PotterHeadPhanatic

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[potter-head-phanatic]

Hello everyone!

I just wanted to let you all know that I made a form to fill out if you would like to be part of my taglist!

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I hope you all enjoy my writing!

xx

[versasfanficwastedump]

i actually never ever want AO3 to be censored bc nothing is more fun than reading the tags on a fic and going “huh. didn’t know there was a market for that.”

[galahadenough]

squinting at a tag and trying to decide how badly I want to learn a new word

[potter-head-phanatic]

-Moodboard- FIVE HARGREEVES || THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY "What part of the future do you not understand?"

Masterlist

[roze-latte-zz]

𝓕alling 𝓣hrough 𝓕alse 𝓵ies ⚞ James Potter ⚟

james potter x fem!hufflepuff!reader 7k Summary : What started as pity turned into love. James Potter never meant to fall for the quiet Hufflepuff who asked him out on a whim, but when the truth comes out, it might be too late. Now Hogwarts’ golden boy will do anything—letters, apologies, even begging under the stars—to win her back. she fell first he fell harder Warnings : Angst, miscommunication, overheard conversations, breakup, heartbreak, groveling, hurt/comfort, fluffy ending. Main masterlist || Navigation

The corridors of Hogwarts were always bustling, but today they felt like they were closing in on you. The stone walls seemed taller, the chatter of students louder, and every footstep echoed like the drum of your nerves. Your heart had been doing this strange, jittery dance since you woke up this morning, but now it was practically clawing at your ribcage, desperate to escape. You clutched the strap of your bag tighter, trying to steady your breathing.

This was stupid. Absolutely, horrendously stupid. Who in their right mind walked up to James Potter — James Potter, Quidditch captain, prankster extraordinaire, boy who had half the school trailing after him like he was the bloody North Star — and confessed to liking him? You. Apparently, you. Because your crush had been gnawing at you since third year, and it was fifth year now. Two years of stolen glances, of catching yourself smiling at his laugh across the Great Hall, of blushing whenever his hand brushed yours when passing a parchment in Charms.

Two years was too long. You couldn’t keep it bottled up anymore.

You spotted him at the end of the corridor, lounging against the wall with his gang — the Marauders. Sirius Black was telling a story with his hands waving wildly, Remus Lupin was pretending not to listen while clearly listening, and Peter Pettigrew was laughing a little too hard. And James… James was just there, all messy hair and bright eyes, twirling his wand between his fingers like he didn’t have a care in the world.

You should walk away. Run, even. But your feet kept carrying you forward, like some unseen force was pulling you closer. Your palms were sweaty. Your mouth dry. With every step, doubt gnawed deeper. What if he laughed? What if Sirius laughed? What if they all laughed? What if he said no in that casual, dismissive way James Potter was known for, and you had to carry that rejection like a scar forever?

But then he looked up. His hazel eyes flicked to you, a blink of recognition — you were the Hufflepuff he’d seen in Charms, right? The one who always smiled when someone asked you for help with notes. Not exactly on his radar, but not a stranger either.

“Uh—hi,” you managed, your voice trembling like a string about to snap. The Marauders stilled, turning to look at you, their pack-like attention unnerving.

James tilted his head, a polite smile tugging at his lips. “Hey. You’re—uh—y/l/n, right?”

Your heart swelled stupidly just because he remembered your surname. You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Right. That’s me. So, um…” You swallowed. The words lodged in your throat like stubborn stones. This was it — your point of no return. “I… I like you. Like—like like you. And I was wondering if maybe… you’d want to go out with me sometime?”

Silence.

Absolute silence. Even Sirius stopped mid-gesture. The air felt thick, heavy with expectation. Your stomach flipped so violently you thought you might be sick.

James blinked. Hard. Like his brain had blue-screened. What? His inner voice was a jumble of disbelief. He’d been confessed to plenty of times — it wasn’t new — but the way you said it, nervous and honest, it wasn’t coated in flirtation or games. Just… you. Sweet, straightforward, vulnerable. Cute, even.

But still. His first instinct screamed no. He didn’t know you. Not really. And James Potter didn’t go out with girls he didn’t know. He dated girls who were loud, dazzling, popular — not quiet Hufflepuffs who looked like they might cry if he so much as frowned.

Except there you were, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and hopeful, waiting like the world depended on his answer.

His smile faltered. He felt a twinge of something he didn’t expect: guilt. He didn’t like the idea of crushing that hopeful look. James Potter feeling bad for rejecting someone? What the hell.

So the word slipped out before he could stop it. “Yes.”

Your breath caught. Relief and joy rushed through you like sunlight after a storm. “Really? I—um—great. Maybe Hogsmeade this weekend? Ice cream? At Fortescue’s?”

“Yeah, sure,” James said, scratching the back of his neck, trying to play it casual. “Sounds fine.”

You grinned. A wide, radiant smile that made something warm stir in his chest, even though he’d meant the yes out of pity. “Okay! I’ll—I’ll see you then.”

You turned and hurried off before your nerves could collapse entirely, your heart still hammering but now with excitement instead of dread.

The second you were out of earshot, Sirius doubled over. “Merlin’s beard, Prongs, what the fuck was that?” His laugh was sharp and disbelieving. Remus was biting back a smile, Peter snorted into his sleeve.

James frowned. “What?”

“You just agreed to go on a date with her!” Sirius cackled. “You don’t even know her!”

“I didn’t want to crush her in front of everyone,” James defended, crossing his arms, but even as he said it, he sounded uncertain.

Remus arched a brow. “So your solution was to say yes?”

James shrugged. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

The weekend came faster than you expected. The crisp bite of autumn hung in the air as you made your way down to Hogsmeade. Leaves crunched under your boots, and you clutched your scarf closer to your neck. You were nervous again, but less so now — he’d said yes. That had to mean something. Maybe, just maybe, this could work.

James was already waiting outside Honeydukes, hands stuffed into his pockets, hair as messy as ever. He spotted you and gave a little wave, his smile easy but not quite warm.

“Hey,” you said, breath puffing white in the chilly air.

“Hey. Ready?”

You nodded, and together you walked toward Fortescue’s. Conversation stumbled at first. You filled the silence with small chatter — classes, professors, funny little things you’d noticed. James listened more than he spoke, tossing in comments now and then. He wasn’t cold, just… reserved. But you didn’t mind. You were talkative enough for both of you, and slowly, the tension eased.

Inside the ice cream parlour, you ordered something sweet and colorful, while James opted for a simple chocolate. You laughed when you got cream on your nose, and he chuckled softly, shaking his head as he handed you a napkin. That little moment lingered between you, unexpectedly gentle.

Afterward, you wandered the village. He bought butterbeer, and you insisted on paying him back, which made him grin for real. The two of you ended up walking back toward Hogwarts as the sky shifted into dusky shades of orange and purple, leaves swirling in the wind.

