs his face again, collapsing on the bed.

Y/n frowns and gets up from the vanity, sitting on the edge of the bed, she doesn't say anything but she soothingly rubs his leg.

“This is not how I expected the night to go.” He says from behind his hands, sighing and turning on his side, his back facing her.

She tuts and pulls on his shoulder to turn him back around, “It's okay, my love. We can fix it tomorrow, no biggie.”

He groans again, not opening his eyes, “Why did fucking everythingggggg go wrong today? Does the universe hate me?” He mumbled, his voice catching in his throat, making Y/ns heart drop.

He was really emotional right now. She furrowed her eyebrows and caressed his face, “No honey, I promise you it doesn't! It's just one of those days, you know? Like- remember that day where I accidentally dented my car against that fire hydrant, proceeded to spill my coffee all over my outfit, and then got a ticket because I accidentally parked next to said fire hydrant? Then later that same day a dog kicked up a shit ton of mud onto my clean backup outfit?” She reminded him, laughing a bit at the memory.

He snorted and shook his head, “It seemed like you were texting me with a different, fucked up update every hour.” He laughed, finally opening his eyes. 

They were red and watery, she pouted a bit and slowly ran her thumb across his cheekbone. “I just-” he clears his throat, “I just had such a different idea for how today was supposed to go, man.” He moaned, tilting his head more into her hand, kissing her palm.

“It's okay, baby. Why was today so special, huh?” She wonders, he makes eye contact with her again and shrugs.

“I dunno.” He muttered, sitting up and completely facing her.

“Yes you do.” She replies simply, he smiles a bit at that.

“Maybe I do. Who's to say? And what do you care, anyway?” He teasingly shrugs, making her laugh.

“Come onnnn!” She whines, wrapping her arms around his neck, “It's me, Timo!” She pouts up at him, making him groan and look away.

“You suck, you're too fucking cute.” He chuckles, looking back and kissing her lips, sliding his tongue in between them.

She hums and pulls away, “Don't try to get out of it, baby. Tell me, that's what I'm here for, you'd want me to tell you.” She says, nudging her nose with his.

He sighs and looks down, “You're right, my darling. It's just-” He looks back up and she nods, patiently waiting for him to voice his problem. “Well…” He nervously chuckles, now avoiding her eyes.

“Yeah?” She calmly asks, her voice as sweet as ever.

“Ahahahaaa.” He laughs, fidgeting with the rings on his fingers. 

She notices but waits patiently to hear what he's going to say, soothingly rubbing his arm.

He quickly feels his pocket and sighs, meeting her eyes, “Will you marry me?”

She gasps, shooting back in surprise, “Oh my god.” She grins, covering her mouth as she giggles. She watches him pull out a box, opening it and revealing a beautiful ring. Her eyes water as she sees how nervous he is, his hands shaking while holding the box, waiting for her to answer.

“That's why I was so pissed today, fucking… everything went wrong.” He chuckles, “I just wanted- I wanted it to be perfect.” He says.

She lets her tears fall down her face, “It is perfect, Timmy. Fuck- it's so incredibly perfect, you're so incredibly perfect, I love you.” She smiles, lunging forward and attacking him with kisses, he smiles and kisses her quickly before pulling away and awaiting her answer, she enthusiastically nods, “Yes, I'll marry you! I'll definitely marry you, fuck I'm gonna marry you so hard.” 

He laughs, taking the ring from the box and sliding it on her finger, “I can't wait. I literally have everything planned in my head already.” 

She smiles in awe, “Really?”

He nods, “Even got a secret pinterest board.” 

“Okayyyy, cancel your plans for tomorrow cause we're definitely going through that all day.” She giggles, kissing him again.

He wipes a tear from his eye and caresses her cheek, “Fuck, I can't believe we're finally engaged. Fourth time's the charm huh?” 

She snorts, “I'm sorry… the other times were just-”

“You don't gotta explain anything to me, my love. I understood every reason and you were right every time.” He says, simply shrugging and kissing her again, moving her to lay down as he hovers over her.

She smiles and caresses his cheek, he inhales and kisses her palm, meeting her eyes.

He moves down to kiss her neck, leaving hickeys when he speaks up, “Y’know what I told Tom when I got on that little karaoke stage the first day we met?”

“What?” She moans, holding onto his arm as his tongue drags across her neck. 

“I said that if you knew the song I chose, you were definitely my future wife.” He chuckles, looking up at her and kissing her cheek.

She smiles and pushes him away a bit to look at his face, “Seriously?” He nods.

“Yeah. The second I saw your reaction once I started playing… I swear-” He chuckles a bit, “It's embarrassing, but I swear to god… I pictured our entire lives together. I told you I was gonna marry you and you played along, I chose that song and you loved it… I proposed to you four fucking times because I knew you were my future wife.”

“Fuck Timothée, I love you.” She sighs, leaning up to kiss him, he groans and lowers himself back on top of her, licking into her mouth. He tastes the saltiness from her tears and intertwines their fingers. The coolness from the engagement ring pressing against his warm hand just right. He never wants to see her hand without that ring.

“I love you more.” He mumbles against her lips, “It's always been you. It's like I was waiting my whole fucking life for you. Like I wasn't a whole person until I met you.” 

Her heart swells at his words, some more tears fall out of her eyes which he soothingly wipes away.

“I love you so easily, Timmy. I can't wait to marry you, we're gonna be the best married couple ever just watch.” She says, making him laugh. 

“We gotta be the best engaged couple first.” He grins, softly kissing her cheek.

“Ohhh, we got this.” She giggles, holding his face in her hands, admiring every mark on his face.

“Hell yeah we do.” 

