(fluff / slow burn / best friends to lovers / timeskip era)
│ he always thought he had time—until someone else decided they wanted you too.
──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────
you’ve been best friends with suna rintaro for almost a decade, and somewhere along the line, you forgot how to explain it to people.
how do you summarize something that’s just always been there?
you met in high school — you were the inarizaki team’s manager, and he was the guy who pretended to be too lazy to practice but still never missed a single serve. you learned early that “lazy” was a front for someone who noticed everything, who teased when he didn’t know how to say he cared, who lingered when everyone else left.
now it’s years later, and somehow not much has changed. he’s a pro player for the eastern japan paper mills raijin, you’ve got your own career, and yet every wednesday morning, you’re still there — sitting on the bleachers of the raijin practice gym with a coffee in hand and a smile that’s become part of the team’s routine.
komori calls you the team’s unofficial good luck charm. suna calls you “the only reason they ever act right.”
when you show up that wednesday, the gym’s buzzing with drills. he’s at the net, hair damp, sleeves pushed up, that same bored expression masking how focused he actually is. the moment he spots you, his mouth twitches into a small smile.
“you’re late,” he calls.
“you’re dramatic,” you shoot back, holding up the bag of drinks. “i brought your usual.”
he jogs over during a water break, grin lazy, eyes soft. “you’re the best.”
“i know.”
it’s easy like that — always has been. you lean against the wall watching him stretch, and for a while, everything feels like it’s supposed to.
later that day, during drills, one of his teammates — a new transfer, young and bold — sidles up to him. “hey, suna.”
“hm?”
“that girl who comes to practices — you guys dating?”
suna doesn’t even blink. “why?”
the guy shrugs. “just curious.”
“she’s my best friend.”
“oh,” the kid says, grinning. “cool.”
he jogs off before suna can ask anything else, but the conversation sticks in his head longer than it should.
by the time practice wraps up, komori walks over, hair damp from his shower and a knowing look on his face.
“you look like you’re thinking too hard,” he says, tossing suna a towel.
“that new guy’s weird,” suna mutters.
komori raises an eyebrow. “define weird.”
“asked if y/n and i were dating. said he was curious.”
komori hums, drying his hair. “yeah, about that… i heard him telling the libero he’s planning to ask her out tomorrow. you know, when she comes to visit?”
suna freezes. “what?”
“mhm. overheard him in the locker room. says he’s gonna ‘shoot his shot.’” komori glances over, smirking slightly. “you good, man? you look like you saw a ghost.”
suna blinks once, twice. “yeah. fine.”
but he’s not fine. his heart’s hammering in his chest, that lazy calm cracked open. the thought of someone else standing where he usually stands — making you laugh, handing you coffee, hearing you say their name — makes his stomach twist.
by the time practice ends, he’s already in his car.
you’re in your apartment, hair up, wearing an old hoodie, when the frantic knocking starts. you open the door to find suna standing there, still in his raijin tracksuit, hair a mess, breathing hard.
“rintaro? what—”
“don’t go out with him.”
you blink. “what?”
“the guy from raijin. the one who’s gonna ask you out tomorrow.” his words tumble out, quick and uneven, not at all like him.
“how do you— wait, what are you talking about?”
he runs a hand through his hair, pacing in your doorway. “komori told me. and i— i can’t let that happen.”
“can’t let what happen?”
“you going out with someone else!” he blurts, then groans, dragging a hand down his face. “i know this sounds insane, but i can’t. i can’t just— stand there tomorrow while someone else tells you how amazing you are and how funny you are and how good you look in those stupid hoodies because—”
you blink, stunned. “rintaro.”
“because i’ve been in love with you since high school.”
the silence that follows feels too big for the room. he looks like he wants to take the words back, to bury them somewhere they can’t ruin everything, but it’s too late.
“you what?” you whisper.
he exhales, shoulders slumping. “i didn’t mean to. i kept thinking i’d tell you someday, but then years went by and you were still there and it was comfortable, and i thought i had time. but now some guy thinks he can just—”
you start laughing, half in disbelief, half because it’s the only thing you can do.
he frowns. “you’re laughing at me?”
you shake your head, tears welling in your eyes. “no. i’m laughing because i’ve been in love with you forever, too, and i thought you weren’t interested.”
he freezes. “you— what?”
“yeah. i just didn’t want to lose you.”
for a second, he just stares at you — eyes wide, mouth parted — before a small, incredulous smile starts tugging at his lips.
“you’re the only person who can make me smile without even trying,” he says quietly.
you step forward, smiling through your tears. “good. i’m keeping it that way.”
he laughs — soft, breathless — and then his hands are on your waist, pulling you closer until you’re both grinning into the kiss that’s been waiting for years.
when you finally pull back, you rest your forehead against his, still smiling.
“so,” you tease, “what now?”
he shrugs, smirk lazy again. “guess i’m canceling practice visits and replacing them with dates.”
you roll your eyes. “you still owe me coffee for all the years you made me wait.”
“i’ll make it up to you,” he promises, brushing a thumb over your cheek.
“yeah?”
“yeah,” he murmurs, smiling in that quiet way only you’ve ever seen. “for the rest of my life if i have to.”
and when he leans in again, you think maybe that’s exactly what he plans to do.
→ you watched Dick Grayson love someone else—while you kept your own feelings buried beneath tight smiles and half-swallowed words. But sometimes the truth doesn't stay quiet.
→ unrequited love (that isn’t) | emotional confessions | angst with a soft ending
Word Count - 3,000+
Gotham glittered that night. The kind of glitter that came from too many spotlights and not enough soul—expensive gowns, hollow compliments, glasses of champagne held by people who didn’t know how to smile without calculating something behind it. I stood in the corner of the ballroom, trying to decide if I could disappear without anyone noticing.
My dress was the wrong kind of tight, clinging where I didn’t want attention. My heels were screaming. And my heart? Well. That had been screaming long before I walked through the doors.
Because I knew they’d be here.
And of course, they were.
Dick looked devastating in a black suit—hair tousled in that perfect not-perfect way, blue eyes soft as ever, laughing easily as Kory curled against him like she belonged there. Which, I guess, she did.
She was radiant. Always was. Like someone carved her out of sunlight and stars. People moved around her like she was the room’s center of gravity. And Dick… he always looked better next to her.
Not because she completed him. No.
Because he believed she did.
And I hated that. I hated how good they looked. How right they seemed.
I hated myself most of all, for wanting to ruin it.
I stepped outside halfway through the evening, needing air that didn’t reek of cologne and pretense. The Gotham night was cold, biting against my skin, but I stayed out anyway. Let it chill the ache behind my ribs.
I didn’t hear him at first. But I felt him. Like I always did.
His voice was a soft scrape. “Thought I might find you out here.”
I turned. He was holding two glasses. He offered one to me.
I took it, because it gave me something to do with my hands.
He didn’t say anything right away. Just leaned next to me on the railing, watching the skyline. “You okay?”
That question.
That damn, damn question.
It cracked something. Not because he asked, but because of how gently he said it. Like he actually wanted to know.
And maybe it was the cold. Or the champagne. Or the fact that I had been pretending for so long that I forgot what it felt like to be honest.
But I turned toward him and said, quietly, “It hurts to see you with her.”
He stilled. Like a string had pulled tight inside him.
I should’ve stopped there. But the words had waited long enough.
“I’m not asking for anything,” I rushed on. “I know she’s… she’s her. And you love her. But I can’t keep swallowing this anymore. I’m tired, Dick. Tired of pretending I don’t feel it every time I look at you.”
Silence stretched between us. Sharp. Endless.
“I’m sorry,” I added, forcing a laugh that died in my throat. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just needed—God, I needed someone to know.”
He turned, finally. His eyes searched mine, soft and wounded.
“I wish,” he said slowly, “I wish you hadn’t told me.”
I flinched. “Right. Of course. I—”
“No, not because I’m angry.” He looked away, toward the city lights again. “Because now I can’t forget it.”
My heart stopped. Just… stopped.
He didn’t say he felt the same. Didn’t say anything else.
But the weight of his silence was louder than any answer I could have imagined.
He touched my arm—just a brush of fingers. Warm. Familiar. And somehow devastating.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He shook his head, not looking at me. “Don’t be. You were honest. I just… I don’t know what to do with it.”
I nodded. Because that was fair. Because I didn’t know what to do with it either.
We stood like that a little longer. Two people on the edge of something that couldn’t be real.
And then someone called his name—Kory’s voice, warm and golden and whole.
He handed me his jacket before he left, like that could make up for everything I just unraveled between us.
When the door clicked shut behind him, I let the wind bite deeper. Let my heart break just a little more.
Because I’d said it.
And he didn’t say it back.
We didn’t talk about it. Not really. Not after that night.
He didn’t bring it up. I didn’t press.
It became one of those memories you pack away and try not to touch—like a scar that still stings when the weather changes. And for a while, I let myself believe that silence was healing.
But it wasn’t.
It was rot. Quiet and slow.
We used to text every day. Dumb memes. Morning check-ins. Late night rants about Gotham’s never-ending crime rates or the coffee shop that always got his name wrong.
Now? Weeks would pass. Nothing but radio static.
And the worst part? I still remembered the sound of his laugh better than my own.
We were paired together on a recon job. Some low-level smuggling ring out in the Narrows. Simple intel, rooftop surveillance. Old routine.
Except it wasn’t old. Not anymore.
Not when every glance felt loaded. Not when the silence between us pulsed with things we didn’t say.
We were on hour three of rooftop silence when he finally spoke.
“You okay?”
Same question. Different battlefield.
“Fine,” I replied, not looking at him.
“You’re not.”