You talked about your favorite spots in the castle, about how autumn was the best season, about how you liked the quiet corners of the library because they smelled like parchment and ink. James listened, really listened, and found himself thinking you weren’t half bad company. Sweet. Kind. Easy to be around.

By the time you reached the castle gates, your nerves had melted into something softer. It hadn’t been a disaster. Far from it. You smiled at him, shy but genuine. “Thanks for today. I had a really nice time.”

James, to his own surprise, didn’t have to force his smile. “Yeah. Me too.”

And for the first time since he’d blurted out that impulsive ‘yes,’ he didn’t feel like it had been such a bad idea after all.

You still couldn’t believe it. Every time you walked into the Great Hall and James Potter’s hand found yours, every time he smiled that crooked grin and tugged you toward the Gryffindor table instead of letting you drift toward Hufflepuff’s, it felt unreal. You — quiet, bookish, never-in-the-spotlight you — dating James Potter, golden boy of Hogwarts. The whispers that followed you were proof enough. You caught the stares, the nudges, the murmurs: James Potter? With her? And every time, you felt a cocktail of nerves and giddy disbelief bubbling in your chest.

You tried not to let it show, but sometimes, when he leaned close to whisper a joke only you could hear, your smile betrayed you. You’d never imagined this, never dared hope beyond that reckless confession in the corridor. And yet, here you were.

James, though… James was struggling. Not that he let it slip easily. To you, he was the attentive boyfriend — not overwhelming, not overly sweet, but present. He held your hand when you walked together, he walked you down to the entrance of the Hufflepuff common room after late-night study sessions, he even nudged your pumpkin juice closer at breakfast like he’d always been looking out for you. It was enough to make your heart race.

But inside, James was a mess.

The thing was — he liked you. Against his own expectations. Not love, not the wild, star-scorched sort of affection he dreamed of giving someone someday, but a softness had crept in where he thought there’d be nothing. You were easy to talk to, easy to laugh with, easy to just… exist around. And that scared him more than it should have.

Sirius didn’t bother to hide his opinions. “You’ve got to tell her, mate. If you’re not serious, she deserves to know.”

Remus echoed the same, albeit quieter, gentler. “It’ll hurt less if you’re honest now than later.”

Even Peter muttered something like, “Yeah, feels wrong, James.”

But James couldn’t do it. Because every time you looked at him with those warm, hopeful eyes, the words lodged in his throat. He didn’t want to see them dim, didn’t want to hear your voice falter with disappointment. So he told himself lies that tasted like honey: he’d give it a month, see how it went, break it off gently if it didn’t work. No one would get hurt. Right?

He wanted to believe that.

Days slipped by in a haze of autumn gold. You sat with him at the Gryffindor table, feeling simultaneously out of place and exactly where you wanted to be. Gryffindors welcomed you in their own chaotic way — loud chatter, flying toast, Sirius cracking jokes across the table until you laughed so hard pumpkin juice nearly came out your nose. And through it all, James’s hand lingered on your knee under the table, grounding you.

At night, when he walked you down to the cozy entrance of the Hufflepuff basement, you could hardly believe the picture you made: James Potter, messy hair catching torchlight, grinning at you as though escorting you was the most natural thing in the world. You sometimes hesitated before slipping inside, half-expecting him to vanish into smoke when you blinked.

“Goodnight,” you whispered one evening, clutching your books to your chest. “Thank you for walking me.”

James shrugged, too casual, hiding the way his chest tightened. “Of course. Can’t have you getting ambushed by Peeves, can we?”

You laughed, the sound bright and genuine, and James found himself staring a moment too long. He liked that sound. More than he wanted to admit.

But when he crawled back into the Gryffindor dorms, Sirius was waiting. Arms crossed, smirk sharp. “You’re doomed, Prongs.”

James groaned, collapsing onto his bed. “I’m fine.”

“You like her.”

“I—no, I don’t. Not like that.” But the denial felt thin, weak. James rolled over, staring at the canopy. “She’s fine. Sweet. I’ll give it a month and if it's still like this then I’ll… I’ll break it off. Nicely.”

Remus’s voice drifted from the corner, quiet but firm. “It won’t be nice for her, James. You can’t make it painless.”

James shut his eyes. He knew they were right. But he also knew he couldn’t bring himself to tell you yet. Not when you were smiling at him like he was your entire world.

And Merlin help him — part of him didn’t want to let go.

Every moment with you was another thread tying him down. He found himself watching you more often — the way you furrowed your brows when concentrating in class, the way you always shared your notes with anyone who asked, the way your laughter came easily, without calculation. It wasn’t dazzling or dramatic, but it was real. And James was starting to realize he liked real more than he thought he did.

But beneath it all, the guilt festered. Every time you leaned into him in the common room, every time you brushed his arm with yours at breakfast, every time you kissed his cheek before ducking into class — James felt the weight of the truth he wasn’t telling you. He liked you, yes. But not in the way you deserved.

And yet, when you turned to him one evening under the autumn stars, whispering, “I can’t believe this is real,” he only smiled back and pulled you closer, even though his chest ached with the lie.

Three weeks slipped by like a dream. You had never known happiness could feel this simple — like sunlight spilling through autumn leaves, like laughter echoing across the Black Lake, like stolen glances that made your cheeks burn long after. Everything with James felt… amazing. Better than you ever dared to imagine. The stares, the whispers, the disbelief of others melted into nothing whenever his hand found yours. For once, you didn’t doubt yourself. For once, you allowed yourself to believe you were enough.

You thought things were going strong. And they were. Only stronger than you realized — because James Potter had fallen, hard.

It started quietly. At first, James told himself he was just indulging the sweetness of it, just giving you — and himself — time. But somewhere between the picnics by the lake and the butterbeer dates in Hogsmeade, he found himself grinning when you weren’t looking. He found himself replaying your laugh in his head when he was meant to be studying. He found himself reaching for you automatically, as though his body had decided it was no longer complete without you pressed against his side.

He was doomed. And he knew it.

The day it hit him hardest was the skating picnic.

The lake had frozen over early that year, the ice shimmering like glass under the pale winter sun. You’d brought a basket of food wrapped in cheerful yellow cloth, insisting on a picnic even in the cold. James teased you endlessly about it, but he carried the basket anyway, secretly delighted just to see you so determined.

After you ate, you’d both strapped on skates and ventured onto the ice. You wobbled almost immediately, clutching at his arm, and James laughed so hard he nearly toppled with you. “You’re hopeless,” he teased, but he didn’t let go. Not once. Every time you slipped, his hand was there, steady and sure.

“Stop laughing at me!” you squeaked, cheeks flushed from cold and embarrassment.

“I can’t,” James managed between chuckles. “You’re too cute when you fall.”

You swatted at him, but your grin gave you away. And then — without warning — your skate slid too far, your balance gave out, and you tumbled forward. James’s reflexes kicked in instantly. His hands shot out, gripping your waist, hauling you back against him before you could crash to the ice.

The world seemed to still.

