lottie

she/her 9teen

welcome 2 my blog!

who i’ll write for :

spencer reid (+other criminal minds characters)

clark kent

henry winter

ect — please feel free to ask for others!

masterlist!

clark is so unbelievably bored and its only midday.

it's one of those rare days where superman's services are not needed, meaning that he actually has to stay at work all day, and not slip away before the day's even started.

staring at the word document, notes sprawled out on his desk, he almost wishes that some kind of catastrophe would happen just so he doesn't have to sit at this desk for any longer. but he's too nice to actually wish that.

but his legs are too long and are barely stuffed underneath the tiny, cramped desk, the chair too small to fit all 6'4, 240lbs of him.

plus, you aren't here.

you were out somewhere photographing something for an article, and your lack of presence was making him feel a little antsy. he typically didn't have to deal with your absences as, as previously stated, clark is very rarely actually at work. but when you were there, everything seemed to be much lighter for him.

his desk was still too small and his keyboard still too clack-y, but when you were there to offer a smile or just..exist, all of that didn't seem to matter.

but you weren't here, and it felt like there was a raincloud over his head.

with what can only be described as a pout on his face, he gets up and stalks over to the break room to refill his coffee for the millionth time. he's so bored and sleepy that he can barely keep his eyes open as he pours the liquid into his mug, rubbing his achy eyes.

"afternoon, clark!"

and all of a sudden, the weariness is lifted from his body and he's magically the most rejuvenated man in the world.

he spins around and there you are, and the sun seems to shine brighter and birds start chirping and all misery and suffering in the word takes a holt. joy is pouring out of that pretty smile and transmitted to him, replacing all the boredom with unflitered glee.

and then he spills his coffee. all over his crisp white shirt.

"ah- jeez!" he hisses a little as the warm liquid hits him, browning the fabric and momentarily distracting him from happiness personified.

"oh, clark!" you squeak out, placing the stack of paper you're holding on the sticky break room table, before pulling out hundreds of flimsy paper towels from the counter, batting his hands away from his shirt so you can soak up the coffee.

and suddenly, he's paralysed, stuck standing in an awkward position with his hands to his sides as you wipe away at his shirt. he can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, and the embarrassment from blushing as a grown man makes him blush even more.

he simultaneously wants to erase this moment from his memory and keep it stored in there forever, so he'll never forget the feeling of your hands on his chest. even if those hands are prohibited from reaching his skin through that traitorous scrap of coffee-stained fabric.

you, on the other hand, only really discover what you're doing midway through doing it. you duck your head, trying to rub away the stain, mentally cursing yourself when you remember it's probably not socially acceptable to start rubbing up your coworker in the middle of the break room.

but you've already started doing it so you'll finish.

"um, i think it's dry now."

"oh." you jump away.

reluctantly, i might add.

because you had an epiphany.

well, more of a discovery, but the point still stands.

clark kent was jacked.

cute, sweet farmboy kent had a chest so hard it felt like ramming into a brick wall. clark kent who had hot cocoa when he was sad and rescued kittens out of trees and was possibly the clumsiest man to ever exist was possibly the most muscular man you'd ever met.

"you always seem to make a mess, huh, clark?" you quickly switch focus to his clumsy, dorkiness to hopefully distract yourself from the horrendous, borderline perverted thoughts you were having about him.

"well, not always." he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, not meeting your eyes.

you both awkwardly say your goodbyes, excusing yourself to the dark room whilst clark scampers back to his desk.

cupid!reader

cupid!reader who...is the sweetest of sweetie pies ever! she greets everyone with the biggest, more genuine smile and asks how you're doing and actually cares for the answer

cupid!reader who...works as a photographer for the daily planet. she has a keen eye for beauty because she sees it in everything and everyone she sees

cupid!reader who...won't let her sweet demeanour make people believe she's some kind of bimbo. she is beauty and brains personified

cupid!reader who...lives off making people's days. she will go out of the way to memorise your coffee order or buy your favourite pastry out of nowhere if she had any inkling you aren't having a great day, sometimes at the expense of her own energy..