I let out a quiet breath and adjusted my scope. “Don’t start this.”
“Start what?”
“This thing where you act like we’re fine, then dig until I bleed.”
That got his attention. He looked over, jaw tight. “Is that what I do?”
“Yeah,” I snapped. “You poke at wounds you helped make and then flinch when they hurt.”
The words hung in the air, sharp and irreversible.
His voice dropped, low and guilty. “That’s not fair.”
“No,” I said bitterly. “What’s not fair is falling in love with someone who calls you just a friend while he holds someone else like the world revolves around her.”
His face crumpled for half a second. Just a flicker. “You said you didn’t expect anything.”
“I didn’t.” I turned to face him fully, heart pounding, voice shaking. “But you looked at me like it mattered. You touched me like it mattered. And then you left me out in the cold like it didn’t.”
Silence again.
Then, softly: “You shouldn’t have said it.”
I swallowed. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t replayed it a thousand times in my head?”
His eyes burned. “Then why did you?”
“Because I was tired of hurting in silence.” I stepped closer, just enough for him to feel the weight of it. “Because you kissed her in front of me and I felt like I was suffocating, and if I didn’t say something, I was going to shatter.”
He exhaled slowly. “You make it harder.”
“Good,” I said. “Because it was never easy for me.”
He didn’t answer.
I turned away first.
Back to the scope. Back to the mission. Back to pretending I hadn’t just cracked myself open again.
He stayed quiet after that. But I caught him watching me. Like he wanted to say something more. Like it killed him to stay silent.
But he didn’t.
And I didn’t either.
Because I’d already confessed once.
And bleeding twice in front of the same person starts to feel like begging.
The night of his birthday, I promised myself I wouldn’t get drunk.
Two glasses of wine in, I knew I’d already broken that promise.
It wasn’t the kind of drunk that makes you loud or stupid—it was the kind that slowed everything down, that made me feel too much. The kind that softened all the anger until only hurt remained.
Kory threw him the party. Of course she did. She’d always been good at planning things like this—decor that matched the theme, music that made people move, a guest list that looked like a Justice League reunion.
And I helped. I always helped. Because Dick was still my best friend, even if I wasn’t his favorite person to look at anymore.
He smiled at me across the room, raised his glass in that easy, boyish way of his that made my stomach twist, and mouthed, thank you.
I nodded and forced a smile. I’d gotten good at that—smiling like it didn’t scrape my insides raw.
Kory wrapped her arms around him from behind and kissed the side of his neck. The whole room cheered.
I needed air. Again.
I found him out on the balcony later. Alone. Leaning on the railing with his tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, hair a little messy from dancing. He looked tired and beautiful and achingly familiar.
“Hey,” I said quietly.
He turned and smiled when he saw me. “Hey you.”
That killed me a little. You. Like I was still something personal.
I stepped beside him and handed over the drink I’d brought. He took it, fingers brushing mine for a second longer than they needed to.
“Thanks for tonight,” he said. “Seriously. You always know how to make things better.”
I shrugged. “You deserve a good night.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
There was a pause. The kind that teetered on a ledge.
He looked down at the glass. “You ever think about... the things we don’t say?”
I blinked. “Sometimes I think that’s all I think about.”
He smiled faintly. But it didn’t reach his eyes. “This is gonna sound stupid, but...” he looked over at me, something unreadable in his expression, “...there’s a part of me that misses when it was just us.”
My heart cracked. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He laughed softly. “We were chaos. But it was good chaos.”
We stood there in the quiet hum of Gotham night, close enough to feel each other’s heat. Close enough to remember how it used to be.
His eyes dropped to my mouth for a second. Just a second. But I saw it.
He leaned forward. I didn’t stop him. Not right away.
His breath touched mine, warm and slow, and time halted between us like the city had pressed pause.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.
And I did. Barely. A breath. “Stop.”
He did. But he didn’t move away.
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice rough now. “I shouldn’t have—”
“What do you want from me, Dick?” I asked, suddenly, harshly, because I couldn’t take it anymore. “You have her. You chose her. Over and over. But then you look at me like this and you almost kiss me and you wonder why I’m breaking?”
He looked stricken. “I didn’t mean to—”
“You never mean to,” I cut in. “But it still happens. You still leave pieces of yourself with me and pretend they don’t matter.”
He went quiet.
And I hated that I wanted to cry.
“I’m not your backup plan,” I said, softer now. “I’m not the girl you come to when things get confusing. I’m not your almost.”
He reached for me, but I stepped back.
I couldn’t do it again.
He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but Kory’s laugh echoed from inside, and just like that, the spell broke.
He didn’t follow me when I walked away.
I think the cruelest thing about healing is that it doesn’t come all at once.
You don't wake up one day and forget how someone made you feel.
It comes in pieces. One hollow breath at a time.
Somewhere between that balcony and the year that followed, I started letting go of Dick Grayson.
Not completely. Not in the way that counts. But enough to start saying yes when someone else asked if they could take me out to dinner. Enough to let someone new into the space in my chest where he used to live like a ghost.
His name was Luke.
He was kind. Funny. Normal in a way that felt safe.
He didn’t make my heart race like Dick did. But he made me laugh. He looked at me like I was enough.
And I needed that.
God, I needed that.
The first time Dick saw us together, it was at a Titans cookout.
Luke had his arm around my waist. We weren’t being showy, but there was a comfort in our closeness. A rhythm we’d found in just a few months of pretending I hadn’t once built my heart around someone else.
Dick was across the lawn, grilling with Roy and trying too hard to look busy.
When our eyes met, something flickered. Something dark.
He didn’t wave. Didn’t come over right away.
Later that evening, after Luke had gone to grab drinks and Kory was deep in conversation with Donna, Dick cornered me near the edge of the dock.
“You’re dating him?” he asked bluntly. No preamble. No smile.
I bristled. “Yeah. I am.”
He looked out at the water, jaw tense. “He’s... different.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. He’s just... not what I expected for you.”
I scoffed. “Well, you don't exactly get a say, do you?”
That hit him. I saw it.
“I’m not trying to be an asshole,” he muttered.
“Then what are you trying to be, Dick?” I snapped. “Because every time I take one step forward, you show up and pull me two steps back.”
His voice dropped, pained. “That’s not fair.”
“No,” I said, stepping closer, “what’s not fair is the fact that I stood there for years loving you, waiting for you to choose me—just once—and every time you looked at me like I was something you wanted, you still went home to someone else.”
He flinched like I’d slapped him.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he said, softer now.
“But you did.” My voice broke. “And you keep doing it.”
A pause. Then: “You were always more than a maybe.”
That stopped me.
“What?”
He met my eyes. “You weren’t a backup plan. You weren’t a placeholder. You were always more than a maybe to me.”
The ache in my chest returned full force.
“Then why,” I asked, voice shaking, “was I always the secret?”
He didn’t answer.
And I didn’t wait for one.
I turned and walked back to Luke, who smiled when I returned like nothing had happened. Like I hadn’t just ripped myself apart all over again.
And for the first time in years, I felt something close to anger more than heartbreak.
Because I had begged in silence.
And I was done hurting quietly.
Kory left.
Not in a dramatic, tearful kind of way.
No screaming. No grand farewell.
Just… a decision. A quiet truth between two people who had tried their best and finally understood they had grown too far apart to keep pretending.
Dick didn’t talk about it. Not really. The news came through the grapevine—a text from Donna, a nod from Roy. I heard it in whispers before I heard it from him.
And when I did?
All he said was:
“She’s gone.”
Two words. Heavy enough to knock the wind out of me.
Weeks passed. We didn’t see much of each other. He went quiet again, hiding in shadows like he always did when things got too real.
I didn’t chase him.
For the first time in years, I didn’t go to him with soft words and open arms.
Because somewhere between the night on the balcony and now, I had learned how to protect myself.
And yet—some part of me still waited.
Because love doesn’t always leave when it should.
Sometimes it just… waits.
It was late when he showed up at my apartment.
Not vigilante late. Not emergency late.
The kind of late that means you’ve been pacing outside for thirty minutes trying to find your courage.
I opened the door and just stared at him for a second.
He looked wrecked. Not in the dramatic, sleepless kind of way. But in the subtle, soul-tired way that says: I’m not okay. I haven’t been for a while.
“I didn’t know if I should come,” he said.
“Then why did you?”
“Because I couldn’t not.”
I stepped aside. He walked in like he didn’t want to, like it hurt too much to stand still.
He didn’t sit. Didn’t touch anything. Just stood in the center of the room, turning toward me with eyes that had held too much for too long.
“I thought I could forget it,” he said. “What you said to me. What almost happened. What we almost were.”
He swallowed.
“But I didn’t.”
I stayed quiet.
“I kept thinking,” he went on, “about all the times I told myself I was doing the right thing. That being with Kory made sense. That we were good. That it would be easier if I just—just loved her enough to make it quiet everything else.”
He looked up. Met my eyes.
“But I never stopped hearing you.”
My throat tightened. “Dick…”
“I was scared,” he said, stepping closer. “Of what it would mean to want you. Of how much it would change things. Because you’ve always been in my life. And if I let myself fall into that… I wouldn’t come back out.”
He stopped right in front of me.
“I didn’t choose her because I loved her more.” His voice broke. “I chose her because I thought you would destroy me.”
Silence.
And then, finally, my voice: “You already did.”
He closed his eyes like I’d punched him.
I stepped back, because it was all too much. “You don’t get to just come here and—”
“I’m not here to win you back.”
I blinked.
“I’m here to tell the truth. Even if it’s too late.”
I hated that I felt something bloom in my chest anyway.