Your palms pressed against his chest, his heartbeat pounding beneath your touch. His hands remained at your waist, fingers curling tighter, unwilling to let you go. The laughter faded from his lips as his hazel eyes locked on yours. Wide. Intense. Hungry.

And then he kissed you.

Not the hesitant brush of lips you’d sometimes imagined, not the tentative peck of teenagers figuring it out. No — this was James Potter, undone. He tilted his head and closed the gap with a desperation that startled you. His lips were warm against the winter chill, his kiss deep and claiming. One hand slid up your back, anchoring you to him, while the other tightened at your waist as though he feared you might vanish if he didn’t hold you close enough.

You melted into him, the shock giving way to something hotter, wilder. The ice beneath your skates, the laughter of distant students, the entire world blurred until there was nothing left but him. His mouth moved against yours like you were the only thing that mattered. Because to James, in that moment, you were.

When he finally pulled back, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours and whispered, “Bloody hell.” His grin was dazed, his hair messier than ever, and his eyes shone like he’d just discovered a secret he wanted to keep forever.

You giggled softly, unable to find words. Instead, you leaned in and kissed him again, quick but certain, and James Potter knew he was gone for good.

Of course, the Marauders noticed.

Sirius caught James staring at you during breakfast, toast forgotten in his hand, and nearly spat out his pumpkin juice laughing. “Merlin’s balls, Prongs, you’re gone. Absolutely finished. Look at you — all heart eyes over there.”

James shoved him, scowling but blushing all the same. “Shut it, Padfoot.”

Remus only smiled knowingly over his book. “It suits you, James. She suits you.”

Even Peter piped up, grinning. “She makes you less annoying. We like her.”

And though they teased him relentlessly, none of them could deny the truth: you were good for him. Better than good. For once, James Potter wasn’t all bravado and antics. He was softer. Warmer. Happier.

And for once, you weren’t just the quiet Hufflepuff with her nose in a book. You were the girl James Potter couldn’t stop thinking about, the girl who’d stumbled into his orbit and made herself indispensable.

Three weeks in, you thought everything was perfect.

Three weeks in, James knew he was ruined.

And he couldn’t bring himself to mind one bit.

The walk back from the Quidditch pitch should’ve been nothing. A normal, golden afternoon — James changing after practice, you slipping away to fetch him water, the autumn sun still hanging low and warm. But instead, it became the day your chest hollowed out, the day you realized how foolishly you had believed in fairytales.

You hadn’t meant to overhear. You had rounded the corner with two chilled bottles in hand, only to catch the echo of laughter — Sirius’s sharp bark, Remus’s steadier murmur, Peter’s giggle threading through. Then James’s voice, low, defensive, fraying at the edges.

“She asked me out — what was I supposed to do? Say no to her face?”

And Sirius’s reply, “Prongs, you said yes out of pity. That’s rotten.”

Your breath stuck. The water felt heavy in your grip. Pity. The word burned into your ears, etched into the soft parts of you that had been glowing these last weeks. Pity. You waited, praying for a contradiction — for James to scoff, to say, No, that’s not it, I like her. But you didn’t stay long enough to hear the rest. You fled, water bottles still clutched tight, shame and disbelief dragging you down.

By the time you collapsed in your dorm that night, the bottles were nowhere near James. The water never reached him.

—

The next morning felt different. You sat at the Hufflepuff table for the first time since you’d begun dating. You felt their curious eyes, heard their whispered questions, but ignored them. James noticed instantly from across the Great Hall. His head jerked toward you, brows furrowing, confusion flickering like a candle flame. For weeks you’d been glued to his side, laughter spilling between you both. Now you didn’t even glance at him. He shifted, restless, picking at his toast, pretending to listen to Sirius.

Maybe she just wants to sit with her own friends today, he told himself. But the unease pooled in his stomach.

After breakfast, he caught you before you could vanish. “Hey—” his voice soft, uncertain, relief creeping in as he finally had you close. “I was looking for you last night. Where’d you go? You didn’t bring the—”

You cut him off. Your tone was sharp enough to slice him open. “Out of pity, right?”

James froze. The words hit him harder than any Bludger could. His heart tripped in his chest, his throat went dry. He blinked at you, panicked, uncomprehending. “What? No, I— how did you—”

You laughed, a sound brittle and cracked. “Doesn’t matter how. I heard enough.”

James felt everything tilting. He reached for you, desperation flooding his veins. “No, listen to me, it wasn’t— it isn’t— I never meant—”

“Don’t.” You stepped back before his hand could brush yours. Your stomach churned, your vision blurred. Anger at yourself sharpened your words. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve known this wasn’t real. James Potter doesn’t date Hufflepuff nobodies unless he feels sorry for them.”

The words gutted him. His mouth opened, but nothing came out at first — just the ache. Then, frantic, “That’s not true. I swear, it’s not what you think. Please—”

Your chest rose and fell, ragged. “Stop. Just stop. Whatever this was, it’s over.”

He shook his head violently, his voice cracking. “No, no, you don’t understand— I— I like you, I do—”

You laughed again, wetter this time, your throat thick. “Don’t lie now, James. Don’t make it worse.”

The finality in your tone shattered him. He stumbled closer, eyes wide, pleading. “I’m not lying. Please. Give me a chance to—”

But you cut him off again, your voice trembling. “We’re done. I don’t want to be the pity project anymore.”

The silence after hung heavy, unbearable. James’s hands hovered uselessly in the air, empty. His chest heaved like he’d run ten laps around the pitch. He wanted to scream, to grab time itself and rewind it, to make you hear the part you hadn’t stayed for: how the pity had burned away weeks ago, how he couldn’t stop thinking about you, how you had become his favorite part of every day.

But you were already turning away.

“Please,” he whispered hoarsely, one last time, like the word could anchor you to him. “Please, don’t—”

You didn’t look back. The corridor swallowed you whole, leaving him stranded, hollow.

James stood there until his knees buckled. He leaned against the stone wall, head dropping into his hands. His chest hurt like someone had hexed him open. The bottle of water you had meant to bring him — the simple gesture that should’ve been nothing — never left his thoughts.

He didn’t even notice when Sirius found him minutes later. “Prongs?”

James lifted his head, eyes red, jaw tight. For once, Sirius didn’t smirk or tease. He just clapped a hand on James’s shoulder, steady and silent, as if holding him up when he couldn’t stand on his own.

Because James Potter — golden boy, Quidditch captain, Marauder — had just lost the one person who made him feel more than all of that combined. And it was his fault.

James Potter had never known desperation like this.

It started small: letters. Neat at first, written late at night under the soft glow of his wand. Please, just let me explain. Please talk to me. By the third day, his handwriting had grown jagged, his quill blotting ink with every frantic word. He sent them with owls, slipped them into your bag, folded them between the pages of books he knew you’d borrow from the library. Every single one came back unopened — sometimes still sealed, sometimes crumpled, sometimes left on the floor outside the Hufflepuff common room for him to find like a reminder of your rejection.