cupid!reader who...despite her joyful attitude, often finds herself consumed by sadness when she's alone. when in the dark of nights, cries pitiful tears at the fact that she's still alone no matter how hard she tries

cupid!reader who...when meeting clark kent, finally finds someone who cares enough to listen to what she has to say, who wants to make her happy the way she does with others

clark kent who...was a bit overwhelmed when he first moved to metropolis. he'd been so use to the slow, wholesome nature of his small-town that the big city with its hustle and bustle felt like a totally different planet

clark kent who...always felt out of place in the world. being, quite literally, an alien, he always felt like he was only roleplaying as a member of society. being in the city, surrounded by so many different characters, helped squelch that feeling, just a little

clark kent who...was annoying endearing. the way he hunched his shoulders to make himself smaller or who seemed to make a mess everywhere he went just by how large his frame is

clark kent who...still makes hot cocoa when he's sad. he uses ma's recipe every time, but never seems to be able to get it the way she made it

clark kent who...is immediately enamoured. you somehow possess all of the liveliness and modernity of the city, whilst also possessing such similar qualities of the members of his home. the city, as wonderful as it was, did make him feel very lonely in comparison to his home, but your constant sunshine and effort to make everyone feel included makes everything feel like more of a community

you couldn't quite make sense of what mr hayward offered at the ball last week.

you'd spent everyday since trying to make sense of it all, trying to find things to distract yourself with so you didn't spend all day preoccupied with trying to work it all out.

but no matter how you filled your time with governessing or reading, your brain couldn't help but wander back to that evening.

and despite being close wit her, and her being close with him, something was telling you not to discuss the matter with ann. whilst you didn't think it was anything but innocent, there was a little voice in your head telling you to keep this particular situation to yourself.

you'd figure it out eventually, you were sure.

but by the time the next ball rolled around, you still hadn't quite work it out.

you entered lady montgomery's, one of mr and mrs gardiners many connections, home with the conversation still on your mind, accidentally bumping into the doorframe.

the building is decorated with to many flowers to count, all of which are different types and colours, as well as the surfaces being littered with candles that envelop the room in a bright, warm glow. it almost makes you forget of the embarrassment of hitting yourself in the face upon entering. the ache in your head is an uncomfortable reminder.

you're grateful, however, to see miss baxter by the punch table, in a conversation with a man you had never met, but you can tell is at least fifteen years her senior. by the tension in her shoulders and her false smile, you can tell ann is uncomfortable.

so you approach. one lucky part of not doing well socially is that you can often get out of uncomfortable conversations easily. you make your introductions, and he shakes your hand and you instantly think of something to make the man disappear. "did you know that millions of germs are passed in a single handshakes? it's actually safer to kiss."

the man screws up his face, wiping his hand on his trousers, before excusing himself with a grumble. the night continues with you and ann talking and sipping punch, but you dont get asked to dance because, as it appears, mr ryder is not here, so you're left to your usual post manning the punch table and observing the other couples dance and and fall in love and presumably live happy ever after. you're not bitter, not at all.

half way through the evening is when mr hayward decides to grace the room with his presence. he had told ann he'd make an appearance, yet made no promises that he'd spend all evening there. yet again skilfully avoiding the horror that is social engagements. you'd be annoyed at his tardiness if he didn't look so handsome.

mr hayward, on the other hand, is slightly bashful to see you. he's tortured himself all week by replaying the horror of your last interaction, how he had embarrassed himself, inserting himself where he didn't belong. a part of him expected you to shun him.

he is grateful, however, not to see ryder fluttering around you like a very annoying, very persistent bee. and, as he looks around, he notices no sign of him at all. even if you did decide to ignore or cold-shoulder him, at least his evening couldn't be further spoiled by the nuisance that is mr william ryder.

he approaches, cautiously. he's even worried about miss baxter. surely you must have told her what he'd offered, seeing as the pair of you were so close. on the face of it, his offer didn't seem too bad. it could even be interpreted as kind, even. but he knew what ann would see it as, and the worst thing about it would be that he would have no argument or excuse to reject it.

he felt bad enough, that his feelings for ann were dwindling. there was no good reason for it, truly, but as beautiful and kind as ann was, he couldn't help but see her as a friend and nothing more.

"miss baxter, miss bennet. good evening." he says in his most polite, gentlemanly voice, even bowing his head a little. he already feels humiliated.

"mr hayward! there you are!" ann says in a tone that is both excited and exasperated. "you told me you would come."

"and here i am."

"i meant on time, not when everyone is preparing to leave." she chastises, then an idea pops into her head. "well, we have time for one more dance, i believe. mr hayward, why don't you dance with miss bennet?"

he freezes, just for a second, his mask of the polite gentleman slipping and revealing the nervous man beneath. he quickly adjusts back, though, and nods thoughtfully. "if that is what you'd like, miss bennet."

you nod, feeling the awkwardness between you two, but ultimately accept because you have no choice whatsoever. you feel this guilt burrowing deep inside of you when you feel your skin go electric when mr hayward takes your hand in his.

and you feel even guiltier when you remember that it's ann's kindness that has put you in this situation. she's constantly matchmaking you, ensuring that you never feel left out or undesirable. you know her intentions with you and mr hayward are to make you friends, so when you feel heat in your stomach and simultaneously the most comfortable and the most on-edge around him, you cant help but feel like the worst person in the world.

you go through the motions, counting your steps in your head, careful in each step you take out of fear of some kind of embarrassment occurring when you stumble on tom's feet or bump into another couple.

