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reidmarieprentiss · 2 months ago

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Life With Spencer

Part Two

Summary: Living life with Spencer, ups, downs, firsts, and hopefully -- lasts.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: vomiting, food poisoning, talking about puking, smut (18+), sooo in love, awkward/real-life scenarios, visiting Diana, Derek being an instigator as always, no real timeline - they been dating for like two years…, this one is pretty smutty!!! and all the smut is Derek's fault so say thank you to Derek Morgan

Word count: 21.5k

a/n: y'all i was quickkkkkk wit it this time i am so obsessed with this idea and this spencer you have no idea,,, it is just flowing out of me like word vomit frrrrr and thank you all SO SO SO MUCH FOR ALL OF THE LOVE ON THE LAST ONE YOU GUYS KEEP ME GOING MUAH MUAH MUAH

main masterlist part one

It was a rare, sunny afternoon, and you were out in the world—something you didn’t always have the energy or time for, especially lately. But today had started slow and soft. Spencer had asked if you wanted to get breakfast with Penelope and Derek, and you’d agreed, mostly because he looked so hopeful when he asked and because Penelope always made you feel like a beloved member of a secret club.

The four of you had snagged a table at a small café tucked between bookstores and flower shops, the kind of place Spencer liked because the menu had locally sourced teas and the tables didn’t wobble.

He was waiting at the counter now, patiently awaiting collecting your drink orders, always double-checking them before passing them off—yours with coconut milk, Penelope’s with extra foam, Derek’s with exactly one sugar. Spencer Reid, your attentive, overthinking, wonderful boyfriend, was doing what he always did: quietly taking care of the people he loved.

And then it happened.

Derek, mid-laugh, glanced up toward the counter—and his smile froze. His eyebrows raised slightly. Then he leaned over to Penelope and nudged her arm with the subtlety of a wrecking ball.

“PG. Look at that.”

Penelope turned, and you did too, instincts kicking in. And there she was.

A woman, maybe a few years older than you, statuesque and striking in a very deliberate way. Hair was perfectly blown out, posture was impossibly confident, and the toned arms on full display in a sleeveless top. She was leaning just a little too close to Spencer. Smiling a little too warmly.

You watched her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear as she said something that made Spencer glance up, polite and unaware. He smiled at her—your smile, the one that made your stomach flip when it was yours and yours alone—and nodded, clearly answering a question she’d asked. Then she touched his forearm. Lightly. Casually. Familiar in a way that made your blood stir.

You blinked.

And then it hit.

First—insecurity.

Because, yes, she was gorgeous. Her body was lean and graceful, her face radiant in that effortless, magazine-cover kind of way. She looked like someone who wore SPF, drank green juice, and knew how to contour. And you… well, you were you. You didn’t always remember to put on mascara, let alone exude that kind of practiced poise.

Then—jealousy.

That she would walk right up to your man as if he was available. As if his warm smile and gentle demeanor were an invitation to flirt, to try, to touch. As if you didn’t exist.

And then, surprisingly—pride.

Because, of course, someone would flirt with him. Have you seen him? Spencer was gorgeous. Tall, with soft eyes and messy hair and long, delicate fingers that fluttered when he talked about anything he loved. He radiated thoughtfulness. Of course, people noticed.

Finally—impressed.

You couldn’t even be mad at her confidence. The way she approached him without hesitation. That kind of boldness took guts. To see a man in public and think, Yes. Him, and then go for it? You almost wanted to applaud her. Almost.

Penelope leaned over and whispered, “Do you want me to cause a distraction? I could pretend to faint. Or drop a scone.”

You shook your head, lips curving into a slow smile. “No… let’s see how long it takes him to figure out what’s happening.”

Derek snorted. “You think he will? I’ve seen this man miss someone flirting with him while literally being given their phone number.”

Spencer turned, drink tray in hand, the woman still beside him, clearly not finished making her case.

But the moment his eyes found you—only you—his entire face softened. He smiled like he always did like he couldn’t believe he got to walk toward you.

And just like that, all the swirling feelings calmed.

Because she might’ve approached him, but Spencer? He was already yours.

“Okay, I have the drinks!” Spencer announced brightly, carefully balancing the cardboard tray in his hands as he approached the table. His voice carried that classic, slightly too-loud enthusiasm that meant he was proud of himself for not spilling anything on the walk over.

He looked so pleased with himself—so genuinely content to be bringing everyone exactly what they ordered—that for a second, you almost forgot the scene you’d just watched unfold at the counter.

Almost.

Penelope took her drink first with a wide, performative smile. “Oh, thank you, kind sir. What ever did we do to deserve such princely service?”