He started waiting. First between classes, leaning casually against the stone walls, pretending he wasn’t searching for your face in every crowd. Then outside your common room, long after curfew, until his legs ached from standing. Sometimes he’d sit on the floor, running a hand through his hair until it stuck up worse than usual, hoping you’d appear. You never did.

The Marauders noticed. Of course they did. Sirius ribbed him at first, until James snapped so hard Sirius’s smirk dropped. Remus tried to soothe, told him he needed to give you space. Peter avoided his eyes. But James couldn’t stop. Every corridor without you felt hollow. Every meal you spent at the Hufflepuff table tore another piece of him away.

He cornered you once in the library. You slipped away before he even opened his mouth. Another time, he chased you down a hallway, calling your name until his voice broke, only to watch you vanish around the corner. Each rejection left him more frayed, more undone.

By the second week, James Potter — Quidditch captain, prankster king, golden boy of Gryffindor — looked wrecked. Shadows bruised the skin under his eyes. His laugh had vanished. He walked the castle like a ghost.

—

The Astronomy Tower was supposed to be your escape. Late at night, long after curfew, when the castle slept and the stars stretched endless above, you climbed the spiraling stairs to breathe. You wanted distance, a quiet place to unravel without being seen.

But when you pushed open the heavy door, you weren’t alone.

James stood at the railing, hunched, shoulders drawn tight like he was carrying something too heavy to set down. His broom-calloused hands gripped the stone ledge, knuckles white, and for a moment you thought about leaving, slipping back into the shadows before he noticed.

You turned on your heel. But you weren’t fast enough.

His hand shot out, closing around your wrist. The touch was hot, trembling. “Wait.”

“James—” you started, sharp, but he tugged gently, then harder, pulling you around until you faced him. The stars spilled silver across his face, highlighting the redness in his eyes, the raw ache carved into every line. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He looked broken.

Your stomach flipped. You tried to pull free. “Let go.”

He didn’t. His grip tightened, not hurting, but desperate, anchoring you in place. His other hand came up to your waist, hesitant at first, then clutching like he was afraid you’d disappear. Your body was nearly flush against his, your heart thudding wildly as he bent close, his forehead nearly brushing yours.

“No,” he rasped, voice shredded. “No, you’re going to hear me this time.”

You stiffened, anger rising with your panic. “James, I don’t want—”

His breath hitched, chest heaving against yours. “Please,” he broke in, the word hoarse, torn straight from his throat. “Please. I can’t— I can’t lose you without telling you everything.”

The rawness in his voice stole yours for a moment. He pressed on, eyes locked to yours, glassy and frantic.

“Yes, it started wrong. I was an idiot, a coward— I didn’t know what to do when you asked me out, and I said yes without thinking. I thought— Merlin, I thought it’d be a week, maybe two, and then I’d let you go gently so you wouldn’t get hurt. That’s what I told them. That’s what you heard. But that’s not— that’s not the end of it.”

You shook your head, trying to step back, but his grip on your wrist held. He leaned closer, voice cracking as it tumbled out faster, desperate.

“Because then you smiled at me. And you laughed with me. And you sat with me at every meal and walked me back to my tower like it was the most natural thing in the world. You— you listened. No one listens to me, not really, but you did. And suddenly it wasn’t pity, it wasn’t some bloody joke, it was everything. You were everything. I fell, harder than I’ve ever fallen for anything, and I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Your throat tightened, but you swallowed it down, shaking your head again. “James—”

“I’ve called for you in every stupid way I know,” he whispered, his voice breaking fully now. “Letters, hallways, waiting outside your common room like some lovesick fool. Do you know how many times I’ve stood there hoping you’d open the door? I would’ve stood there all night if it meant seeing you. I don’t care if it’s pathetic. I don’t care if I look like an idiot. I just— I can’t stand this silence. I can’t stand not having you.”

His forehead dropped against yours, his breath ragged. His hand on your waist clenched tighter, like he needed proof you were real. “I love you. I didn’t know it at first, but I do. And I’ll spend every bloody day proving it to you if you let me. Please. Please, if you can’t give me another chance, at least— at least forgive me.”

Your eyes burned. You hated the ache in your chest, the way his words cracked you open. You wanted to pull free, to run, to protect yourself. But his desperation held you rooted, trembling under the weight of everything he’d just confessed.

For the first time since you’d walked away, James Potter wasn’t the golden boy, the untouchable heartthrob. He was just a boy. A boy with tear-streaked cheeks, clutching you like you were air, begging you not to leave.

And Merlin help you, you couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at you like that.

James’s forehead pressed to yours, his chest heaving, his voice trembling with the force of everything he had spilled. For a long moment, the only sound was his breathing — uneven, desperate — and the steady thud of your heart that seemed far too loud in the quiet tower.

Your throat burned. You hated him for breaking you, hated yourself for still feeling the pull of him even now. His hand was warm around your wrist, his grip at your waist almost painful in its need. He was shaking. James Potter, who never faltered, who shone so brightly that everyone else bent toward his orbit — was shaking.

“I love you,” he whispered again, quieter this time, like the words themselves were fragile. “Please. Don’t walk away.”

Tears pricked your eyes. You had imagined this moment a hundred times in the past weeks — what you would say if he tried, how strong you would be. But now, standing here with him undone before you, the edges of your anger softened into something else. Something raw. Something human.

Slowly, you lifted your free hand, hesitating before brushing your fingers against his jaw. His breath caught. His eyes, wide and red-rimmed, searched yours like he was terrified of what you’d say.

“You’re an idiot,” you whispered, voice breaking. “A selfish, reckless idiot who should’ve told me the truth from the start.”

“I know.” His answer was immediate, fervent. “I know. I was a coward. I was wrong. I’ll never stop being sorry for it.”

Your chest ached. “You hurt me.”

He nodded, swallowing hard, his grip loosening just enough to let you pull back if you wanted. “I know. And if you never want me again, I’ll accept it. But I need you to know — there’s no pity anymore. Just you. Just… love.”

The last word cracked something inside you. Because even after all the pain, after the nights of doubt and the weeks of silence, you believed him. Not because he was James Potter, golden boy, but because he was James — tear-stained, broken, trembling — and he was laying himself bare.

You exhaled shakily, then leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his. “I forgive you,” you whispered, and the weight in your chest eased for the first time in weeks. “But you’d better spend the rest of your life proving it.”

The laugh that broke from him was wet, choked, disbelieving. Relief washed over his face in waves, and before you could say another word, his lips were on yours. The kiss was desperate at first, then softer, reverent — like he was pouring every apology, every promise into it. His hand at your waist slid around to your back, holding you close like he never meant to let go again.

When you finally pulled away, his forehead stayed against yours, his grin small but luminous through the tears. “Deal,” he breathed. “Every day. For as long as you’ll let me.”

For the first time since the world had splintered, you let yourself smile. And in the quiet of the Astronomy Tower, beneath the vast stretch of stars, James Potter held you like he’d finally found his way home.