"i am sorry, miss bennet." he says, minutes into your dance, when the silence becomes too much to bare. "it was wrong of me to insert myself where i didn't belong."

your'e stunned for a second, and have to will you mind back into its sociable, not completely awkward mode so you can properly converse. "oh, mr hayward, there is no reason to apologise. you only had the best of intentions."

but he didnt, and he knows it. he knows that he was letting his own affections for you and distaste for mr ryder make him act rash and posessive towards you, whom he had no reason nor right to act possessive towards.

you decided to take a leap.

and by a leap, you meant doing something that could 100% just be interpreted as a purely platonic thing. but you're trying, give yourself some credit for that.

you were, finally, moving out of your crummy little apartment and into a much nicer, much brighter one in a better area of the city. and so, you asked spencer if he would help you pack up all your stuff.

despite the lack of anything that could be perceived as romantic, you'd had to hype yourself up all day just to get the courage to ask him - with a stutter, i might add, which made you want to curl up in a ball and never see the light of day, or spencer, ever again.

it may have seemed nothing to the rest of the team, who had to try to convince you all day just to ask, but to you, letting spencer into your apartment was equivalent to letting him into your soul. it may sound silly and irrational, but to let someone into your home where everything was so entirely you, it felt bigger than it actually was.

spence had, as always, been as gentlemanly as ever and agreed, happy to finally be introduced to anything more than just the door to your apartment.

and despite it being in a pretty shitty building in a rough area of town, it was actually quite nice inside. you had bunting and colourful pillows and blankets strewn all over the place to try and cover up the beige-ness of it all. you weren't allowed to paint the walls, so you had to do what you could.

"wow, you do read a lot." spencer's eyes immediately find the bookshelf going along your wall. it's filled to the brim with romance novels, with a small section dedicated to your classics. you feel almost (not almost - definitely) embarrassed by the colourful cartoon covers, half expecting some kind of ridicule for not reading as serious books as him.

some people like joy and whimsy rather than the misery of tolstoy and dostoyevsky.

you did read classics too, usually bringing one to read at work. you'd been nervous, you'll admit, that if you decided to show up with a romance novel that looks like its designed for teens rather than a 'serious' novel, you'd been faced with some kind of mockery by the oh so serious fbi agents.

"oh, yeah, i do." you blush a little, to your chagrin, tucking your hair behind you ears, trying to think of anything you can to distract him. "uh, would you like something to drink?"

spencer, so preoccupied with studying your books for familiar titles, merely shakes his head. you sigh in defeat.

once spencer and you had finished packing up your books (in record time, might i add, your embarrassment seemingly allowing you to move at double speed), you guide him throughout your house to pack up each room.

it feels like it takes just as long as it would if it were only you, as spence tries to catalog each and every item in your apartment; your preferred cereal, the vinyls and cds in your bedroom, your body washes - which he commits to smelling each one, mind you, which takes forever as you alternate your scent based on season. your communication sounds like this: "mm, chocolate. oo coconut. vanilla, yum."

all of it seems invasive, like someone has entered your brain and is dissecting each part of you. it makes you feel vulnerable and small and entirely at his mercy. but his study of your home never seems judgemental. you're never met with his nose turned up or with a screwed up nose. his face is so blank that you cant even tell what he's feeling.

but for spencer? he feels like he's been granted to something kept so hidden from the rest of the world and he feels blessed. each item of yours, he handles and inspects with such a gentleness that you'd assume that it was some kind of precious antique rather than just your bunny plushy.

he catalogues each item to his brain, storing them for later use. he mentally tells himself to buy a pack of the granola bars in your cupboard so he can keep some in his satchel and go-bag just in case you need it.

but no, there was nothing romantic between you whatsoever.

tom had never considered himself a jealous person.

nor a possessive one, at that.

but something about seeing someone that isn't him lifting your spirts is on par with with taking a bullet to the heart to him. whatever it is that he's feeling, not that he can put a name on it, is just so unbelievably ridiculous that he doesn't know quite what to do with it.

he'd never experienced such a feeling, to be quite honest. not even with miss baxter, despite his affections for her. and he did have affections for her, he wanted to make that quite clear. she was very much a valued part of his life and he cared deeply for her.