Spencer blinked. “Well, statistically speaking, I owed you both a drink since I didn’t pay last time, and Derek insisted on splitting that check evenly even though he ordered an extra—”

“—thank you, Spencer,” you interrupted gently, sliding your cup from the tray and brushing your fingers over his hand with a small smile. He looked at you, caught in mid-ramble, and paused.

There it was again—that softness. That barely concealed awe. Like just looking at you slowed his entire system down.

Derek, meanwhile, was eyeing him with one raised brow, sipping his coffee like he was trying very hard not to say something smart.

But Penelope? Penelope had no such restraint.

“So,” she said sweetly, far too sweetly, “did you make a new friend while you were up there?”

Spencer blinked. “What?”

Derek coughed pointedly. “Tall glass of water, blonde hair, caressing your arm?”

Spencer looked genuinely confused. “There was a woman next to me—she asked what kind of milk they used. I told her about the non-dairy options and suggested oat milk for a smoother foam. Why?”

Penelope let out a strangled little laugh and buried her face in her cup. Derek outright guffawed.

You just smiled. So wide and fond and helplessly in love.

Spencer looked around, increasingly suspicious. “Did… did she say something weird?”

“She was flirting with you, baby,” you said gently like you were explaining a very complex concept to a very sweet alien.

Spencer’s mouth fell open. “What? No, she wasn’t—she asked about milk—”

“She touched your arm, man!” Derek interrupted.

“She probably just wanted to know where to stand—”

“She flipped her hair,” Penelope added with wide eyes. “Three times!”

Spencer looked at you again, a little horrified. “You… did you notice that?”

You laughed softly, wrapping your hand around his. “Yes, Spencer. I noticed.”

Spencer blinked at you for a beat longer, cheeks going warm. “…Oh.”

You leaned closer, giving him a smug little smile. “It’s okay, lover. I like that you’re oblivious. Means I never have to worry.”

Penelope beamed. Derek groaned into his coffee.

Spencer, still a little stunned, just held your hand a little tighter. “I really did just think she was curious about milk…”

You kissed his cheek. “I know, Spence. I know.”

—

“Y/N?” Spencer asked softly, his voice warm and casual as if he’d been turning the thought over in his head for a while.

“Yeah, Spence?” you replied, eyes still focused on your laptop, adjusting the spacing on the final slide of the presentation you’d been working on all morning.

“What do you want to do for your birthday?”

You paused, fingers hovering over the trackpad, and glanced toward the corner of the room. Spencer was exactly where he always ended up on your weekend workdays—curled into the armchair you’d jokingly dubbed “his spot,” legs folded underneath him, a Rubik’s cube dancing between his nimble fingers. The light from the window dappled across his curls, making him look more like a daydream than a real person.

“I hadn’t thought about it yet,” you admitted with a smile, closing your laptop slightly to give him your attention. “Why, did you have something in mind?”

Spencer didn’t look up. His eyes were locked on the colorful cube, the sound of soft plastic clicks filling the space between you. “Cancún,” he said plainly. “We could go to the Mayan ruins, and you could drink and tan on the beach while I read under an umbrella.”

It was said so matter-of-factly as if it were a logical answer to a multiple-choice question. You blinked—and then giggled, unable to help it.

“You’re serious,” you grinned.

He nodded without missing a beat, eyes still glued to the cube. “Of course. The Mayan pyramids at Chichén Itzá are among the most well-preserved examples of ancient Mesoamerican architecture. And I figured you’d enjoy a piña colada and maybe, you know…” His fingers paused just briefly as he gave you a shy glance. “Some time to relax?”

You melted a little like you always did when he tried so hard to think about you, even in the middle of his excitement. “That sounds kind of amazing.”

He shrugged. “I also looked at a couple of options closer to home in case you didn’t want to fly. But I wanted to start big.”

You stood, laptop forgotten, and made your way over to him, sliding into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Spencer Reid,” you said, threading your fingers gently into his curls, “how long have you been planning my birthday without telling me?”

He flushed slightly. “Seventeen days. And six hours. Approximately.”

You kissed his temple, your heart blooming with affection. “You’re ridiculous.”

…

Cancún was everything.

Beautiful, in the way only a place brushed by turquoise water and painted sunsets could be. The kind of beauty that slowed your breath and made you reach instinctively for Spencer’s hand, just to make sure you were both seeing it together.

Fun, in the way that caught you off guard—like when Spencer surprised you by agreeing to dance at that beachside bar after one too many sips of some bright, fruity drink he couldn’t name, cheeks flushed and curls tousled from the wind. Or when he reluctantly joined you in the ocean and immediately lost his footing, laughing so hard he had to clutch your waist for support. More drunk on you than anything else.