[an-angels-fury]

Anti-Hero by Taylor Swift (insp.)

"But I think, underneath... I just miss the feeling. I know how messed up it sounds, which means I know how messed up I am. Thing is, the problem's not the demon blood, not really. I mean, I, what I did, I can't blame the blood or Ruby, or anything. The problem's me."

[potter-head-phanatic]

-Moodboard- ROBIN BUCKLEY || STRANGER THINGS "How many children are you friends with?"

Masterlist

[potter-head-phanatic]

-Moodboard- SOPHIE BAEK || BRIDGERTON "He does not want to find me, he wants to find the lady in the silver gown, and she is not real.”

Masterlist

[potter-head-phanatic]

-Moodboard- COLIN BRIDGERTON || BRIDGERTON "I seek you out at every social assembly because I know you will lift my spirits and make me see the world in ways I could not have imagined."

Masterlist

[suprlucki-deactivated20260405]

★ ◞ — HOW TO GET THE GIRL .ᐟ loser!steve x popular!reader

summary: steve has been obsessed with you since basically kindergarten. one day he finally gets the courage to ask you out. but, not without some advice from his trusty best friend dustin!

cw .ᐟ fluff, fluff, fluff.

tags: @dopeysunflowers @strawbelly32 @essentiallie @mzwheeler @starsturniolos13 @angelicp0etry @arcticwisteria @leysol @sicknstarved @expressiveduck @kateseesgraves @megsavengersslut @onlinegutz @aerissblog @xxhospital-for-soulsxx @mikespreciious @maryjaneeeee @stcrbay @fals3-g0d @pleasingregulus @stqrdxst-xx @sisterslytherinog @frodofreakingbaggins @sh1mmers @sturnslucky

join the taglist !

꒰ luvchall’s notes : ugh i love writing steve so muchh !! i need to way more often :) sorry this is long !

the bell above the scoops ahoy door jingles for the fiftieth time that hour and you’re not even there, but somehow you’re still all steve can think about.

“you’re staring at nothing again,” robin says flatly, shoving past him with a tub of mint chocolate chip. “it’s creepy.”

steve blinks. “i’m not staring at nothing.”

“you’re staring at the napkin dispenser.”

“it reminds me of her.”

robin stops. slowly turns. “how.”

“she used to wipe our faces with napkins when we were kids. like aggressively. like she was trying to sandblast the dirt off.”

robin just stares at him. “you’re in love.”

“i am not in love,” steve hisses, voice cracking slightly. “i just— i just think hopper’s daughter is—”

“—out of your league?” robin offers sweetly.

“i was going to say cool.”

“same thing.”

before steve can throw a spoon at her, the back door slams open.

“steve!” dustin’s voice echoes through the tiny shop like a foghorn. “code red!”

“why are you yelling?” steve groans. “there are customers.”

“there are like three twelve-year-olds and they’re all watching me,” dustin says proudly. “i have an audience.”

robin mutters, “i’m clocking out emotionally.”

dustin hops up on the counter like he owns the place. “what’s the crisis?”

steve leans in, lowering his voice dramatically. “i need your help.”

“oh my god,” robin says. “this is about her, isn’t it?”

“don’t say her like that.”

“like what?”

“like she’s voldemort.”

“who?”

“never mind.”

dustin squints between them. “…wait. are we talking about y/n?”

steve freezes.

robin gasps dramatically. “he admits it.”

“i didn’t admit anything!” he scoffs.

dustin’s eyes go wide. “oh. oh no.”

“what do you mean oh no?”

“steve,” dustin says slowly, “that’s hopper’s daughter.”

“i’m aware,” steve snaps. “i’ve been aware since she used to boss you around in your own basement.”

“she didn’t boss me around,” dustin argues. “she led.”

“she told you to go to bed at nine.”

“leadership.”

steve runs a hand through his hair, sailor hat slightly crooked. “okay. okay. listen. she’s not babysitting you guys anymore. she’s like— popular now.”

“she’s always been popular,” dustin says.

“yeah, but now she’s like— mall popular. she hangs out by the fountain. she wears those… those shoes.”

“what shoes,” robin deadpans.

“the cool ones.”

“you are so descriptive,” robin says.

steve ignores her. “she smiles at me sometimes.”

“she smiles at everyone,” dustin says.

“no, this is different,” steve insists. “it’s like— softer.”

robin makes a gagging noise.

“i need to ask her out,” steve blurts. “and i need it to be good. like really good. not lame.”

dustin crosses his arms, looking way too serious. “first of all, you can’t just ask her out at scoops ahoy.”

“why not?”

“because you’re wearing that,” dustin gestures at his uniform. “you look like you work on a boat that sells ice cream.”

“…i do.”

“exactly.”

robin snorts.

“second of all,” dustin continues, “you need a grand gesture.”

“like what?”

“flowers.”

steve nods slowly. “okay. i can do flowers.”

“and you need a speech.”

“i can do speeches.”

“you panic and say weird things when you’re nervous,” robin reminds him. “last week you told a woman her eyebrows looked symmetrical.”

“that was a compliment!”

“she thought you were threatening her.”

dustin hops off the counter. “okay. here’s the plan. you go home. you shower. you don’t wear the sailor outfit. you get flowers. and you go to her house.”

steve’s stomach drops. “her house.”

“yes, steve. the building where she lives.”

“hopper lives there,” steve whispers like it’s a horror movie monster.

“are you scared of hopper?” dustin asks, delighted.

“…no.”

robin and dustin stare at him.

“okay, maybe a little.”

“he will absolutely murder you if you hurt her,” dustin says cheerfully.

“i’m not going to hurt her!”

“then you’re fine.”

steve exhales shakily. “okay. okay. flowers. speech. no sailor hat.”

“burn the sailor hat,” robin adds.

“i’m not burning it!”

later that night, you’re in your room, music playing low from your radio, flipping through a magazine. your dad’s truck is in the driveway. you’re in pajamas. you are absolutely not expecting a knock on the front door at 9:47 p.m.

hopper’s voice echoes from the living room. “you expecting someone?”

“no!”

another knock.

“i’ll get it,” hopper mutters.

you hear the door creak open.

“…harrington?”

your heart drops straight to your stomach. you sit up immediately.

there’s a long silence.

“uh,” steve’s voice floats in, nervous and higher than usual. “hi, chief.”

you rush to your bedroom door, peeking down the hallway. steve is standing there on your porch, holding a slightly lopsided bouquet of flowers. he’s wearing a clean button-down, hair perfectly styled. he looks like he’s about to either confess his love or throw up.

hopper eyes the flowers. “what’s that.”

“uh. plants.”

“i can see that.”

“they’re for—” steve swallows. “y/n.”

hopper narrows his eyes. “why.”

you decide to save him before he actually dies. “dad,” you call, walking into view. “hi.”

steve’s eyes find you immediately and his entire face softens. “hey,” he breathes.

god. he looks so cute.

hopper looks between you both. “…five minutes. door stays open.”