*

[emistoast]

Maybe something with timothee (or any of his characters) x anorexic fem reader who’s feeling bad about what she ate? It would really comfort me rn 😭

hello lovely thanks for requesting! i realized after finishing that this wasn’t *exactly* what you requested, but hopefully it’s good enough

CW for discussions of ed and ed thoughts, NOT romanticizing or glamorizing ed’s in any way !! (gender neutral) reader with past ed/in recovery

word count — 450

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

“Stop thinking so loudly.” Timothée’s voice startled you, having not realized he noticed your zoning out. He rested a hand on your leg, his thumb rubbing soothingly over the fabric of your pants.

“Sorry.” You murmured back, dragging your gaze away from the plate of food in front of you to look up at him.

Timothée shook his head with a soft, empathetic smile. “No need to apologize.” His gaze traveled from your face down to your plate, a flicker of sadness crossing his face too briefly to really notice. “Want to take it to go?”

The question surprised you slightly, though you quickly nodded in response. The restaurant was starting to feel suffocating.

✮⋆˙ ✮⋆˙

The car ride home was silent, your mind racing with a combination of guilt and disgust. The to-go box sat in your lap, warming your hands and legs as Timothée drove the two of you back to his place. He kept his right hand on your knee, a light and comforting pressure that made sure you knew he wasn’t upset, despite the silence between you.

“Do you want to try and finish it now or later?” He asked once you’d made it into his apartment, nodding to the to-go box.

The question floated around in your mind, neither option really sounded good, but you opened the box anyways and sat down at the kitchen table. “Now.”

Timothée nodded, a small proud smile gracing his face as he went to grab you a glass of water. He tried not to stare as you managed a few more bites, though his hand rested on the small of your back and rubbed comforting circles every now and then.

“I feel like shit.” You mumbled, letting the fork fall from your hand as Timothée turned towards you with a frown. “Why?”

“I— I can’t…” You took a deep breath, desperately fighting off the tears threatening to spill over, “I just can’t finish it.”

He nodded in understanding, his hand never pausing its movements in your back. “That’s okay, mon cœur.”

“But… but I—“

“Hey, hey, don’t cry.” His hand came up to wipe away the few tears that had escaped your eyes. “You’ve been doing so well lately, and I’m very proud, but it’s okay to have bad days.“

You nodded, knowing he was right. Recovery wasn’t easy. It wasn’t straightforward. But goddamn you wished it was.

“We can try again later, okay?” Timothée said, standing up and reaching for your hand. “For now let’s get comfy. Maybe watch a movie—what was the one you mentioned before?”

Despite the tears still sticking to your cheeks, you couldn’t help but smile at his distraction. A movie sounded nice, especially with him.

[emistoast]

WONDERFUL PEOPLE PT2 — TC SMAU

a little late valentine’s gift (but it’s still february so we can let it slide right?)

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Instagram —

ynln posted

liked by tchalamet, tayrussell, and others

ynln 💐💕💕

sabrinacarpenter happy valentine’s day ❤️

↳ ynln happy valentine’s love !!

↳ ynlnfan did sab get you those flowers??

↳ ynshairtie i bet they’re from timmyyyy

view more comments…

tchalamet posted a story

Twitter —

leesbones tweeted - timothée’s insta story i’m crying they’re so cute 😭😭

timmyn replied - and he got her roses?! her favourite flowers?! 😭😭

leesbones replied to timyn - lmao how do you have a fanpage for the ship already

timmyn replied to leesbones - i’ve been waiting for my moment

Instagram —

sabrinacarpenter posted

liked by ynln, sukiwaterhouse, and others

sabrinacarpenter we’ve been working late

ynln cause we’re singerrrss !!

liked by sabrinacarpenter

sabrinasboots YESSS FINALLY A COLLAB

sabsjeans i’ve been waiting years for this!

carpentersareforever HELLO?! DATE??!

↳ sabyn no fr like WHEN is this coming out?

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ynln posted

liked by tchalamet, chappellroan, and others

ynln music video out tomorrow 😚😚

sabrinacarpenter it’s a fun onnneee

liked by ynln

ynstattoos JUST GONNA DROP IT LIKE THAT ??

ynlnfan watch this become my new personality

↳ sabyn REAL

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ynlnnews posted

liked by ynfan1 and others

ynlnnews Y/N and Timothée at the beach yesterday!

timmysring love them but jeans at the beach is diabolical

ynstattoos they seem so happy together

ynsroses so ready for an album of love songs

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Twitter —

ynln tweeted —

ynfan1 replied — girl 💀

everwh0re — this is insane i love it

stat1st1cs replied — Y/N!! (same)

ynlnlover replied — she knows this is her public account right ?

Instagram —

tchalamet posted

liked by ynln, zendaya, and others

ynln wow creative caption

liked by tchalamet

misterlaurence active era?

↳ timmyn the y/n effect

timotheecore I SEE Y/N

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ynln posted

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ynln birthdays, boyfriends, and back to blonde

tchalamet HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYY HAPPY HAPPY BIIIIIRRRRTHDAY

↳ ynln thanks for the enthusiasm (and the cake)

↳ sabyn he bought the CAKE I’M CRYING

yntilldeath THE BLONDE 😫😫

sabrinacarpenter pretty girl pretty cake

↳ ynln ❤️

ynshairtie happy birthdayyyy (when’s the album)

stat1st1cs timothée’s comment 💀 bros in love

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tchalamet posted a story

caption - happy birthday love 💕

[emistoast]

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 — shadowhunters

♭: fluff ♮: angst ♪ : spicy ° : em’s faves

✮⋆˙ requests open ✮⋆˙