but never, not once, had he ever experienced this itching, burning feeling spreading through his veins until he felt as though his eyes might pop out of his head with miss baxter.

maybe it was the longevity of their relationship. three years was a long time, surely he'd just become secure enough not to get jealous when another gentleman spoke to her. maybe, maybe not.

but suddenly, since your arrival in london earlier this spring, he had been overcome with this horrible, oppressive feeling and nothing he did seemed to shake it. it had gotten so bad that even seeing old mr hurst educate you on horses seemed to rile him up.

he must have entered some state of lunacy to have been reduced to such a state over a lady he'd known for such a short period of time. but it seemed that every time you entered a room and your focus wasn't on him, he felt like he was seconds away form combusting into a puff of smoke.

and to have mr william ryder be the figure that occupied so much of your time just seemed to quadrupled that feeling.

he'd never liked ryder, if he was being honest. not even when they studied law together for that brief period. and he'd assumed that everyone else was inclined to feel the same. a man so pompous and impulsive as mr ryder, with no respect for the way society was run, could not possibly gain the favour from any person of standards, and especially not you.

to see him, of all people, to bring you out of that slump a few weeks back was borderline torture for him. in fact, he'd rather be tortured than have to suffer through that all together. seeing you so downhearted, even threatening to leave, after such a short time together was so achingly painful to him that he was ready to move mountains to ensure your happiness.

but apparently, just an evening spent with mr ryder was enough to raise your spirts.

but he hadn't left you alone since, and it seemed like every ball he attended, he found you and mr ryder glued to each others sides.

so, finally, after seeing him hover around you so suffocatingly for yet another ball, he'd decided it was time to offer you the favour of doing away with him.

"-or that is to say, i have noticed at the ball, mr ryder has occupied a great deal of your time." he wasn't off to a great start, rambling and stumbling over his words despite memorising this exact scenario innumerable time in his head. "and he often acts without thinking."

"i'd be very happy to ask him to be more restrained, if that is what you would...like." he tries to smile, to speak in his usual pleasant and polite tone, in the hopes that the depth of his annoyance towards ryder's fancy in your, but his smile is just too tight to be sincere.

when he's met with a confused and furrowed brow, rather than your immediate agreeance, he knows he isn't quite getting what he wants today. "i very much enjoy his company, i..."

his eyes flicker with what could be considered disappointment, but what is, ultimately, burning rage and a desire to do it anyway. but he had too much respect for your feelings, so he just nods, his smile growing tighter and his resolve thinner. "ah."

bennet!reader

bennet!reader who...moves to london to act as temporary governess for her aunt and uncle once her siblings are all married and her father passes, grateful for the escape from her mother

bennet!reader who...has given up on all fantasies of marriage, comfortable with her future as a governess rather than a wife

bennet!reader who...is secretly a creative, despite her families claim that she's so very plain. she may be imperfect, but she tries

bennet!reader who... is quite so overwhelmed with all the commotion of london, not used to it in comparison to the quite, wholesomeness of the countryside in which you were raised

bennet!reader who...doesn't quite know what to do when mr tom hayward comes into her life, with his warm smiles and poetic disposition

bennet!reader who...despite her apprehension, finds a home in London, learning who she is and how to love that girl properly

tom hayward who...had already become accustomed to the steady normality of london. having lived there for years, he was used to the boredom and repetitive nature of his work, as well as the social dynamics. the buzz of a new city was gone, and he'd reached a state of complacency

tom hayward who...was grateful to meet someone new anyway, but was silently and internally overjoyed that the 'someone' happened to be you

tom hayward who...saw what the sheltered and isolating nature of your home had done to you, how it limited and tarnished the image you had of yourself and wanted to prove to you that it was more than what you had believed

tom hayward who...has always loved poetry and literature, but came to a true understanding of it once he met you

tom hayward who...can be embarrassingly jealous and possessive. he doesn't mean to, honest, but he cant help the burning, itching feeling he gets in his chest every time you dance with mr ryder instead of him

her works:

jealousy

having a crush on spencer reid is not for the weak.

besides already being so utterly shy it was bordering on clinical, spencer was so completely blind to any of the little hints you tried to send that may point to your feelings for him being more than platonic. for someone who literally studied human behaviour for a living, he was painfully oblivious.

you'd started to feel a little pathetic with how he seemed to be completely unaware of the hints you offered him. maybe he knew and just wasn't doing anything because he didn't like you? maybe you were just embarrassing yourself.

well, truth be told, spence truly was just blind. for a man with an iq over 180 and multiple doctorates, he was so, so very stupid. morgan had told him straight up many times that you fancied him, but without the words coming straight from your mouth, he believed morgan was just teasing him.

but you being you meant you were far too shy to say a thing, meaning you were stuck in this awkward and never-ending loop of never becoming any more than friends.