“dad—”

“five.”

he walks back inside, grumbling.

you step onto the porch, closing the screen door behind you but leaving it cracked.

steve just stands there for a second. “…hi,” he says again.

“hi.”

“these are for you.” he shoves the flowers toward you so fast a petal falls off.

you laugh softly. “they’re pretty.”

“yeah? good. i asked the lady what popular girls like.”

you grin. “oh yeah?”

“she said daisies are safe. i don’t know what that means.”

you take them gently. your fingers brush his and he visibly short-circuits.

“so,” you tease, “did dustin put you up to this?”

steve’s eyes widen. “how did you—”

“he’s not subtle.”

steve groans, dragging a hand down his face. “okay. yes. i may have asked him for advice.”

“why?”

he looks at you like that’s the dumbest question in the world. “because you used to babysit them. you’re like— intimidating.”

you laugh. “intimidating?”

“yeah. you used to make them clean up before d&d.”

“that was basic hygiene, steve.”

“it was terrifying.”

you step a little closer. “so you’re scared of me?”

“no,” he says immediately. then softer, “just… nervous.”

there’s a beat.

“why?”

steve takes a breath. “because i really like you.”

your heart stutters.

“like, not just ‘you’re hopper’s cool daughter’ like,” he rambles, hands moving as he talks. “like i think you’re funny and you care about everyone and you always stuck up for the kids and you— you don’t treat me like i’m an idiot.”

“i don’t?”

“well. not always.”

you’re smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

“and i was wondering,” he continues, voice shaky now, “if maybe you’d want to go out with me. like. on a date. not a weird date. a normal one. i’ll pay. obviously. i have a job. you know that. you’ve been to scoops. please don’t make this worse.”

you giggle, he squeezes his eyes shut. “oh my god i’m ruining it.”

“steve.”

he opens one eye.

“i’d love to go out with you.”

he freezes. “wait. really?”

“really.”

“like. as in yes?”

“yes, harrington.”

he beams. full sunshine smile. “oh thank god,” he laughs. “i had a backup speech about your hair and it was bad.”

“i kind of want to hear it.”

“absolutely not.”

you lean in slightly. “you’re cute when you’re nervous.”

he blinks. “…you think i’m cute?”

“steve.”

“right. right. cool. yeah. cool.”

from inside the house, hopper shouts, “two minutes!”

steve jumps.

you laugh. “guess we should plan this before my dad comes out with a shotgun.”

“he owns a shotgun?”

“multiple.”

“…dinner tomorrow?” he asks quickly.

“pick me up at seven.”

“seven. yes. perfect. i’ll— i’ll knock. not like aggressively. just normal knocking.”

“normal knocking is good.”

he hesitates. “can i—” he awkwardly opens his arms. you step into him without answering. he wraps his arms around you carefully at first, then tighter when you hug back. he smells like shampoo and a little bit like waffle cones.

“okay,” he whispers, smiling into your hair. “this is already the best decision i’ve ever made.”

“better than your hair routine?”

“…second best.”

you pull back, laughing. “see you tomorrow, harrington.”

he backs down the steps, nearly tripping but catching himself. “seven!” he calls quietly.

you hold the flowers to your chest, watching him walk to his car with the biggest, dorkiest grin on his face.

from inside, hopper appears at the doorway.“…this may be the craziest thing i’ve ever said but, i like him,” he mutters reluctantly.

you smile to yourself. “yeah,” you say softly. “me too.”

[firelilyfox]

it all started at a red light

Pairing: Steve Harrington x female reader

Summary: When you stop at a red light Dustin takes destiny in his own hands: he plays the matchmaker for Steve.

Warnings: meet-cute. Dustin being the wingman. Steve getting flustered. fluff. no use of y/n.

——————

„You know,“ Dustin says casually. „You totally want someone to come home to.“ 

The car hums quietly at the red light, the dashboard glowing soft yellow in the dark. Steve has one hand on the wheel, the other drumming against his thigh like it’s restless. Dustin’s slouched in the passenger seat, legs up on the das despite being told a thousand times not to. 

Steve snorts. „No, I don’t.“ 

„You do,“ Dustin says now confident. „You want someone who waits up for you. Maybe yells at you for doing stupid stuff. Or maybe steals you fries.“ 

Steve opens his mouth to argue - and then freezes. 

Because in the car next to them, bathed in the glow of the streetlight, is a girl. Cute. Ridiculously cute. Windows down, music low, hands relaxed on the wheel. You glance over, just for a second and you smile like it’s nothing. 

Steve on the other hand forgets how to breathe. 

„Oh,“ Dustin realizes. „Ohhhhh.“ 

„Don’t,“ Steve warns. 

Too late. Before Steve can even finish the word, Dustin is unbuckling, throwing the door open and sprinting out into the crosswalk. 

„HENDERSON!“

Your eyes go wide as a curly-haired menace suddenly appears in front of your car, waving enthusiastically before hopping into the passenger seat like this is a completely normal thing to do. 

„Hi!“ Dustin grins. „Don’t panic. I’m not a criminal. I’m a matchmaker.“ 

Steve slams his head against the steering wheel. 

„I’m sorry,“ you say half laughing, half stunned. „Is… is he with you?“ 

„Yes,“ Steve calls weakly from his car. „Unfortunately.“ 

Dustin ignores him. „Okay, so here’s the deal. My best friend Steve,“ he points dramatically across the lane. „Is the best guy you’ll ever meet. Gerat hair. Terrible self-esteem. Would literally die for people he loves.“ 

Steve is red. Fully. Catastrophically red. 

„Dustin, get back in the car,“ he begs. 

„He’s single,“ Dustin continues. „He pretends he’s fine with that, but he’s not. He wants someone to come home to. He just won’t admit it because he’s emotionally constipated.“ 

You bite your lip, clearly trying not to laugh. „Is that so?“ 

„Yes,“ Dustin says firmly. „So. Would you go out with him?“ 

The light is still red. Time stretches. Steve considers simply driving into the nearest building. Then you look at him - really look at him - and your smile softens. 

„…Yeah,“ you answer. „I think I would.“ 

Steve’s head snaps up. „Wait - what?“ 

The light turns green. Dustin whoops, throws you a thumbs-up and scrambles back out of your car, sprinting back to Steve’s like he’s just won a gold medal. 

„DUSTIN!“ Steve hisses as he peels forward. „You can’t just do that!“ 

Dustin grins, smug and knowing. „Relax. I just solved your entire romantic life at a red light.“ 

Steve risks one last glance in the mirror. You’re still there - pulling up beside them again, smiling and giving a small wave. Steve waves back, stunned, heart racing, already knowing he’s never going to hear the end of this. 