He took a breath. “I love you. I’ve loved you through every ‘almost.’ Through every fight. Every moment I kissed her and thought about you. I didn’t say it when I should have, and maybe that’s the end of this. Maybe I don’t get to have you.”
I stayed quiet.
“But I had to tell you. Because I can’t keep pretending I’m not still yours in every way that counts.”
The room went still.
Slow. Silent.
And then I did something I hadn’t done in years.
I let myself hope.
“Do you mean it?” I asked.
He looked at me like I was the only thing keeping him alive. “It’s always been you.”
I walked to him. Not fast. Not dramatic. Just… real.
We stood there, inches apart, breath shaking.
“If we do this,” I said quietly, “it’s not a maybe anymore.”
His hand came to my face, thumb brushing a tear I didn’t realize had fallen.
“No,” he whispered. “It’s always.”
And when he kissed me, it wasn’t like the almosts.
It was soft. Certain. Shaking and solid all at once.
Don’t know if you received my request for Bucky being cheated on and reader madly in love react bad confessing her feeling while rambling with Bucky listening…
I don’t know if it sent you another message to ask you if you received it if that’s the case and this is the second message soooryyyy
Loooove your storiesss so much 😍
You don’t mean to be outside his apartment. You really don’t. But something in you has been chewing its way out of your ribs ever since you heard what happened — ever since Sam quietly murmured that Bucky’s girlfriend cheated on him, voice soft like he was reporting a death.
You shouldn’t be here. You know that too.
But he opened the door on the first knock.
And now you’re inside, standing in the warm halo of his living room light, watching him pretend he’s fine.
He’s not fine.
He’s too still. Too quiet. Shoulders squared like he’s bracing for impact. Eyes blown hollow, as if he’s been replaying the same horrible moment over and over again, looking for the part where he could’ve stopped it.
“Buck…” you whisper, stepping out of your shoes like you’re afraid to disturb the air. “I’m so sorry.”
He shrugs, barely. “It happens.”
“Not to you,” you breathe, heart kicking hard against your ribs. “Not to someone who — who gives everything. She didn’t deserve you.”
A tiny flicker in his expression, almost invisible. “Yeah, well. Doesn’t change anything.”
Except it changes everything for you.
Because this is your worst and favorite nightmare happening all at once. Him hurting. You loving him. And him having absolutely no idea.
You sink onto the couch beside him, close but not too close, your fingers tangling nervously in the hem of your sweater. His knuckles are scraped — he probably punched a wall — and the need to reach out, to hold him, to fix him, nearly knocks the breath out of you.
“I should’ve seen it,” he murmurs abruptly.
You jerk your head up. “Bucky, no. Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself.”
“Why not?” His laugh is sharp and humorless. “Everyone leaves. Or they lie. I should’ve learned that by now.”
God, your chest aches.
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
“It isn’t,” you insist, the words pressing out fast, heated, too alive to keep down. “You’re — you’re incredible. You’re gentle and loyal and you try so hard to be good. You don’t deserve what she did. You didn’t make her cheat.”
He looks at you, really looks at you, and something tugs loose inside your throat.
You should stop talking.
You absolutely do not stop talking.
“You’re everything, Bucky. You’re literally everything. And she’s — she’s so stupid. I mean, unbelievably stupid. Like historically stupid. There should be a plaque about her level of stupidity. I would build it myself. I would hammer it into the ground.”
His brow furrows with something like confusion. Or amusement. Or maybe he’s just trying to decode the disaster unraveling out of your mouth.
You try to reel yourself in — but it’s too late. You’re spiraling.
“And not because I’m biased or anything, even though I totally am, because obviously I’m— God, I’m in love with you. Like an idiot. A huge idiot. I know, I know I shouldn’t be saying this right now, I know this isn’t the time, but you’re sitting here thinking you’re unlovable and it’s actually physically killing me because you don’t see any of the things I see and I’m just—”
Your hands fly to your mouth.
Bucky blinks.
You want to dissolve into vapor.
“I didn’t mean to say that,” you choke, voice cracking. “I mean, I did, but not today. Not like this. This is terrible timing. Actually, this is the worst timing in the entire history of timing. I’m going to leave now. I’m going to walk out your door and pretend I never said a single word—”
“Don’t.”
It’s soft. It’s quiet.
But it drops you back into the cushions like gravity doubled.
You look at him slowly, praying, terrified, vibrating with embarrassment.
His throat works. His eyes are wet — or maybe it’s just the light.
“You’re in love with me?” he asks, voice low, disbelieving, fragile in a way that makes you want to cry.
You nod, because lying now would be even worse.
He breathes in carefully, like he’s steadying himself on the air.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
You make a helpless noise. “Because you were happy. Or I thought you were. And you deserved happiness even if it wasn’t with me, and I didn’t want to ruin anything. I didn’t want to make things complicated or— or make you feel obligated or pity me or—”
He cuts in softly, “I don’t pity you.”
You freeze.
“I never have,” he says, metal fingers brushing yours, gentle and uncertain and devastating. “You’re… you’re the one person who never made me feel like I was too much or not enough. Every time I looked at you, I—”
He stops, swallowing hard.
“Buck?”
He laughs once under his breath, a broken sound. “I thought if I said something, I’d lose you. And I couldn’t risk that.”
Your heart plummets then soars, because this is not pity. Not at all.
“Bucky,” you whisper, leaning forward, “you’re not losing me.”
His fingers curl around your hand like he’s surprised you’re solid.
And then everything turns soft.
His voice, his shoulders, the way his forehead drops toward yours as if he’s tired of carrying the weight alone.
“You can’t say stuff like that when you’re hurting,” you murmur, but you squeeze his hand anyway. “I don’t want to make this about me.”
“It’s not just about you.” His thumb strokes your knuckles. “It’s about the fact that when she left… the only person I wanted to see was you.”
Your breath stutters.
“And hearing you say you love me?” He exhales shakily. “It doesn’t hurt. It helps.”
Something warm and devastating breaks open between you.
You shift closer, his knee brushing yours, his palm warm and tentative against your thigh as if relearning touch in a world that betrayed him.
“I’m here,” you whisper. “You’re not alone.”
He nods once, slow, eyes never leaving yours.
“Stay,” he says — not an order, not a plea, just truth.
And you do.
You stay.
You stay when he leans into you, when he rests his head on your shoulder, when the night softens enough for him to breathe again.
You stay because you’ve always been his.
And for the first time, he lets himself admit he might just be yours too.
Fred Weasley has always known how to flirt - except with you. Because with you, it would've meant something. Too much. And so he kept quiet. Even after the war. Even after you'd both survived everything but the truth.
But when a compulsion curse forces Fred to speak every truth he's ever buried - including the ones he's hidden from himself - you're called in to help. What starts as magical diagnosis becomes an unraveling of everything between you: school memories, missed chances, and the love you both spent years refusing to name.
Now the spell is breaking. But what if you're not ready for what comes next?
What if the truth is still too big to say?
6.1k words
A/N: This fic is for the Fred girlies who like emotional damage, slow-burn mutual pining, and the catharsis of finally saying the things that have gone unsaid for years. If you love accidental confessions, ancient magic, post-war grief, and the slowest of slow burns - this one's for you.
Fred Weasley never told you how he felt.
Not when you bandaged his hand after a failed fireworks charm in fourth year.
Not when Snape paired you together in Potions and you spilled Amortentia all over his notes - and he didn’t care, because your laugh sounded exactly like the fizzing of a sweet joke just before it exploded.
Not even after the war, when you’d grown into your own kind of brilliant, training under the best curse-breakers while he rebuilt the shop and himself at the same time.
You were always in his orbit. Close enough to touch. But never quite his.
He flirted with everyone. Everyone except you.
Because it would have meant something. Too much.
So he didn’t say it.
Not until the day the curse made it impossible not to.
The last thing Fred remembered before the spell hit was the sound of George saying, “You absolute idiot, don’t eat that -”
Then:
Snap.
Spark.
Dark.
Then:
Truth.
The owl arrived with an irritated rattle of wings and an urgent red seal.
You barely glanced up at first - still hunched over a centuries old scroll, ink smudge on your fingers, neck aching from the angle you’d been craning for hours. You were in the middle of translating an ancient ward-breaking glyph from a Celtic tomb, halfway between brilliance and burnout.
When you saw the name, you cursed under your breath - not because it was Fred Weasley.
But because it was Fred Weasley.
You muttered something unprintable under your breath, grabbed your satchel, and Disapparated without even changing out of your work clothes.
Wind whipped at your scarf the moment you reappeared on the cobbled edge of Diagon Alley. The early evening air was brisk, tinged with wood smoke and the sugary scent of something exploding several doors down.
You climbed the stairs to the flat above with dread curling low in your stomach. You hadn’t seen Fred in months - not since that mutual friend’s wedding, where he’d danced like a man trying to forget something.
You hadn’t forgotten anything.
The door creaked open before you knocked.
“Of course it’s you,” Fred groaned, flopped across the old settee with one hand over his eyes. “Of all the curse-breakers in Britain…”
You dropped your bag by the fireplace and gave him a once-over: flushed cheeks, twitchy fingers, and a slightly panicked glint in his eyes.
“You look like hell,” you said flatly.
Fred blinked. “You smell amazing.”
A pause.
Your brow raised.
“I - I mean -” He turned desperately to George, who was seated on the armrest with a half-eaten Cauldron Cake. “See? I’m broken.”
George choked on his cake, coughing through a laugh. “Oh, he’s so broken.”
Fred didn’t stop talking for the next ten minutes.
It wasn’t that he meant to - in fact, you could see the moment he realized he couldn’t help it, eyes wide with horror as each confession tumbled out of his mouth like a poorly warded truth serum.