"you should just tell him, you know." jj had said to you on multiple occasions, "he totally liked you back."

but you never took the bait.

you both, stupidly, kept this back and forth of getting so close but never quite close enough. the team found it simultaneously nauseating and adorable.

spencer had never really had a proper girlfriend before, so he didn't really get all the plainly obvious hints you were sending him. making him coffee and remembering his exact order? friendly, duh! you brushing your hand against his when you passed something to him? complete accident!

sure, your hints were minimal and could genuinely be accidental, but in your mind you were taking a giant, monumental leap. to you, brushing shoulders was synonymous with standing outside his window with a boombox.

well, who would've thought a genius could be such an idiot?

a/n: here's a little something for your troubles <3 I haven't written for spencer in forever woah. also got some mr hayward brewing muhahaha (thats an evil laugh if you cant tell :p)

my man on willpower!

pairing: james marriott x reader

genre: angsty fluff..fluffy angst??

tw: whimsy's backbone in full force, kinda got inspiration from little women, james grovels a bit

word count: 1320

Your song had gone viral. 

and whilst the love from fans had been enormous and heartwarming, you couldn’t help but feel slightly regretful over your, let’s face it, impulsive decision to post it without some proper consideration. 

you weren’t usually so spontaneous or capricious, and you’d felt a little bashful on reflection. the song was good, you knew that, but you’d never done something so direct, for you truly were very nonconfrontational. You’d go to bat for your friends whenever someone did something to hurt them, but never for yourself. standing up for yourself truly seemed like an impossible action that whenever you did, it felt like your alter ego had taken over and done some ludicrous action that the real you would have to traverse alone.

but that small part of you rings in your ear, with whispers of encouragement and pride for finally standing up for yourself, for no longer taking anyone’s bullshit. james couldn’t pick and choose when to be affectionate, when to be there and when to not. it felt like just yesterday that he wanted all of your attention, wanting the good and bad your life offered. sometimes you wonder if you can find a way to go back in time, before the kiss ever happened, so you can stop it and allow things to return it to how you liked it.

but this is your reality now, james staring across from you like you’d humiliated him beyond belief. you probably had, to be honest. it was likely clear to your friends what and who your song was about, but still, that part of you felt no regret.

“hello.” surprisingly, you sound very unaffected by his presence. you’d expected to duck and run the second you saw his figure, but you had reminded yourself that he was the one who had done you wrong, and not the other way around.

“i heard your song.” the grip of his coffee is notably tighter than usual, and almost comical at that. 

“thoughts?” you fix him with a piercing yet simultaneously unbothered stare, warmth blooming in your chest. pride this time, rather than the usual bashful feeling you usually got. 

he sighs, clenching his jaw, and staring down at his docks, rocking on the balls of his feet as he tries to articulate how exactly he’s feeling. “i don’t know why you couldn’t just talk to me.”

you almost laugh. well, you do. it’s a small laugh, more shocked and dumbfounded than anything, but you manage to find some humour in it. The audacity of this to man to stand in front of you and argue that you should be more communicative with him, when he barely spoke to you after the kiss. 

“what, like you did?” you don’t want to argue in the middle of the street, with the throngs of strangers traversing around the pair of you, but the complete absurdity of the entire thing makes you lose all sense of rationale. “james, you can’t just kiss me, then disappear. that’s not how this works.” 

“well, if you’d just let me-“

“no, i’m not just going to let you do anything.” you’re on a roll now, feeling bashful at your unusual confidence but not wanting to lose momentum. “i’m not going to let you keep doing this to me. its not fair, and its just..mean.”

and with that, you turn on your heels and head back to your apartment, because if you stay a second longer, you might cry and you’ve already embarrassed yourself enough for one day.