Dustin leans back in his seat, satisfied. „See? Told you. You just needed a little push.“ 

Steve exhales, helplessly smiling. „I hate you.“ 

„No you don’t,“ Dusting giggles. „You’re welcome.“ 

——————

Thank you so much for reading! 💙 if you like it please interact with this post in any way

STEVE HARRINGTON MASTERLIST

[cheruib]

that comment about how you should not borrow grief from the future has saved me multiple times from spiraling into an inescapable state of anxiety. like every time i find myself thinking about how something in the future could go wrong i remember that comment and i think to myself: well i never know, it might get better. it might not even happen the way i think it will and if it does happen and it is sad and bad ill be sad about it then, when it happens. and it’s somehow soo freeing

[thatfanficstuff]

If you don't think you can write a fic, send someone a request.

If you don't want to request, make a post with the idea.

If you don't want to make a post, do not feed it into a machine and share the results like it's your work.

I have seen so many AI fics today. So. Many.

Here's the thing about AI. It doesn't know what gender a character is. It doesn't understand work shifts and how they function. It doesn't know the name of the hospital. And it doesn't know how many words are in a sentence apparently given the number of times I've seen "i love you" 'those five words meant everything' or the like.

And I don't want to bitch about it. I really don't but it's so goddamned disheartening. The amount of work put into creating is immense. Using AI just says that work doesn't matter.

Shit like this, and people stealing stuff, is why creators stop creating.

Telling creators they're "guilt tripping" people when they point out that tumblr was made for reblogging, is why creators stop creating.

Anonymous hate is why creators stop creating.

Commenting fandom discourse on people's work is why people stop creating.

And I know people will say, 'what difference does it make? Move on.' But tell me, when we all actually do move on and only the robots remain, will it matter then?

[aseafullofstars]

^^^^ this is so so so important. please please do not ask AI to write fic for you. ask us. ask me, ask my writer mutuals, ask anybody who's a real person and writes fics. or write it yourself; theres plenty of authors, myself included, who are more than happy to give you writing tips or proofread something for you.

[deanbf]

SUPERNATURAL 1.03 — Dead in the Water

[potter-head-phanatic]

Pairing: Jane Volturi x autistic!female!reader

Request: just jane and an autistic fem reader were they like jump and clap when happy and will refuse to wear velvet and talks about harry potter 24/7 because its there special interest

Requested by: @bigirl49

Word Count: 914

Warnings: none

A/N: Thank you for the request! This is my first time writing a character with autism so please let me know if there is anything inaccurate!

Divider Credit: @pixopix

Masterlist

Taglist

🌹When Jane first met you she wasn't sure how to feel about her new mate. She had never encountered anyone like you before given that autism wasn't well known around the time she was born.

🌹She was curious as to why you were always so happy, the total opposite of Jane who was the embodiment of pain.

🌹All she knew was that she liked having you around, even though you were a human.

🌹However, it still took her weeks to build up the courage to try to get to know you better, not wanting to overwhelm you by coming on too strong.

🌹She would quietly observe you as you went about your day noticing little things about you.

🌹She noticed the way you never made eye contact with anyone, your eyes preferring the floor, even when it was her talking to you.

🌹 You had your own room instead of sharing with Jane because you liked having your belongings placed in a certain way and didn't like anyone messing with it.

🌹She noticed the way you liked to be away from big crowds since they made you anxious and flinch from all the noise, especially Felix and Demetri who never controlled the volume of their voice during castle events.

🌹You would find noise canceling headphones in your room the next day, with a note that said 'For when the world gets a little too loud'

🌹The only reason Jane knew you liked them was because you always had them on you.

🌹She would catch you picking and biting at your nails when you were overwhelmed.

🌹She would brush her shoulder with yours, taking your hands in hers to remind you that she was there.

🌹She noticed one day that her perfume was too overpowering for you so she stopped wearing it altogether.

🌹Anything to get you to be close to her.

🌹The thing she liked the most about you was that you always said what was on your mind, no matter what it was.

🌹It was refreshing because even some of her fellow guards took a more cautious approach when it came to her, scared to set her off.

🌹 she liked it because she was the same way, never holding back on what she thought.

🌹As the weeks went by, the Volturi quickly got used to your mannerisms.

🌹They had no choice because they would feel Janes wrath if they were to ever utter any form of insult about you.

🌹Whenever she would bring you something you would jump up and down, clapping your hands together with a big smile on your face.

🌹You were especially happy when she gave you your first Harry Potter wand. She thought you were going to burst with excitement.

🌹"Did you know that the phoenix feather core is the strongest of all the wand cores"

🌹Jane grew to love hearing about your interests even though she didn't understand most of it, not being a big fan of pop culture herself.

🌹You took it with you everywhere you went, pretending to cast spells on innocent bystanders.

🌹Your favorite victim was Felix because he would always play along.

🌹Alec had never seen his sister so happy, although to the untrained eye she looked the same, but there were moments where he would catch the slightest of smiles.

🌹The only person who would complain about you in the open was Caius, hating the fact that you didn't follow their rules, particularly their dress code.

🌹You absolutely hated the feeling of their velvet robes, opting for a more satin texture.

🌹Whenever he said something you didn't like you would say "okay Grindelwald"

🌹He never understood the reference and it would anger him to no end, but he never argued with you for long.

🌹He would never admit it but he was scared of Jane and it angered him that you didn't share the same fear for him.

🌹For your first official date she rented out the entirety of Disney world so you didn't have to worry about other people, and she didn't have to worry about accidentally exposing herself to the humans.

🌹 Jane was never a subtle person. When she cared about someone she went all out.

🌹You were so touched that you hugged her without thinking about it, taking her by surprise, but she wasted no time in hugging you back.

🌹The first time you kissed it was soft and unexpected. Jane had planned a picnic for the two of you and had a lower guard member make all of your favor foods.

🌹All Harry Potter themed of course.

🌹She decorated the theatre room, the one she had installed just for you, so that it would look like your house common room.

🌹Halfway through half-blood prince you had felt her staring at you so you turned your head to face her, not expecting her lips to be inches from yours.

🌹 You both froze. You not knowing what to do and Jane not wanting to ruin the moment, before testing the waters and slowly placing her lips on yours, giving you time to back away.

🌹But you didn't, and Jane had never been more relieved.

🌹From that day on you were still more on the reserved side, not liking physical touch, but Jane became your only exception.

🌹 Jane went hundreds of years, thinking that she wasn't deserving of love, thinking it just wasn't in the cards for her.

🌹Until you came along and she had never been happier.

[stargazedwinchester]

♡⸝⸝ 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆,

summary,, you've decided to leave the hunting life and sam and dean behind. sam's clearly heartbroken, begging to still be friends. but friends don't say goodbye like he does. word count,, 1,335 pairing,, sam winchester x f!reader tags/genre,, friends to lovers, quiet (? i guess?) confession, leaving the hunting life, early seasons supernatural prompt,, “say were still friends. lie to me.” credit to @bookished for the prompt! you can find it here

The motel room feels smaller than it did this morning.