“I used to doodle your name and mine in the margins of my Charms notes but made them invisible.”
“I definitely faked a nosebleed once to get you to fix it. You touched my face. It was a whole thing.”
“I flirted with Angelina to distract from the fact that I was in love with someone else. Obviously, it didn’t work.”
You stared at him.
“I -” he began, horrified, “I didn’t mean to say that. Wait. No. I did. I just didn’t mean to say it now.”
You slowly closed your diagnostic journal and looked at him - not the patient, not the prankster, but the boy you used to pass notes to in the library. The boy you tried so hard to ignore, even when he sat two rows over, turning your insides to jelly every time he laughed.
“Well,” you said, rising to your feet, “this is going to be interesting.”
The day faded into a dusky blue-gray outside, street lamps flickering to life below the window. You’d stayed longer than you meant to - partly for professional reasons, partly because Fred had finally stopped talking and fallen asleep, and partly because…
Well.
Because being in that flat again felt like stepping backward into something half-familiar and half-forbidden.
You moved quietly through the room, setting up the last of the diagnostic wards around his bed for overnight monitoring. A soft glow followed your wand tip, encasing the mattress in a protective shimmer.
That’s when you saw it - a photo, old and curling at the edges, tucked just under his lamp.
You reached for it without thinking.
It was one of those enchanted prints from Hogwarts: you and Alicia laughing on the lawn, books open but forgotten. Behind you, Fred photobombed with both thumbs up, mid-wink, grinning like he knew a secret.
He’d cut the photo unevenly to frame just you.
He caught you looking.
“I’ve had that since sixth year,” he said softly. “I never showed anyone. George would’ve never let me live it down.”
Your fingers lingered on the edge of the photo. Something in your chest tightened - an old, bruised feeling you’d never let surface until now.
You remembered that day.
You remembered the way Fred kept circling, teasing Alicia, always just barely brushing by you.
You thought it was a coincidence.
But now… now you weren’t so sure.
Truth, unfortunately, doesn’t sleep.
You’d only been back at the Weasley flat for one day and already regretted not charging triple.
The spell was something you hadn’t seen in years - an ancient truth-compulsion enchantment originally designed by paranoid Ministry officials during the early wizarding trials. It latched onto emotion. Instinct. Buried thoughts.
It wasn’t just a compulsion to speak.
It was a pressure point in the soul - twisting at instinct and memory, unraveling the threads people usually kept hidden. The deeper someone buried a thought, the faster it rose to the surface. Emotion made it worse. Shame made it impossible. The spell clung to those things like a bloodhound with a grudge.
In short: Fred was a live wire with absolutely no filter.
And he hated it.
Morning light spilled through the window of the flat like a spotlight on bad decisions.
You were in the sitting room again, running another scan - wand calibrated to a specialized focus stone, fingers ready, voice neutral. Fred sat on the edge of the couch, slouched forward slightly with the grim posture of a man preparing to embarrass himself in real time.
He was trying not to look at you.
Bad idea.
“Honestly?” Fred muttered as you hovered a spell-focus over his chest to measure magical resistance, “I can feel your hand through my shirt and it’s killing me. Thought you should know. For science.”
You didn’t blink. “Noted.”
“You’re very professional. That’s frustrating.”
“You can stop talking any time.”
“I really can’t,” he said miserably. “Also, your hair looks really soft today.”
You dropped the focus on his stomach.
He wheezed.
You stepped back calmly, scribbled a note, and pretended not to notice the color blooming at the tops of his ears.
By mid-afternoon, the flat had grown stifling - too small, too loud, too filled with unsaid things that Fred might accidentally say. You relocated to the front of the shop under the guise of needing open space for magical threshold testing, but really, you just needed to breathe.
George had roped Lee Jordan into helping restock a shipment of Fainting Fancies, while you and Fred camped near the warded entrance with a stack of charm protocols and a battered diagnostic wand that sparked if you angled it wrong.
It was mostly boring.
Until you added a layered pressure charm - subtle, but enough to press against the edges of his aura, and casually asked, “How do you feel under magical strain?”
“Terrible,” he said automatically.
You nodded, taking notes.
He paused.
“Also I think about kissing you at least once a day, and it’s so inconvenient.”
You froze.
Fred’s eyes widened. “That wasn’t supposed to come out.”
You didn’t move..
“It’s not new,” he rushed on. “Since sixth year. That stupid Amortentia lesson Snape had us paired up in? Yours smelled like ink and cloves. Mine smelled like you.”
You looked up sharply.
Fred winced. “See? This is awful. You’re going to run back to the Ministry and leave me to rot.”
You let the silence stretch for just long enough to make him sweat.
Then, finally: “I’m not leaving,” you said, quiet but certain. “But you do need to shut up before you give yourself a heart attack.”
“Too late. Already dying. Will definitely haunt you.”
You shook your head, trying very hard not to smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
He smirked. “But charming.”
“Unfortunately.”
That night, the flat settled into a soft quiet - the kind that only comes after a day spent pretending not to feel what you’re feeling.
You stayed in the spare room, door slightly ajar. Moonlight filtered in through the window, painting silver lines across your notebook as you sat cross-legged on the bed, journal open, mind racing.
Fred had always been flirtatious - you knew that. He’d turned it into an art form. But this… this wasn’t practiced lines or clever banter. It was too raw. Too uncertain. Too honest.
He wasn’t performing anymore.
He was unraveling.
You traced the edge of the page in your journal, half-distracted.
You’d written his name dozens of times today.
Across the hall, Fred lay on his back, arms folded behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it might answer all the questions he was too afraid to ask out loud.
Somewhere between blurting out his feelings and realizing you hadn’t run screaming for the hills, something had shifted.
You weren’t just a memory of laughter in a Gryffindor common room anymore. You weren’t just a ghost from a chapter in his past.
You were here. Now.
And the truth was out in the open.
Fred wasn’t sure if that terrified him or freed him - maybe both - but one thing was certain:
He’d waited years to tell you any of this. And now that the dam had cracked, the only thing he wanted was to keep going.
Even if it killed him.
The day had been nonstop mayhem.
One of the Pygmy Puffs escaped. George accidentally sold a pair of reversible boxers that swapped genders and houses. And Fred? He knocked over an entire display of Banshee Buttons with his elbow, triggering a five-minute wail so loud it shattered two Sneakoscopes and scared a tourist into buying one.
You barely had time to recast the floor-warding spells before locking up.
Now, hours later, the three of you collapsed in the flat upstairs. The lights were low, the fire warm, and half-finished bottles of Firewhisky and butterbeer were scattered across the floor like trophies. You were curled up on the loveseat. Fred sat on the rug nearby, back against the sofa, legs stretched out. George was perched on the windowsill, swirling a cocktail that glowed faintly green.
“This batch might actually kill people,” he said cheerfully. “Which means it’ll sell brilliantly.”
You raised your butterbeer. “To war crimes in candy form.”
Fred clinked his bottle against yours. “Cheers.”
You were all exhausted, a little buzzed, and laughing in that slow, golden way that only happened late at night, when the chaos finally settled and the quiet came.
Which is exactly when George decided to ruin it.
“So,” he said casually, not looking up, “how long did your little school crush on Freddie here last?”
You blinked. Fred turned his head toward you, eyebrows lifting.
You scoffed. “What?”
“Oh come on,” George said. “Everyone knew. Back at school - all those stolen glances over cauldron smoke. The time you tripped over your own robes when he winked at you in Transfiguration?”
“I tripped because Ron threw a Quill-Chewing Chizpurfle at my head,” you muttered.
George smirked. “Right. Sure you did.”
You rolled your eyes. “It wasn’t a big deal. Everyone had a crush on Fred back then.”
Fred raised an eyebrow. “Did they?”
You waved it off, too quickly. “It was school. We were sixteen. It didn’t mean anything.”
The silence that followed landed like a hex.
You didn’t notice it at first - not until Fred sat up straighter. His drink hung forgotten in his hand.
When he spoke, his voice was too quiet to be casual.
“I certainly didn’t have a crush on you.”
You blinked. “What?”
He looked at you - really looked - and in the firelight, his eyes weren’t playful. They were glassy. Raw.
“It wasn’t a crush,” he said again. “A crush was what I had on Angelina in fourth year. It lasted three weeks and ended when she jinxed my eyebrows off. I had a crush on that Slytherin in fourth year who looked like she’d stab someone with a sugar quill.”
He gave a single, humorless laugh.
“You?” He ran a hand through his hair, searching for words. “You were different.”
George, to his credit, said nothing.
Fred turned back to you. His voice steadied - low, but certain.
“I noticed you before you ever noticed me. You were the one person I couldn’t joke with the same way - not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t trust myself. Because you mattered.”
Your breath caught.
“I used to memorize where you sat in class,” he said with a crooked smile. “So I’d know where not to sit. Being near you made me forget punchlines.”
Your heart was thudding now, traitorously loud.
“And during the Battle…” His voice faltered. “I didn’t see you at first. And then I did. You were hexing a Death Eater - twice your size, might I add - with your arm bleeding down to your fingertips, and you still yelled at me to keep moving.”
His voice cracked on the last word.
“I thought I was going to lose you. And that night, when you limped past me holding your wand like it was the only thing keeping you upright - I wanted to say something. Anything. I even wanted to kiss you. But I didn’t.”
Silence.
Then:
“I’ve been in love with you for a long time,” Fred said softly. “And now this bloody curse is dragging it out of me like some sort of humiliating game and - Merlin, I wish I’d just told you before. When it was mine to give.”
You stared at him, the past rewriting itself behind your eyes.