-

self-realisation. james decides he needs to work on that, as he stares up at the ceiling of his apartment. otto keeps nudging his knee with his head, but he offers him no attention. 

mean. it was so simple, so innocent, that it sticks to his brain like honey. he’d been so preoccupied with his own issues and his own internal conflict surrounding the kiss, that he’d completely forgotten that his action and lack of action afterwards may have caused you some upset.

it was ignorant, of course, but he couldn’t quite work out his own feelings.

it was the first time in some time since he had a crush on someone. they way you met, there was no romantic intention behind it and it had all developed in such an unforced and natural way, that a part of it felt unnatural. somehow. he hadn’t felt such a feeling in so long that he didn’t truly know how to navigate it. 

and you were so easy-going and agreeable, that he never really expected that the kiss would affect you in such a way, as ignorant as that is. coming home to your video as a form of argument rather than a call or message felt so foreign, and he couldn’t help but feel the teeniest bit (very) humiliated.

so, he didn’t quite know how to go about it when seeing you again today. he knew he was wrong, but he didn’t know how to explain that he was being stupid, rather than cruel. but, by accident, he was cruel. 

james knew he burned bright, but slowly his flame fizzled until there was little energy left. he didn’t want to be like that with you, he simply needed to learn how. 

-

he feels a little silly, stood outside your new and unfamiliar apartment, staring at the door like it was a boggart. but this was a fear he must face. if not for himself, for you.

once you answer the door, you give him a look so piercing that he’s half convinced you’re about to slam the door on him. but you’re too polite, and you still have that stupid soft spot for him that is currently working against you. 

“i wanted to say i’m sorry.” it all feels a little dramatic, standing outside your door in the warm glow of the streetlamps. a bit rom-com-y, and that seems to raise the stakes of it all. his palms are sweating and his chest aching just a tad. “i was selfish, and didn’t understand what was happening, and you were hurt because of my stupidity and i just..”

“james.”

“no, listen.” he continues. “what i did was unfair, and mean, you were right. i let my own confusion hurt you, and i just hope you can forgive me, because if nothing else, i still wish you’d be my friend.”

“james.” he keeps rambling on erratically, and you can barely understand a word of it. you don’t think he even knows what he’s saying anymore, lost in his own world.

“james.” finally, he stops. finally, he hears you.

you cup his cheeks, his big brown eyes staring into yours, imploring your forgiveness with just a look. you think about it for just a second, before you lift your lips to his, pressing ever so softly, feeling the bristles of his jaw against your palms. luckily for the steps up to your apartment, you’re on level with each other. no longer any need for your straining to reach him. finally, he’s just there. 

it takes a second for him to react. to be honest, he’d assumed you weren’t going to forgive him, that you were simply going to slam the door and that would be that. but once he realises that this is reality, he eagerly kisses you back. softly, but assuredly. the reciprocation makes this kiss so much more than the last, so much more than just a brush of your lips with not enough to time to react in any way. 

jonny!

pairing: james marriott x reader

genre: angst..kinda?

tw: james is evil, reader is sad and angry and let down, maude being iconic and the loml, insecurity

word count: 1431

james was supposed to be here to help you move apartments. he promised you weeks ago. but he’s not. instead, it’s just you and maude hauling box after box into her car, watching the clock tick as the hope of him showing up withers away. the possibility of him being late soon disappears as you receive no text of apology or see a tall figure approaching your flat.

everything that’s happened this last week or so comes crashing down on you. the kiss, the lack of acknowledgement of said kiss, james acting friendly but distant. you’re left feeling stupid and heartbroken. and stupid again for feeling heartbroken. sure, the pair of you never put a label on whatever the hell you are after the kiss-that-shall-not-be-named, but you thought he was at least a good enough friend not to freeze you out like this. you weren’t even the one that made the first move, for christ’s sake. 

your sadness quickly morphs into anger, because, before anything, james was your friend. he was one of your closest and most trusted friends, and that mattered more than any kiss. to you, at least. to him? that kiss seemed to bring everything down until it was as if you were mere acquaintances again. talking now felt like what it should’ve been at the start; awkward, polite, with not genuine interest behind it. rather than missing and yearning for him, all you want to do is rewind time to a point you never met at all. 

and slap him in the face. that sounded good, too.

the move continues in almost perfect silence. it would be peaceful, therapeutic even, if it weren’t for the heavy weight filling the room. you could tell maude felt it too, with the way she didn’t try and fill the room with chat and how she looked at you out of the corner of her eye, her gaze laced with suspicion. 

you still hadn’t told her about the kiss, or the lack of kissing to ensue afterwards and the overwhelming nothingness of it all, but you could tell she knew something was up. maude always knew, which was both a blessing and a curse. 

“right.” maude’s voice echoes, as she throws a pillow far too aggressively onto your couch. you felt as if you were about to be scolded by your mother, rather than your best friend. “i don’t know what you’re moping about, presumably james, but it stops now.”

“i’m not moping.” you protest, weakly at that, and focus your attention on arraging the bouquet of flowers maude got for you in a vase, avoiding her iron gaze.

