Olly Murs X Reader - Blog Posts

Dear Darlin'

Olly Murs X Reader

1.6k word count

Summary Just a little back story to the song Dear Darlin'

Authors Note: I've always been super proud of this piece. I decided it was time to give it some love and attention and well I'm even more proud of it now. I suffered some pretty bad neck, nose and throat burns at work so thought now while I recover is probably the best time to concentrate on writing. So enjoy!

Y/N,

I know what I’ve done, and there is no excuse for it. I know there is nothing I could ever do to fix the damage I’ve caused. I just need you to know that I’m sorry. I’m not asking you to come back; I just need you to understand that you’ve always been my everything. Always have been, always will be. But you’re gone now, and you’re not coming back. I need to accept that and move on. So, this is the last you'll hear from me. Goodbye, my love.

Dear darlin’, please excuse my writing.

I can’t stop my hands from shaking.

‘Cause I’m cold and alone tonight.

And I miss you and nothing hurts like no you.

And no one understands what we went through.

It was short, it was sweet, we tried.

I read the words over and over, my hands trembling as I held the letter. I had barely stepped into my flat thirty minutes ago when I found it waiting for me, the unmistakable scrawl of his handwriting cutting through me like a knife. It had been a month since we ended things, and every day had been a battle—some days, I thought I was moving on, while others, he consumed my thoughts. His face was everywhere: on magazine covers, in store windows, his voice pouring through the radio. Our breakup had become a public spectacle, and everyone had their own theories. None of them were right.

We were in love. Madly, hopelessly in love. But his career, the constant traveling, the distance—it chipped away at us until there was barely anything left. I thought we were strong enough, that I was strong enough. The fans had always been supportive; as long as Olly was happy, they were happy. And we were happy, weren’t we? Until the rumors started.

@FutureMissY/NMurs I hope the rumors about Olly aren’t true.

@FutureMissY/NMurs Remember, Photoshop exists. Don’t believe anything until you talk to him.

@FutureMissY/NMurs We’re here for you, girl. DM us anytime.

I had reassured everyone I would talk to him when he got back from tour. Today was supposed to be that day. Maybe that was why he had been out drinking last night. I sat on the couch, staring at my phone, my mind racing through everything we had built together—our Loft, the home we made from nothing. The walls we painted light brown because white felt too clinical, the mix of new and old furniture, the kitchen we replaced with our own hands. It was ours.

The sound of the front door opening jolted me from my thoughts.

“Y/N, I’m home!”

There he stood, bag in hand, that smile that once made my heart race plastered on his face.

“Please tell me it’s not true,” I whispered, a tear slipping down my cheek despite my efforts to stay composed.

He frowned, stepping toward me. “What do you mean, darlin’?”

I inhaled sharply, my heart hammering. “The girl last night. The one you were photographed kissing.” My voice wavered, rising slightly, unintentionally.

His expression fell in an instant. “Shit.”

He dropped his bag outside the bathroom and moved toward me, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Tell me you didn’t,” I pleaded, my world beginning to crumble.

“I’m so sorry.” He reached for me.

I flinched back. “Don’t touch me.”

“Babe, listen. It was a mistake. A stupid, drunken mistake. It meant nothing.” His voice cracked, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Did you sleep with her?” My voice was barely above a whisper, shaking with rage.

He swallowed hard. “I... I don’t remember.”

“You did, didn’t you?” My chest tightened. “How did I not see this coming? You’re famous now, and you can have any girl you want. How many more are there?”

“It was a one-time thing. I swear.” His voice rose in desperation.

“I don’t believe you, Olly.”

His jaw clenched. “Why would I throw everything away? Everything I do, I do for us. Can’t you see that? Or are you too damn stubborn?”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Stubborn? You cheated on me!”

“And what about you? Who’s the guy you’ve had here?”

I froze. “How do you know about that?”

“Ah, so you have been cheating too,” he scoffed, as if he'd won some twisted game.

“No,” I whispered. “He’s a friend. His girlfriend kicked him out. I let him stay on the couch for a few nights.”

Silence stretched between us. Then, without another word, I grabbed my jacket and walked out.