George stood quietly. “Right. I’m suddenly feeling very much… like I shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, disappearing down the hall with his drink and saintlike timing.
You were still staring.
“I thought you were just… Fred,” you said finally. “Friendly. Charming. Untouchable.”
He looked at you then - broken open, not smiling.
“You were always the untouchable one.”
The flat was still.
Outside, Diagon Alley lay hushed beneath a soft coat of snow, the lamplight glinting off frost-laced eaves. Inside, the fire had dwindled to embers, casting sleepy gold shadows across the floorboards. Fred was curled on the couch beneath a frayed Gryffindor blanket, hands wrapped around a mug of cooling tea.
You sat beside him - not touching, but close enough to feel the space between you hum with everything unsaid.
Neither of you had spoken much since George had retreated to bed with an overly dramatic yawn and an oddly well-timed exit. That conversation - that confession - still hung in the air like dust, impossible to ignore.
You could feel Fred watching you from the corner of your eye.
But you didn’t look.
Not yet.
You were flipping through your spell journal, feigning focus, when Fred flinched.
Your head snapped up. “What was that?”
He winced, one hand going to his side. “Just a flare. Feels like something’s… pushing out.”
You shifted toward him instinctively. “You didn’t say anything earlier.”
“I didn’t want to -” He stopped, then gave a crooked smile. “Didn’t want to interrupt the awkward silence.”
You rolled your eyes, already tugging the blanket aside. Your fingers brushed the hem of his shirt.
“Lift up,” you murmured.
He obeyed.
Beneath his ribs, magic shimmered faintly beneath the skin - a bruised glow ripping with each breath.
You pressed your wand gently to its edge. “This’ll tingle.”
Fred didn’t flinch.
“I trust you,” he said.
You froze.
Just for a second.
Those words landed deeper than they had any right to.
Whether Fred noticed or not, he didn’t let on. He just watched you - quiet, steady, while you worked.
When the charm finished settling and the light faded, you lowered your wand and leaned back with a quiet breath.
“Thanks,” he said, still watching you like he wasn’t quite ready to stop.
“You should’ve told me it was getting worse.”
He shrugged. “I figured if I ignored it, it might go away.”
You gave him a look. “Has that ever worked?”
He huffed a soft laugh. “No. But that didn’t stop me from trying. With everything else, too.”
The fire crackled. SIlence stretched - not uncomfortable, but fragile.
Fred set down his mug, slowly, like it had become too heavy to hold.
“I thought if I told you,” he said, his voice quiet and raw, “I’d lose you.”
You didn’t move. Couldn’t.
“Back in school. After the battle. Even when you walked in yesterday. I thought if I said something real, it’d break whatever version of you I still had.”
You stared into the fire. Your chest ached.
“But now…” Fred exhaled, low and shaky. “Now I think I’m losing myself instead.”
You turned toward him.
Really turned.
Fred Weasley - the one who always had a joke, a smirk, an escape route - looked worn thin. Like the weight of years, of unspoken truths, had finally caught up.
“I didn’t want it to be a curse that made me say it,” he murmured. “But it did. And now you know. And I don’t know what to do with that.”
You hadn’t realized you were leaning in until you noticed the shift in his gaze - down, briefly, to your mouth.
His breath caught.
So did yours.
And for one suspended heartbeat, you both leaned closer.
Heat. Tension. Gravity.
But then -
Fred paused.
Just enough to pull back.
“Sorry,” he whispered, his eyes dropping.
You eased back too, your heart aching and alive.
“No,” you said softly. “Don’t be.”
Because you weren’t ready. Not yet. Not tonight.
But your hands still tingled from touching him.
And your chest was still tight from almost hearing everything you’d once told yourself not to hope for.
The room went quiet again.
But this time, the quiet wasn’t empty.
It was full of maybe.
And maybe it was almost loud enough to believe in.
The library at Grimmauld Place smelled like parchment and ghosts.
Dust curled in the corners. Enchanted books drifted lazily above their shelves, still dutiful after decades of neglect. Overhead, the chandelier flickered with an eerie blue light, casting shadows that shifted with the turn of every page.
You and Fred sat opposite each other at the long oak table, a fortress of books stacked between you - most cracked open to smudged entries on psychological hexes, emotional compulsion spells, and ancient, half-forgotten curses. The kind of magic people whispered about, but rarely wrote down.
Fred’s hair was a mess, and his jumper had a new hole scorched into the sleeve from a misfired detection charm. He looked exhausted.
You weren’t faring much better.
But there was something about this - about being here, late, together - that made the silence feel full rather than empty.
You ran a hand through your hair and murmured, “Found something.”
Fred glanced up.
You slid a battered tome across the table. The page was marked with a shaky scrawl and a rust-colored fingerprint. The entry read:
Spell Type: Veritas Malefica
Often mistaken for a standard truth compulsion. Rooted in grief-based magic.
Enchantment reacts violently to emotional suppression - not lies told to others, but lies told to oneself.
Fred blinked slowly. “What does that mean?”
You swallowed. “It means… the more you try to bury what you’re feeling - especially from yourself - the worse it gets.”
He leaned back, the realization settling like stones in his chest.
“So I’ve been making it worse,” he said, voice hollow. “Every time I pretended it didn’t matter. Every time I told myself it wasn’t -”
He didn’t finish.
You looked down at your hands. “You’re not cursed because you lied to other people, Fred. You’re cursed because you’ve been lying to yourself.”
The silence that followed wasn’t sharp - it was heavy. Knowing.
Then Fred laughed - just once. Bitter and tired.
“Of course it’s emotional repression. I couldn’t have just accidentally swallowed a cursed sweet like a normal idiot.”
You almost smiled. Almost.
But then: “There’s something else.”
He looked over.
You hesitated, then pushed forward. “I think I’m the trigger.”
His brow furrowed. “What?”
“Every time the curse flares - it’s when I’m nearby. When I ask you something real. When we’re close.”
Fred stared at you.
Still, you didn’t stop.
“I’m not saying I’m bad for you. I’m saying… I’m the one person you’ve spent years pretending you didn’t feel anything for.”
His eyes dropped away. “Because if I didn’t pretend,” he said quietly, “I wouldn’t have been able to handle it.”
You nodded. “I know.”
Silence settled again - quieter now. Expectant.
And then you said it.
“I liked you too, you know.”
Fred’s head lifted. His gaze found yours - sharp. Breathless.
You weren’t smiling. You were just honest.
“I used to sit two rows behind you in Charms and laugh at your jokes - even the terrible ones. I’d take the long way to class if it meant running into you. I noticed when you stopped joking with me after sixth year. I noticed everything. But you never said anything, so I thought…”
“That it wasn’t real,” Fred finished, barely above a whisper.
You nodded.
A beat passed.
And then - Fred said the thing that mattered most:
“I think that’s when it started. The lie. The one I kept telling myself - that I didn’t feel anything. That you were just… someone I missed a chance with.”
Your breath caught.
Fred leaned in, just slightly, voice raw.
“And the more I lied, the worse it got. The more I smiled and flirted and joked like it didn’t mean anything… the louder it got inside my head. Until the curse made it impossible to ignore.”
You didn’t speak.
And, for once, neither did Fred.
He just looked at you - unguarded. Quiet. Like he was finally allowing himself to be seen.
The silence between you wasn’t heavy anymore.
It was warmer now.
Not because anything had been fixed.
But because nothing was hiding anymore.
The day after Grimmauld Place, something shifted.
Not in a catastrophic way. No slammed doors. No shouting. No curses gone awry.
Just… distance.
You weren’t cold. You weren’t avoiding him - not outright. But Fred felt it. In the extra beat between your replies. In the way your laughter skimmed the surface but never quite sank. In how your hands were always busy - labeling jars, reorganizing shelves, rereading the same page for the third time.
And Fred - who had spent most of his adult life performing noise in place of honesty - didn’t know how to survive the quiet.
So he filled it.
Poorly.
By midday, he was back to tossing out jokes. Half-hearted ones. Ones with all the punch of a wet sparkler.
“Careful with that,” he said, nodding at a crate of Sneezing Sparkles. “Wouldn’t want you bursting into glitter again. Not without warning me first. I need time to emotionally prepare.”
You didn’t look up. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Fred winced. He couldn’t tell if you were irritated, distracted, or just… elsewhere.
He hated it.
He hated not knowing.
By the time you’d locked up for the night, the air between you was taut - stretched thin by all the things unsaid.
Fred lingered behind the counter, pacing. You were counting inventory. Precisely. Methodically. Like precision could protect you.
“You’re not… avoiding me, are you?”
You glanced up. “No.”
He nodded too fast. “Right. Cool.”
You went back to counting. “I just needed space.”
“From me?”
You hesitated. “From everything.”
Fred leaned against the doorframe, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Is this about what I said?”
You didn’t answer.
Which, of course, made it worse.
Fred smiled - the brittle kind, the kind that hurt to wear. “Because I can take it back, you know. If that’s what you need. The curse is still having a laugh - I’ll probably say something worse tomorrow. Might as well get ahead of it.”
You closed the ledger. “Fred -”
“No, seriously,” he cut in, too fast, too loud. “We’ll pretend none of it happened. I’ll go back to flirting and making things weird in a fun way. We’ll rewind. Reset. Or maybe -” He laughed, sharp and thin. “Maybe I’ll just stop talking altogether. That seems safer.”
You stared at him. “That’s not fair.”
“Oh, I know,” he said, voice rising. “But neither is falling in love with someone who’s not ready to hear it.”
The words echoed - harsh and hollow.
Fred froze, eyes wide, as if he’d just heard himself speak.
