just for a moment (lizzy mcalpine x fem!reader)
summary!: when neither of u knows what is real and what isnt, but for a moment you just let it be.
contains!: pure fluff, short n sweet
notes!: people need to start writing for my bbg lizzy asap
The café was quiet, the kind of quiet you only find when it's raining—soft jazz humming from the speakers, coffee cups clinking gently, and the world outside fading into gray. You sat by the window, your fingers wrapped around a warm mug, watching raindrops trace down the glass.
Soaked through, hair damp under the hood of her sweatshirt, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. You saw her before she saw you, and your chest ached in that way it always did when she was near.
"Sorry I’m late,” she said breathlessly, sliding into the seat across from you. “Missed the train. Again.” You smiled, pretending not to notice the way your heart was pounding. “It’s okay. I ordered your tea.” She glanced down at the table, at the steaming mug you had waiting for her, and her face softened. “You know me too well.” “I try.”
You talked, the way you always did—about lyrics and tour dates and silly things like dreams that made no sense. Lizzy had this way of looking at you when you spoke, like she was recording every word, storing it somewhere between her ribs. And you had this way of falling for her, over and over again, with every quiet laugh and every soft-spoken story about her life.
She leaned forward, “You know what I’ve been writing about lately?” “What?” “You,” she said, then laughed awkwardly. “Not you you. But... someone who feels like you.” You froze, caught between hope and heartbreak. “Oh.” “It’s not a love song,” she added quickly. “Or, not really. More like a... maybe. A what-if.” You nodded, but the ache in your chest was sharp now. Because you weren’t hers. Not really. Just a friend. Just a muse. Just a passing lyric in a verse she might never finish.
But still, you held onto these moments like they meant something. The way her hand would brush yours and linger. The way she’d look at you for a second too long. The way her voice would soften when she said your name.It was like living in the middle of a song that would never resolve.
Later, she walked you home under the rain, her jacket draped over your shoulders even though she was the one shivering. The city was washed in yellow streetlight, the sidewalks shining.
When you reached your door, neither of you moved.
“I should go,” she whispered, but didn’t take a step.
“Yeah,” you breathed, “you should.”
The space between you felt electric—so thin it could shatter, so fragile you were afraid to move. Her eyes searched yours like she was trying to read between the lines, to see if what she felt was real or just something she made up in her head.
You swallowed. “Do you ever wish things were... different?”
Lizzy blinked slowly, like the question caught her off guard. “All the time,” she said. “Especially when I’m with you.”
The world seemed to pause. The city sounds faded, the rain softened to a hush, and the only thing left was her—standing there in front of you, heart in her eyes, soaked and beautiful and so, so painfully close.
“I think about it too,” you admitted, voice barely audible. “But it always feels like a dream I’m going to wake up from.”
“What if we didn’t wake up?” she asked.
Soft and trembling and unsure, like the both of you were standing on the edge of something terrifying and beautiful. Her hands found your waist. Yours curled into the fabric of her hoodie. And for that moment, just that one, it didn’t matter what was real and what was only imagined.
When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, eyes still closed.
“You’re not just a maybe,” she whispered.
The rain kept falling. The city kept breathing. But in that stillness, in that stolen space between reality and dreams, you finally let yourself believe it.
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