Dean’s gone to grab food. The TV is on low, some late-night show playing to fill the quiet, but neither of you are watching it, and you’re sitting on the edge of the bed with your hands folded in your lap, staring at the ugly patterned carpet like it might help you find the right words.

Sam’s by the window. He isn’t really looking outside. His arms are crossed, shoulders tight, jaw set like he’s bracing for something.

“I don’t get it,” he says, not angry. Just confused. “We’ve handled worse.”

You swallow. “That’s kind of the problem.”

He looks at you then, properly, and it makes this harder. His hair’s fallen into his eyes. He hasn’t bothered to push it back. He looks young like this. Not the hardened version he’ll grow into. Just a guy who’s been running on adrenaline and grief for months and hasn’t stopped to catch his breath.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you say quietly. “I thought I could. I wanted to. But I can’t.”

He exhales slowly through his nose, like he’s trying to stay calm, trying to understand. He nods once, but it feels automatic.

“So that’s it?” he asks. “You’re just… going?”

You hate the way his voice dips at the end of the sentence.

“I need to try for something normal,” you say. “Even if it doesn’t work. I need to know I at least tried.”

He looks down at the floor for a second. When he looks back up, there’s something fragile in his expression.

“This isn’t because of me, right?”

The question is careful. Almost hesitant.

Your heart sinks.

“No. Sam, no. This isn’t you.”

He studies your face like he’s checking for cracks in the answer. Like he’s been here before. People leaving. Doors closing. Things ending without him getting a say.

You stand and step toward him. The space between you feels heavier than it should.

“I care about you,” you tell him. “You know that.”

His mouth tightens a little. “Yeah.”

But the way he says it tells you he’s not sure what that means anymore.

Your fingers brush against his hand. He doesn’t pull away. His hand is warm and a little tense under yours.

For a minute, neither of you say anything. The TV keeps talking in the background, some laugh track spilling into the silence.

Then he says it.

“Say we’re still friends.”

It’s quiet enough that you almost miss it. You look up at him. He isn’t meeting your eyes. He’s watching your hands instead.

“Sam…”

He shakes his head slightly, like he already knows what you’re about to say and doesn’t want it.

“Just say it,” he murmurs. “Even if it’s not really true. Just… say we’re still friends. Lie to me.”

There’s no accusation in it. It's like he needs something to hold onto.

You move closer until you’re right in front of him. “We are still friends.”

He lets out a breath you didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“Okay,” he says.

It sounds small.

He pulls you into a hug before he can overthink it. It’s a little awkward at first, like he’s unsure if he’s allowed, but then his arms tighten around you and you feel the weight of him.

He holds on firmly, like he’s trying to steady himself. His chin rests against the top of your head. His breathing isn’t even. He’s keeping it together, but barely.

“I’m glad you’re getting out,” he says softly. “If you can.”

You press your face into his shirt. “I’m not disappearing.”

He doesn’t answer that.

After a few seconds, he pulls back. He clears his throat and looks away for a second, rubbing a hand over his face like he’s tired.

“Friends,” he repeats, with a faint attempt at a smile.

You nod.

The word feels thinner now, like it’s stretching to cover something bigger than it can handle. Sam steps back fully. You can see him putting himself back together, piece by piece. Not shutting down. Just folding things away.

When you pick up your bag, he watches you like he’s trying to memorize something.

You pause at the door.

He gives you one last nod.

Your hand is on the doorknob.

You’ve already said goodbye once. You don’t think you can survive doing it again.

“I’ll call,” you say, because you need to say something.

Sam nods. “Yeah. Sure.”

You open the door a crack. And then—

“Wait.”

It comes out sharper than he means it to.

You turn back. He’s standing there like he’s stepped off a ledge and hasn’t decided whether he’s falling or flying. His hands flex at his sides. His mouth opens, closes.

“I just—” He exhales, frustrated with himself. “I don’t want this to be the last—”

He stops talking. And before you can ask what he means, he crosses the space between you in three quick steps and kisses you. Warm and sudden and a little clumsy, like he thought about it for too long and then did it before he could talk himself out of it. His hands hover near your waist but don’t quite settle, like he’s unsure if he’s allowed to touch you like that anymore.

The kiss is soft. Almost hesitant.

And then he pulls back just as quickly.

“Oh my God,” he breathes.

His eyes go wide. He drops his hands immediately, takes a full step back like he’s just crossed a line he can’t uncross.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have— I just—” He rubs the back of his neck, flustered, cheeks flushing pink. “That was selfish. I’m sorry.”

You stare at him. He looks mortified.

“I just wanted to know,” he says, quieter now. “What it would’ve been like.”

You step forward before he can spiral any further.

“Sam.”

He doesn’t meet your eyes at first. He’s staring somewhere over your shoulder, jaw tight, like he’s already decided he ruined everything.

You reach up and take his face in your hands.

That makes him look at you.

“You’re an idiot,” you say softly.

His brows pull together. “Yeah, I figured.”

You kiss him again. This time, it’s you who closes the distance.

There’s no hesitation in it.

Your fingers curl into his hair, and you feel the small sound he makes against your mouth before he can stop himself. His hands find your waist properly now, gripping like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

The kiss deepens without either of you planning it to.

It’s still Sam. Still gentle at the edges. But there’s feeling in it now. Months of almosts and what-ifs and late-night conversations in cheap motel rooms. All the things you both pretended not to name.

He kisses you like he means it.

Like he’s tired of pretending he doesn’t.

When you finally pull back, his breathing is uneven.

He looks stunned.

“Okay,” he says faintly.

You can’t help the small smile that slips out. “Okay?”

He lets out a breath that almost turns into a laugh. “I did not see that coming.”

“You started it.”

“I immediately regretted it.”

You tilt your head. “Did you?”

He hesitates.

His hands are still on your waist.

“…No,” he admits.

There’s that shy edge again. That softness. He looks younger when he smiles like that, like the weight of the world hasn’t fully settled on his shoulders yet.

“Friends don’t do that,” you say gently.

He swallows.

“Yeah,” he says.

Footsteps echo outside. Dean’s voice, close this time.

Reality creeping back in.

Sam glances toward the door, then back at you. Conflict flashes across his face.

You brush your thumb along his cheek.

“I still need to go,” you tell him.

He nods. It’s harder this time.

“I know.”

But he doesn’t let go right away.

And when you finally step back, there’s something different in his eyes.

Not just fear of losing you. Hope.

Messy and complicated and probably a bad idea.

But hope all the same.

✧ 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.ᐟ // ✧𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 // ✧𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.ᐟ

[wells-hannah]

NEW GIRL ( 2011 - 2018 ) ↳ season 1 episode 3

[pixopix]

Hey! Think we could get recolours of https://www.tumblr.com/pixopix/802200951884840960/hello-i-was-scrolling-your-dividers-and-theyre?source=share in red?

Red Stars

Please credit @pixopix, likes and reblogs are appreciated!

Check out the yellow, green, blue, purple, or pink version.