You swallowed. “Fred…”
“I didn’t mean to -” He stopped. Exhaled. Then, quietly, “No. I did. I meant to say it. I’m not sorry.”
You didn’t move.
“I think I’m in love with you,” he said again, softer. “And I hate that I didn’t say it years ago. Before the shop. Before the war. Before I was a complete and total jackass to you in school. Before I let a damn curse speak for me.”
The room went still.
And you?
You didn’t say it back.
Not because it wasn’t true. Not because you didn’t want to.
But because you weren’t ready.
The words were there - somewhere beneath your ribs, curled like a secret. But they hadn’t found their shape yet. They hadn’t learned how to stand.
And Fred - as much as it ached - deserved more than almost.
So you looked at him - open, aching, real - and said:
“...I can’t say it right now. Not like this.”
Fred didn’t speak. Just nodded. Once. Slow and sharp, like something cracking.
Then he turned away.
That night, the flat was quiet again.
But this time, it wasn’t full of maybe.
It was full of waiting.
The ancient ritual site felt like it was holding its breath.
A ring of weathered stones stood half-sunken in the frostbitten earth, their surfaces carved with runes long faded by time but not by meaning. The clearing was silent, save for the whisper of the wind through the bare trees - a hush that felt less like absence and more like reverence.
You stood with Fred in the center of the circle, boots crunching softly against brittle grass rimmed with ice. The winter air curled at your sleeves and stung your nose, but the real chill came from the magic itself - thick and waiting, like fog with a heartbeat.
Above, the sky stretched iron-gray, heavy with unshed snow. The clouds did not move. The world did not move. It was as if everything - time, wind, fate - had stilled to bear witness.
You turned to him, wand at your side. He hadn’t spoken since you both Apparated. Just stood beside you, solid and tense, like he was bracing for something he couldn’t name.
“This is the last chance to back out,” you said softly.
Fred shook his head, jaw tight. “I don’t want to be forced anymore. Not even into the truth.”
You searched his face, looking for doubt. All you found was exhaustion - and resolve.
“Even if that means you don’t say it again?” you asked, voice low. “Even if that disappears with the spell?”
A beat passed.
Then: “I’ll say it again,” Fred said, almost in a whisper. “I’ll say it as many times as you can bear. As long as you let me.”
It nearly undid you - the quiet certainty in him. The gentleness. How hard he was trying not to sway you.
You raised your wand.
Your hand trembled as you drew the final rune, its golden light blooming to life beneath your feet. A delicate warmth pulsed outward - soft, not showy. No sparks. No lightning. Just a subtle kind of release, like a breath held for too long finally leaving the body.
Fred gasped - once, sharply - and staggered a step back. Then stilled.
The pressure - that slow, suffocating undertow he’d learned to live with - had vanished.
No more tug beneath his magic.
No more invisible leash between his chest and his tongue.
It was gone.
And what remained was just him.
Unfiltered. Unbound.
Uncertain.
He looked up at you, and something in his face had shifted. Not dramatically - but undeniably. His eyes, usually full of mischief or guarded deflection, were open in a way you hadn’t seen before. Vulnerable. Luminous.
Like someone standing in the wreckage of something invisible but heavy - and trying to figure out what to do with the air that came rushing in.
You didn’t speak.
Neither did he.
Because the spell was broken.
But the moment wasn’t.
You didn’t want to rush it. Didn’t want to shutter the fragile, aching stillness. So you stood there, breathing the same winter air, magic still humming faintly beneath your boots, waiting to see what - if anything - would come next.
Nothing did.
Fred offered a faint, searching smile - one that didn’t ask for anything, only promised.
Then he turned, and you followed him home.
Back at the flat, the silence continued - softer now, but not without weight. You sat on the edge of your bed, coat still buttoned, staring at the floor like it might offer answers.
Fred had gone to his room without a word. Not out of coldness. Just… to give you space. To let the choice be yours now.
And that was what gutted you most.
Because for so long, he had been the one stuck between wanting and not being able to say it. He had been cursed, compelled, uncertain.
Now, he was free.
And you were the one who didn’t know what to say.
You paced the length of your room, again and again, like maybe motion could organize the ache in your chest. Like maybe you’d trip over the answer in your own footsteps.
The curse was gone. You’d done what you came to do. You’d given him back his voice.
So why did it feel like you were the one unraveling?
Because he hadn’t said it again.
Hadn’t kissed you.
Hadn’t needed to.
And still - still - you felt the gravity of him in every breath. Still, your bones ached with the pressure of something half-formed.
The truth?
You wanted to run to his door and say it first.
But you didn’t know how.
The words lived inside you now - no longer curled and waiting like they had been. They were restless. Rising. Trying to find shape in a mouth that wasn’t ready to give them sound.
You pressed a hand to your chest. It felt like mourning something you hadn’t even lost. Like standing at the edge of a choice so big, you couldn’t see where it ended.
Because the spell was broken.
But your heart was still spellbound.
And for the first time in all of this…
The choice - terrifying, impossible, real - was yours.
The snow had stopped sometime after sundown, leaving Diagon Alley blanketed in a hush that felt almost reverent. The night sky stretched out in every direction — wide, open, impossibly clear — the stars above pricking like tiny wounds in navy velvet. Below, the last shops were shuttering, the alley buzzing faintly with the warmth of distant laughter and clinking glass.
But up here, it was quiet. Up here, it was just you and him.
Fred stood near the edge of the rooftop, his hands tucked deep into the pockets of his coat, his breath curling into soft clouds that disappeared into the night. He looked different now — not visibly, not in any way you could point to — but something in his posture had changed. It was like he’d dropped something heavy that had been pulling him sideways for months, and now he was learning how to stand up straight again.
He didn’t hear you at first. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t know what to say.
You let the silence stretch.
It was the first time in ages he wasn’t being pulled by magic — wasn’t under its thumb, its push, its pressure. For the first time, everything he felt was real. Every look. Every word. Every breath between us.
And that meant he had to choose now. Really choose.
You stepped closer.
He turned at the sound, his gaze finding yours fast — startled, raw, searching. Like he wasn’t sure what he’d see when he looked at you. Like part of him was still afraid you wouldn’t come.
But you had.
“Hey,” he said, soft.
“Hey.”
You moved to stand beside him, your coat brushing his, your fingers twitching at your sides with nerves you hadn’t expected. The wind had teeth, but you barely felt it.
The weight between you wasn’t a curse anymore. It was something else now. Something human.
“Cold up here,” he said, his voice too casual, too quiet.
You smiled faintly. “Didn’t think you’d mind. You used to say the cold made you feel alive.”
He huffed a laugh, something wistful and a little hollow. “Yeah. That was before I knew what feeling alive actually felt like.”
You turned to look at him — really look. “How does it feel now?”
Fred hesitated. Then, slowly, he met your eyes.
“Loud,” he said. “Like everything’s louder. Brighter. Sharper.”
“And scary?”
He nodded once. “Yeah. That too.”
You could see it — the flicker of uncertainty. He wasn’t hiding behind jokes or masks. There was no spell smoothing the way, no magic buffering the vulnerability. It was just Fred. Scared. Honest. Free.
“You don’t have to say anything,” you said. “I just wanted to be here. To see you. You.”
Fred blinked, jaw tightening. “But I want to say it.”
Your heart skipped.
“I’ve wanted to say it for a while,” he continued. “Even when I wasn’t sure if it was me or the curse talking. And when we broke it, I thought… if it was real, it would still be there. And it is. It is.”
He took a shaky breath. “I love you.”
The words fell out in the quiet like they belonged there. Like they’d been waiting for the right moment to land.
You didn’t answer right away.
You stepped forward, slow and steady, until there was barely space between you. Then you slipped your hands into his coat, fingers wrapping around his — solid, grounding.
“I know,” you said gently. “And I believe you now.”
Fred’s eyes filled. He laughed — a watery, disbelieving thing — and then leaned his forehead against yours.
“No magic,” he whispered.
“No magic,” you echoed.
Just breath and cold and stars. Just you and him and the night around you holding its breath.
And then, you kissed him.
Soft, certain. Real.
It wasn’t a rush or a rescue. It wasn’t a promise or an apology. It was a beginning — honest and slow, stitched together with everything you’d fought for.
Fred kissed you back like he finally had permission to feel — really feel. His hands rose to your waist, your cheek, your jaw, not desperate but careful. Like he didn’t want to forget a single detail.
When you finally pulled apart, just enough to breathe, your foreheads stayed pressed together. You could feel him smile, wide and shaky and undone.
I celebrate by being honest with myself - Kageyama Tobio
part of the confession series!
After a major volleyball victory, Tobio Kageyama confesses his long-held feelings to his childhood friend, leading to a heartfelt moment that changes their relationship forever.
masterlist
The bright lights of the arena glistened off the sweat-soaked court as the last echoes of the cheering crowd faded into the night. It had been an intense match, one for the books, and the adrenaline still coursed through Kageyama's veins. His team had secured a hard-fought victory, propelling them further into the championship. Amidst the celebration, his thoughts drifted to the one person who had always been there, silently supporting him through every high and low.
He found her waiting by the exit, a familiar smile lighting up her face as she held a bouquet of his favorite flowers. Y/N had been his friend since childhood, a constant in his tumultuous journey from a middle school rookie to a professional athlete. Her presence had always been a comfort, but tonight, there was something different about the way his heart beat in her presence.
"Toby! You were amazing out there!" Y/N exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with pride.
Kageyama's normally stoic expression softened as he approached her. "Thanks, Y/N. Your support means a lot."
They walked together through the now quiet corridors of the arena, reminiscing about old times and the road that had led them here. The air was thick with unspoken words, the tension building with every step they took.