“oh, yes you are. you’ve been pouting ever since james didn’t get here, plus you’ve been in a very odd mood since we went out the other night.” she continues, on a roll now. “you’ve been in a mood since james first said something to you that night, which is curious since you’d been in an awfully good mood for days before.”

“i was in a normal mood.” you don’t offer any more, almost embarrassed at her recollection of your formerly wonderful mood. you really were so happy. all it does it make you feel stupider now.

“no, you weren’t,” maude packs up the rubbish from an ikea box, tucking it under her arm and grabbing her purse, heading towards the door. “and i know something happened with james. i don’t know what, just that something did. and, because i respect your privacy, I’m going to let you keep it to yourself for now.” 

she knows how to read you so perfectly, its aggravating.

“but sitting around waiting for him to give you an inch isn’t helping anything. stop pouting and huffing and do something productive. he’s not worth getting in a funk for.” she doesn’t say anymore, just pushes your notepad towards you and leaves.

you stare at the book, left abandoned since you wrote your most recent song. drop dead. looking back at your old words, how convinced you were that his kiss meant some grand love was blooming, finally, and how happy you had been. it brings that pit in your chest that you’ve been trying to ignore to surface.

you’d been so stupid to think that a kiss with no strings meant he’d be willing to commit to you. thinking back, it hadn’t been romantic at all. just a brush of his lips against yours, the buzzing of the streetlamp, the itchiness of his moustache against your upper lip. he didn’t ask, but did he really have to? had you been so obvious and so desperate that you were just an easy thing for him?

you continue to wallow in self-pity, your fingers brushing against the pen strokes, trying to ignite that buzzing feeling that you had just a week ago. another part of you wants to tear the pages out and throw them into the trash, to find a home among the rubbish just as james had done to you and your feelings, but you don’t, because it would be a shame to abandon such good writing. 

so, instead, you write. you sit there pouring every miniscule feeling from the last week, the last few months, all of it onto the page and out of your head. as you do, the weight that you didn’t know you were carrying lifts from your shoulders and your chest feels ten times lighter. you hadn’t truly realised how much this relationship had been affecting you, how much of an emotional toll it had on you.

maybe it’s the emptiness of the new apartment, the white of the walls and the bareness of it all. it’s filled to the brim with the same nick-nacks from your old flat, but having it not be lived in makes it feel like a brand-new slate. 

more than anything, it was maude. you’d maybe neglected her a bit in your blind pursuit of love, but she was still here, hitting you with the harshest of realities with only the best of intentions. realising how much was emotionally at stake for you with this one guy made you feel silly and irrational and completely blind. having maude expose to you, without any sugar-coating or fluffy words, that you’d been fooling yourself and placing all of your happiness on one guy made you realise that your loneliness had blinded you to reality.

maybe james didn’t love you, didn’t really care at all, and you needed to let go of this idealised version of him your mind had whipped up.

it still hurt. of course, it still hurt. james, despite it all, still held a very special place in your heart. that was probably your fatal flaw, how you continued to love and love and love even in the face of mistreatment. james’ imperfection and all the little hints that made your feelings stronger and the crush of his rejection just the more painful were all just human flaws. you, rather than seeing what was right in front of you, chose to see all the good and brush over all the bad. 

you didn’t hate james (you were pissed, that was sure), all you needed was an explanation. all you needed was for him to tell you why he ran, why he pulled away, when it was clear that the both of you shared the same feelings and the same hope for more. at least, you thought it was clear.

 he hadn’t been drunk (for obvious reasons) and he hadn’t been hypnotised, so what reason would he have to kiss you if he hadn’t felt some love for you too? he had never done you wrong in your relationship so far, so you had no reason to suspect any kind of bad intention from him. 

so why? was it pity? could he see how desperate you were for his affection? was it instinct? was he pretending you were someone else?

the possibilities swarm your mind, but you brush them off and keep writing. and once you’re done writing, you set up your phone. you know if you don’t brave it now, you never will. so you record yourself singing the song in acoustic, strumming along a little clumsily on your guitar, and upload it online.

jonny.

whimsy!reader in...

picture you!

pairing: james marriott x reader

genre: sort of angsty (near the end)

tw: anxiety, reader being sad and let down, james being distant and evil

word count: 1129

james hadn’t spoken to you since the kiss. well, in all fairness, you hadn’t either, but the point remains. it had been two days, and it had seemed the pair of you had been too caught up in your own lives to weasel each other in the way you usually did. but that’s just life, sometimes things get in the way, and you can’t address the things you want to.

that’s what you told yourself, at least. 