For weeks, I stayed with a friend until I found my own place. And now, here I was, gripping his letter, my heart warring with itself. I needed to see him. Needed to know if this letter was closure or a plea.

I drove the familiar streets, the radio humming softly until his name cut through the static.

“After months of hiatus following his public breakup, Olly Murs has released a new single. The trending theory? It’s about his ex. Here it is again—‘Dear Darlin’.’”

I turned up the volume. The lyrics echoed his letter. He had written me a song. Tears blurred my vision as memories washed over me—our late nights, his voice singing me to sleep, our shared dreams.

And if my words break through the wall And meet you at your door All I could say is, "Girl, I mean them all"

Dear Darlin', please excuse my writing I can't stop my hands from shaking 'Cause I'm cold and alone tonight I miss you and nothing hurts like no you And no one understands what we went through It was short, it was sweet, we tried We tried

It had been a long day. We had rearranged furniture until we were happy with how everything looked, unpacked boxes of clothes, plates, cups, and all the little odds and ends that made a place feel like home. We hung pictures, set up lamps, and finally, the Loft felt like ours.

By the end of it all, we were exhausted. It had been a rough few weeks, but at last, we were done. I took a quick shower, letting the hot water ease the ache in my muscles, then stepped into the bedroom. Olly was already lying on the bed, hands folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

I crossed the room and crawled onto the bed beside him, resting my head on his chest. One of his arms instinctively wrapped around me, pulling me closer. I closed my eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat—strong and comforting, like a melody lulling me to sleep.

He knew I was tired. Without a word, he began to sing, his voice soft and familiar. "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol. His chest vibrated with each note, a sensation that sent warmth through me. I sighed, letting myself sink into the moment, into him.

Sleep pulled at me, and I let it take me. I could always listen to him sing another day.

Like at his audition next week.

Been thinkin' about the bar we drank in Feeling like the sofa was sinking I was warm in the hope of your eyes

So if my words break through the wall To meet you at your door All I could say is, "Girl, I mean them all"

“Here’s to Olly, our next big X Factor star!” His dad raised a glass, pride gleaming in his eyes.

We all cheered, the sound filling the small restaurant. Olly had crushed his audition—four yeses. The only thing better would have been a golden buzzer. We had known he would do it. That was one of the things that had drawn me to him in the first place—his voice. It wasn’t just the sound, it was the way it could reach into the deepest parts of you and make you feel something real.

Tonight was all about him. We started with a family dinner, full of laughter and excitement, before heading out with friends to celebrate. We ended up in our usual spot—a worn-out sofa in the back corner of the bar, slightly hidden from view. It was just us, like always.

Jokes flew about how, once Olly was a big star, he’d be the one paying for all our drinks. I curled into his side, soaking in the warmth of the moment, the banter, the joy.

All I could hope was that he would take me on this journey with him.

When I arrived at the Loft, doubt clawed at me. What if he had moved on? What if he wrote the song for publicity? Or worse—what if this letter was a goodbye I was too late to answer?

I swallowed my fear and knocked. No answer. My shaking fingers fumbled for the spare key I still carried. When I stepped inside, the sight before me shattered me. The man I once knew, always polished, always glowing, was gone. In his place was someone broken—beard unkempt, dark circles haunting his eyes, empty bottles strewn across the floor.

His breath hitched as he saw me. I held up the letter, my voice breaking. “I read your letter. I heard the song.” I swallowed my tears. “I love you, Olly. More than I should right now. I’m not saying I can trust you completely yet, but I’m willing to try. I need you to tell me we can fix this. That you won’t leave me behind.”

He stepped closer, his voice raw. “Y/N, you’re my world. Without you, everything is dark. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“I’ve missed you,” I whispered.

“I’ve missed you too, Y/N.”

And then, I was in his arms, right where I belonged.

Dear darlin', please excuse my writing I can't stop my hands from shaking 'Cause I'm cold and alone tonight I miss you and nothing hurts like no you And no one understands what we went through It was short, it was sweet, we tried

Oh, I concur These arms are yours to hold