Finally, they reached the entrance to the parking lot, where the night sky stretched endlessly above them. Kageyama stopped, turning to face her. He took a deep breath, his hands slightly trembling as he reached out to take hers.
"Y/N, there's something I've been wanting to tell you," he began, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "I've had these feelings for a while now, but I've always been too afraid to say anything. You've been by my side through everything, and I realized tonight that I can't keep this inside anymore."
Y/N's eyes widened, her heart racing as she squeezed his hands gently. "Toby, what are you trying to say?"
Kageyama looked into her eyes, the intensity of his emotions reflected in his gaze. "I love you, Y/N. I think I've loved you for as long as I can remember. You mean everything to me, and I can't imagine my life without you."
The world seemed to pause in that moment, the weight of his confession hanging in the air. Y/N felt a rush of emotions, tears welling up in her eyes as she stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace.
"Toby, I love you too," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "I've always loved you."
Relief washed over Kageyama as he held her close, the tension melting away. He pulled back slightly, cupping her face in his hands as he leaned in to kiss her gently, a kiss that held all the unspoken words and years of longing.
As they stood there under the stars, wrapped in each other's arms, Kageyama knew that this was just the beginning of a new chapter in their lives. They had faced countless challenges together, and now, they would face the future hand in hand, their hearts forever intertwined.
"Let's go home," he whispered against her lips, a smile spreading across his face.
Y/N with, her heart full asked “Home?,"
“Stay over tonight?” She laughed and nodded, at the look in his eyes.
And together, they walked into the night, ready to face whatever came next, as long as they had each other.
Can you rejanis fic where Regina finally confesses her crush to Janis?
✧ Losing Grip
Janis ‘Imi’ike x Regina George
Warnings: angst, some coarse language
Janis never thought this day would come
Janis hasn’t spoken a word to Regina in six years. The artist had no idea how she landed herself in this situation but it was happening. And oh what a whirlwind it was. She had a pretty easy day at school, today was one of those days that she really enjoyed her classes. Janis liked Tuesdays’ schedule the best, she had all her classes with her friends so the time just flew by. This day also had an added bonus, Regina George was not in school. So she was spared from seeing the blonde in her orbit another day. It’s been three days since she last saw that girl. Not that that changed anything, but her absence was noticeable. Everyone knew what she was up to at all times, so Janis couldn’t even avoid hearing the chatter of other students in the school.
Janis was pretty good at muffling them out, though. But then once she was on her way home from school, it felt like she was thrust down a whole path of nostalgia. She’d be seeing and hearing little things like what people were saying, and wearing or even eating. And everything reminded her of that one person. The one person she’s tried so hard to forget, but it seems the heart remembers after all and that always hurts. Getting reminded of what she used to have, or rather, who she used to have…right by her side. Things were so different as much as Janis tried to convince herself that she’d be okay. She was, but she’s changed. And she wasn’t sure if it was entirely for the better. Why was she noticing all these little insignificant things suddenly? Every single detail she saw was out of the ordinary for her walk home. She’s never seen these people, she’s never seen the little kids in her neighbourhood wear these clothes, tie those hairstyles, play those games or utter those words.
Sighing, Janis flops onto her bed, giving her back a good stretch to relieve the ache. Her phone rings in her pocket, she reaches into the pocket to take it out, but the call is ended. Since she doesn’t recognise the number, she doesn’t think much of it, she doesn’t call back and just went on with her usual after school routine. Janis took her homework out from her bag and placed it on her desk. Then, she went over to her wardrobe to get a fresh set of clothes and showered. During which, Janis gets another missed call from the same number. Janis still disregarded it though, who even calls her anyway, other than her parents or some other relatives?
Like a new routine, Janis gets those missed calls a handful of times throughout her days. It happens for exactly three weeks before Damian knew about it. “Maybe you should block them.”
“Should I just change my number?” Janis muttered to no one in particular.
“Honey, just block the number.” Damian squints. Janis does that then put her phone face down before continuing to eat her lunch. The Plastics walk by, she caught a glimpse of what seemed like Gretchen giving her a smile. Janis’ brows knit together in confusion. “What was that?”
“Huh?”
“Gretchen just smiled at me.”
Damian shrugs, “She’s alright. She’s always been nice.”
Janis chuckles, unamused, “I guess.”
Cady sits down right when Regina and Gretchen were squabbling about something. Damn, Regina was pissed. Janis sees Gretchen in her art class after lunch, but only because she sat down with her. Gretchen sat down right next to her. Janis was weirded out to say the least. Why would she sit next to the art freak?
“Hi.”
“…Hey?”
“How’s it going?”
Janis’ brows were raised, “I’m…fine. Why are you talking to me?” Janis didn’t want to ask, but her curiosity got her. Gretchen shrugged, then went quiet again. Janis narrows her eyes at the girl who looked like she was fidgeting in her seat purely because she had more to say. Gretchen wouldn’t be the one giving her all those missed calls, would she? Janis doesn’t ask another question, though. Sticking her paintbrush into the palette with acrylic paint in front of her. The class was just working on their pieces for the next hour, so it was completely quiet apart from some chatter and occasionally laughter coming from other students. Janis gets a call, which she picks up, so she set down her paintbrush. “Hey! What’s up? I’m good, just finishing up my painting for art class. Hopefully I’ll be done by today. How are you doing?”
Gretchen was watching, honestly. She was curious. She’s never seen the artist being so bubbly. She didn’t mean to stare, though. Janis forced a smile when she felt the girl’s gaze. “Sorry.” Gretchen mouthed and focused on her canvas again.
“Yes. Yes! Of course I’ll be there. Yep, bye-bye.” Janis smiled. She then hangs up, sliding her phone back into her pocket.
It was in a way odd not to get any more of those missed calls, but truthfully, Janis didn’t need those missed calls. She had no idea what annoying person kept pranking her like that. Just like that, the calls were forgotten, everything went back…to normal. Even that weird feeling of nostalgia weighing down on her was just gone. Janis lets out a sigh of relief, feeling the warm water cascading down her back, overcome by a strong feeling of peacefulness.
————
“I don’t get it.” Janis shuts her locker.
“Me neither.” Damian chimed in, standing right behind Janis.
“You didn’t hear this from me, but you’ve been getting a lot of missed calls, haven’t you?”
Janis pulled a face, “Not recently because I blocked the number but how’d you know? It wasn’t you messing with me, was it?”
“Not me.” Gretchen chewed the inside of her cheek, “It’s Regina. She’s been wanting to talk to you but couldn’t do it.”
“Don’t shit with me, Gretch.”
“Honest.” Gretchen said back.
“Prove it.” Janis quirked a brow as they walked towards the exit.
“Okay.” Gretchen agrees, pulling out her phone.
“What?” Damian screeched.
“Shut it. We don’t need the whole school to hear this.” Janis chided. Gretchen’s phone started to ring as the three of them headed to a quiet corner, “What?”
“Regina, I’ve had enough of trying to get you to talk. So, I’m gonna hand my phone right to her and you’re gonna do it now.”
“What?! Who said you could—”
“I did. You need to go for it.” Gretchen stood her ground.
Regina groans. Then there was a moment of silence, but then Janis’ phone rang.
“Where are you? You said to wait by your locker.”
“Sorry. I’m outside. At the back, near the round tables.”
“Okay, I’ll be right there.”
Janis hangs up but held onto her phone. “You gonna talk or what? I don’t have all day, you know?”
“I wanna apologise. So— I’m sorry.” Regina began.
“Where the heck are you?” Damian quipped.
“It’s taken me way too long to accept this and figure it out, but I like you…Janis. I really do.”
“What?”
Janis, Damian and Gretchen all turned around at the same time hearing that voice. “Who the hell are you? I’m her girlfriend.”
An utterly terrified sounding, “Oh shit.” Came from Gretchen’s phone. Gretchen nearly drops her phone and Damian nearly drops to the floor. “Hi, baby.” Janis snaked her arm around your waist. Regina hung up, Gretchen apologised saying she didn’t know. Damian…was still silent.
“You’re fine, you didn’t know. No one knows.” Janis replied calmly. “Regina and I have just been co-existing and that’s okay. That’s life, we’re just gonna have to live life. Shit’s already happened and I’m not one to dwell on the past. I know I deserve better than waiting for someone who I don’t even know for sure feels the same way about me. But, I met her. She knows how she feels about me, and I feel the same way about her. Whether or not Regina said anything, it’s not going to change the fact that me and her are history. That chapter’s done, Gretchen. I’m sorry you all had to find out this way, but I’m happy. She’s happy. And that’s what matters to me right now.”
“I’m happy for you.” Gretchen flashes a genuine smile.
“Thanks.”
Janis filled Damian in on the way to her house, but the guy was so excited, it made you laugh a little too much. “I would not have expected this pairing.” Damian remarked.
“Excuse you?” You glared at him jokingly.
“She’s…the opposite of you.” Damian continued.
“And that matters, why?” Janis nearly snorted, laughing, “We’re actually not that different, me and her. I’m serious.”
“I’m not doubting that.” Damian chuckles, “Anyway, I’m so happy for you! And you, obviously. The height difference is perfect.”
Janis rolled her eyes playfully, “You know we once kissed in front of you, right?”
“When?!”
“We did.” You confirmed.
“Girl, when?” He gasped, hand clutching at his chest.
“Couple months ago. The three of us had some drinks and got a little wasted. We kissed right in front of your face. You didn’t say a thing.”
“A little wasted? I doubt that.” Damian guffaws. “But yeah, if I was sober I definitely would have screeched.”