truth be told, you’d been a little bit nervous since it all happened. you’d texted back and forth a little, and whilst nothing had seemed to change, nothing felt awkward either. sure, the texting was minimal and not at all up to the amount you had usually, but you attributed this to how busy you both were.

still, your anxieties didn’t stop you from feeling so unbelievably giddy from the kiss, it was almost embarrassing. your friends had even picked up, despite you attempts to smother your borderline obnoxious mood. but even your friends’ strange looks didn’t smother your joy. you were so plainly happy that any kind of judgements became void in your mind.

the lack of any communication about it all didn’t seem to bother you either. clearly, you both liked each other, so what was there to discuss? labels would come when they came, no need to force these things.

 anyway, you’d be seeing this evening anyway. presumably, if he didn’t ditch with some kind of excuse about being in the studio.

it was friday, and you and your friends had agreed to meet for a drink at the pub again. this time, you were bringing maude to introduce them. you hadn’t seen as much of her as you should’ve recently, as you’d been focusing most of your efforts in james, and you felt a little guilty. so, rather than keeping your friends and her separate for any longer, you decided it was finally time to introduce them.

and, finally, maude would be able to get a proper deduction of whether james was worthy of you or not. she’d done a hefty bit of internet stalking, but one’s internet persona very rarely portrayed them in an accurate light.

you spent an embarrassing amount of time getting ready, curling your hair just right, applying makeup a little more generously than usually, ensuring you wore one of your best outfits. you’d probably look overdressed and out of place among your friends, but you couldn’t help but want to leave a good impression.

maude gives you that look when you meet her, like she knows exactly what’s whirring through your brain, and grins. the look makes you blush bashfully, ducking your head and looping your arm through hers. “let’s just go. we’re already late.”

the bar is full, but not overflowing, when you enter, the lively and warming chatter of patrons filling your ears and your chest in an oddly wholesome way. you make your way to your usual table, maude’s hand looped comfortably through yours as you navigate through the throngs of people. you deflate, just slightly, when you say that james is yet to arrive. but you don’t let that tarnish the pep in your step. james is almost always late, nothing to worry about. 

you make the introductions, and maude effortlessly falls into place with the group. you’d always been slightly jealous of her, with the way she could so easily make friends and make people fall in love with her. you were never so lucky in that department. but i guess it made the two of your compatible; you were painfully shy when first interacting with people, and often they would just give up when you didn’t tell them your life stories immediately. but maude never gave up, even when she had to forcibly pry your personality out of you.

the night goes even better than planned. maude’s presence weirdly helps you get more comfortable even though these are supposed to be your friends, but still. you can’t complain, not when everything’s so peaceful and warm.

yet, you can’t help but pull your eyes to the door in the hopes than james might appear, walk through and give you that perfect smile of his. 

it’s been an hour and a half, and your practically ready to go home, when james finally shows up. you’d been fully convinced he wasn’t even coming anymore and felt a little (a lot) silly all dressed up for someone who hadn’t even shown. 

but you see him and can’t help the smile that explodes off your face, all your previous annoyance now completely glossed over when you find that he hasn’t stood you up. well, maybe not stood you up, but your mind had made this entire thing into more than it is.

he takes the empty seat across from you, and smile with a nod that’s almost painfully polite. your smile falters, but you manage a weak smile. he basically doesn’t look at you for the rest of the night and you feel like the most pathetic person to ever walk the earth. you just about manage to introduce maude to him, but beyond that, you don’t utter a word to each other. maude looks at you like somethings gone wrong, like the pair of you had entered an alternate dimension because this was not the james you had described to her

you force yourself to stay for another hour, trying to talk as if everything’s normal, but there’s a lump in your throat that you can’t ignore. 

you thought james felt the same, that the kiss meant something to him. clearly, it didn’t. he isn’t even treating you like a friend, instead a mere acquaintance. your mind flurries with possible reasons for such a reaction, trying to force a reasonable explanation that would unburden your of your anxieties, but your brain works against you. 

you leave quietly with maude looping her arm in yours, staring at your downtrodden but also blank expression. she walks you to your apartment but stops outside your house in the warm light provided by the lamppost.

“so, that was james.”

“yep.”

“he was,” she pauses. “polite.”

you nod, but don’t say much more, because your eyes are glossing over and the lump in your throat is threatening to crack.

and, pathetically, you don’t want maude to know. you don’t want to admit to her you fell in with someone who seemingly could not care less about you, that you deluded yourself into believing felt something back.

she hugs you, silently, and in that moment, you know she knows. not the extent, but at least an inkling. your grateful for it, that she won’t make you say the words and admit it to yourself just yet. 

a/n: me and james have beef after this. whimsy is literally this gif :(