Janis drops Damian off at his place, “Have a good night. I will see y'all at school tomorrow.”
“Yes, you will. G’night.” Janis waved.
“Bye, Damian. Sorry for just dropping the news on you like that.”
“Oh don’t be sorry. It is great news.” Damian assured.
With that, Janis continues their drive back home. Yes, she could drive. She wasn’t as clumsy or reckless as others believe her to be. “Missed calls were from her, then?” You mentioned.
“Yeah.” Janis nodded.
You shrugged, “Like you said, you’re not one to just wait around. You’re living the life you wanna live and that’s great, love.”
“I know. It is great.” Janis’ lips tug into a smile then she squeezes your thigh.
“I actually thought Damian already knew.”
“We never said we’d tell him yet, right?” Janis squints.
“Actually, I think we did. Just haven’t decided on when.”
“Oh.” Janis chortled, “Right. Yeah, we didn’t really finish that conversation.”
“Because of you.” You laughed, a blush tinting your cheeks quickly.
“Hm, true.” She giggled.
“Do you wanna cook or do you want me to?”
“Oooh.” Janis gasped overdramatically, “Why not just, both of us cook together?”
“Good point. And, it’s Friday. It’ll be fun.” You shrugged, “Your parents are expecting me, right?”
“They’ll be working late. I got a text at lunch, but yeah.” Janis confirmed.
“Good.”
“You’re over there like every other day, anyway. They’re used to seeing you.” Janis chuckles, “They’ve been calling you their daughter already.”
“Way to put the pressure on me.” You snorted.
“Ah, don’t pay too much attention to that. They just treat you like family, that’s all.” Janis promised.
“Mm, yeah. I get that.”
Dropping your backpacks on the couch, you and Janis headed for the kitchen immediately. While she washed her hands, you took a look in the fridge and pantry for ideas. You saw a box of Japanese curry mix and took that out, “How you feeling about this? Japanese curry?”
“Oh, that’d be easy. We’ll just cook some rice and bake those frozen chicken cutlets. Let’s do that.”
————
The weekend went by as per usual, based on The Plastics’ posts on Instagram. They were fine, all three of them. On Monday, however, Regina caught you so very off guard by approaching you and apologising. She wasn’t hesitant, she wasn't fidgety. The blonde looked at you right in the eye and those words just rolled off her tongue. It was a sincere apology. Unexpected but very much appreciated.
“I know Janis, and she would never betray me. This is why I’m so calm about it. Besides, no one knew about me and her other than our parents.”
“I still needed to apologise. That isn’t a nice thing to hear, after all. I’m happy for you two.” Regina continued, “She was right. She shouldn’t have to wait around for someone who wasn’t sure how they felt. Who wasn’t ready to accept themselves. Life’s full of lessons, this is my most expensive one. I missed my opportunity to tell her my truth that she already figured out, honestly. She didn’t deserve to be hurt, but I didn’t know better. You have every right to be mad at me, too. Because what I did was so wrong.”
“Regina, I’m not mad. Neither is she, not anymore.” You answered, “Like you said, you’ve learnt your lesson. That’s enough, that chapter’s come to a close. We’re in the next chapter now, it’s time you started yours, be happy. Find your happiness.”
Regina nods, giving you a small smile, “And honestly, you two have been in my life for as long as I can remember. We’ve always co-existed, we’ve always been in each other’s lives no matter what. If this thing carries on, I would be so honoured and grateful to have people like you and Janis in my life— we may not see eye to eye on everything anymore, but we could be acquaintances. If you need help or anything, I’ll be there.”
"See you around, Regina." Janis smiled, sticking out her hand for a fist bump.
So…this request has been sitting in my inbox for nearly a month. I wasn’t sure how I wanted it to play out, but I’m glad to have taken this direction instead to shake things up a bit. 😬
He loved her? He? Loved her? No, that wasn't it. She knew he loved her. She loved him too, adored him really. It was that....that...he was IN love with her...which was a completely different ballgame. But the question was....was she?
She certainly couldn't imagine life without him...at all. She loved his company and being around him, her best friend. But, was she IN love with him? She certainly had no reason not to be.
....she could see herself with him.
She wanted to stay by his side.
That wasn't the problem.
The problem was....
....
What if this whole thing was just one, huge mistake? One big misunderstanding?
hi !! i was wondering if you could write a tsireya x fem reader fic where reader was out hunting and got gravely injured (but not fatally) and while tsireya is trying to patch them up, she accidentally ends up confessing?
confessions
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ tsireya x fem!reader ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
summary: while out hunting beyond the reef, you get attacked by akula. tsireya is there to heal you up <3
warnings: injuries, blood
✿ a/n: I loved writing this sm and thank u for requesting anon!! this doesn’t follow the exact direction of your request but I hope my writing does it justice. also tsireya is so babygirl ilhsm
the akula is a ferocious Pandoran ocean animal. (the one that tried to kill lo’ak in the movie!!)
you ventured out past the reef, eager to hunt for the rarest of creatures. the deeper waters were treacherous and only the bravest of hunters dared to venture there. you were determined to prove yourself to the Metkayina clan, and to make a name for yourself to be recognized as part of the clan
you had your trusty ilu by your side, a creature that you had trained and bonded with recently. you preferred your ikran over the ilu, being as you weren’t used to it yet. the ilu became your loyal companion after bonding to it, a life partner.
as you and your ilu swam deeper into the waters, you felt a sense of excitement and fear. you had heard stories of the ferocious akula, a creature that was elusive and kept to itself. but you were confident in your skills and the bond you had with your ilu.
however, this confidence was soon shattered when your ilu became frightened by the presence of the akula. the creature bolted, leaving you alone in the dangerous waters. you tried to call out to your ilu using the sounds that aonung taught you but there was no sign. you immediately dove under the water, trying to find rocks or anything you could hide behind. all that you could see was the empty vastness of the ocean, when looking below it was just the darkness of the water, the depths haunting you as there appeared to be no end.
you tried swimming up to the surface, but it was too late. the akula had attacked you, its sharp teeth sinking into your flesh. a gash appeared on your shoulder, making its way down to your back. you hardly felt the bite as adrenaline began to kick in. your entire body shaking as you manage to pull a small knife out of your satchel, trying to injure the akula in any way you can. after a few stabs, it started to get agitated and swam into the depths, but that wasn’t the end of your ordeal. you could feel the oxygen depleting in your lungs, they were practically screaming for more air. but the shock and exhaustion hit all at once and you started twitching as you sunk in the abyss.
‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾
you slowly opened your eyes, a soft glow of light seeping through the walls of the marui pod. it was a safe and secure place for the Metkayina people to rest, surrounded by the gentle whispers of the ocean. you felt a warm hand on your forehead and looked up to see tsireya gazing down at you with worry etched on her face.
tsireya spoke softly, her voice a soothing balm. "y/n, you're awake. how do you feel?"
you’d been asleep for about a day without realizing. your mind was still foggy, and you struggled to find the right words. "I feel... okay, I think. what happened? how did I end up here?”
tsireyas hand moved from your forehead to your cheek, gently caressing it. "my spirit sister found you in the water. I thought I was going to lose you." her ears drooped and she was holding back tears. “you had lost so much blood y/n, you were barely breathing.” she stopped talking to gain composure, and instead whispered small praises to eywa for saving you.
you tried to sit up, but tsireya gently pushed you back down. "rest, you need to heal." you felt a hot pain in your shoulder, and warmth flowing down your back. blood.
“your wound, it is difficult to heal. the akula are ruthless creatures. you are lucky to be alive.” tsireya mentioned
“how did you know I was attacked by one?” you asked
“aonung told me he found it lurking by the three brothers, stab wounds in its side. I knew it had to be you…. you are truly a warrior, ma y/n” tsireya practically whispered the latter half of her statement - she did not mean for that to slip out
as her hands placed pressure on your shoulder, you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks “what did you just say?” you asked, not knowing if the blood loss was getting to your head or not.
“nothing” tsireya smiled, feeling a bit embarrassed. she didn’t plan to hint her liking for you in this way. “let’s focus on healing your wound.”
you looked up at tsireya, taking in her kind eyes and caring demeanor. you had always admired her from afar, but now, in this moment, you could see how deeply she cared for you. It made your heart flutter. she gathered a cup of tea, made from medicinal herbs to speed up the healing process. “my mother taught me this recipe.” tsireya said calmly, glad to find a new topic of conversation.
“you are an amazing healer reya, I’m truly lucky to be in your care” you boldly stated, tsireya blushing at the nickname you gave her.
“thank you y/n. I’m only doing what my mother taught me.” she spoke softly, her voice smooth like silk.
she knew that she could no longer escape this. your weak figure laying in her marui pod made her want to just lay next to you and hold your hand. tsireyas thoughts began to race, she almost *lost* you. you could’ve passed without knowing how she felt.
“something on your mind?” you questioned, taking notice of tsireyas focused expression.
“yes actually… y/n i see you. I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while now.”
“i see you too tsireya”
“no, i see you. I’ve seen you ever since you first walked onto this island. i don’t know if it’s too soon, or too much for you to hear y/n.. but I can’t hide the way I feel anymore. I’ve had my eyes on you for a long time now. and I cannot go another day without telling you. what if you had died out there? then you would never know and—“
you quickly shut tsireya up by reaching upwards and caressing her cheek, pulling her in for a kiss. after letting go, you circled your thumb on her temple. “i feel the same reya” a wave of relief rushing over her. she bent down and slowly laid next to you, not wanting to hurt you in your fragile state. you grabbed her hand and led it up to your chest, so she could feel your heartbeat. “I’m here reya, you will never lose me.”