Exciting, too. Walking together through the ruins of Chichén Itzá, Spencer practically vibrating with enthusiasm as he explained the alignment of El Castillo with the solstices, hands animated as he gestured toward the shadows cast by the ancient steps. You let him ramble. You loved to let him ramble. Especially when he was this alive, this bright, under a sun he claimed was “just slightly too hot for intellectual pursuits.”

But it was relaxing, too. Quiet mornings with breakfast on the balcony. Your legs draped over his lap while he read to you—sometimes history, sometimes poetry, sometimes just the resort menu aloud in Spanish with a smirk because he knew how it made you laugh.

And, of course, it was romantic. So romantic.

Stolen kisses in shaded courtyards, bare feet brushing under restaurant tables, late-night swims in the moonlight, wrapped in each other’s arms as the waves lapped softly nearby. He tucked hibiscus flowers behind your ear. You kissed sunscreen into the slope of his nose. And when you lay side by side in bed, salt still lingering on your skin, you whispered plans for the future like the stars outside the window could hear them.

Cancún was everything. But mostly, it was yours. Your time. Your memories. Your little pocket of paradise—with the person you loved most.

But all good things must come to an end, as they say. And in your case, the end came in the form of tacos.

It started off like the perfect night. You and Spencer had decided to cap off your trip with dinner at a little oceanside bar—one of those that had hammocks instead of chairs and lights strung overhead like fireflies. You ordered something that sounded incredible on the menu, something bright and spicy, and Spencer got something safe, because of course, he did.

You ate slowly, sipping a drink and watching the waves, laughing when Spencer made a face at the live music that was just slightly off-key. It had all been perfect—until it wasn’t.

The two of you had decided to take a final stroll along the beach, your sandals dangling from one hand, his fingers laced with yours as the tide whispered around your ankles.

And then you gagged.

It wasn’t dramatic at first. Just a small, subtle noise that you immediately tried to swallow down. You turned your head to the side and kept walking, squeezing his hand tighter like you could distract yourself from your own body.

Spencer noticed instantly. Of course, he did.

“Are you okay?” he asked, stopping to face you with concern already blooming in his eyes.

You nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze, your free hand pressing to your stomach like it might help keep everything inside. “Mhm. I’m fine.”

But your stomach had other plans.

The waves weren’t the only thing churning anymore. A sudden roll of nausea swept through you, violent and immediate. You froze. Then shook your head, wide-eyed and desperate.

“I—I need to go back to the room.”

Spencer didn’t hesitate. He grabbed your sandals from your hands, wrapped an arm around your shoulders, and turned you back toward the resort with a quiet, “Okay, we’re going. It’s okay.”

You felt mortified. You never threw up. Not since that one infamous night ten years ago involving too many sugary desserts and a bonfire with school friends.

But by the time you made it to the elevator, you were already gagging again, your hands shaking. Spencer pressed the buttons like a man on a mission and practically carried you down the hall.

And then… your head was in the toilet. Cold tile beneath your knees. A mess of tears and sickness and embarrassment.

You wouldn’t let Spencer even near the bathroom.

The moment he tried to follow you in, concern etched all over his face, you turned around mid-stumble and pointed a trembling, authoritative finger toward the balcony.

“Out there. Balcony. Now.”

Spencer blinked, stunned. “But I—”

“No, Spencer,” you groaned, one hand on your stomach, the other braced on the wall. “I love you. So much. But if you hear me throw up, I will have to walk into the ocean and never return.”

And before he could protest, you shut the door behind you, sealing yourself in like it was some kind of quarantine chamber. You couldn’t stand the thought of him hearing it—the retching, the gasping, the miserable sounds you hadn’t made in over a decade.

Meanwhile, Spencer stood barefoot on the balcony in the dark, completely banished like it was his fault you were sick. He pressed his palm to the cool glass of the sliding door, face full of worried confusion.

“She basically devours the goriest horror movies she can find but throws me outside for a little food poisoning,” he muttered to himself.

And yet—he stayed. Just outside the door, pacing softly, arms folded, waiting for any sign that you were okay. Because if you needed to pretend he wasn’t hearing you puke your guts out? Then he would pretend, too.

You clutched the toilet's cool porcelain like it was your only anchor, your forehead pressed to your arm, knees aching against the tile. The world was spinning in sharp little circles, and your entire body was clammy, a thin sheen of sweat coating your skin.

But then, from outside the bathroom door came the soft sound of Spencer’s voice. “Y/N?”

“Spencer!” you croaked, panicked and furious in equal measure. “NO!”

There was a pause, and you could hear the shift of his bare feet on the floor, and the rustle of his shirt as he leaned gently against the other side of the door. “Baby, it’s okay,” he said, calm and steady like he was soothing a frightened cat instead of a grown woman violently rejecting tacos. “It’s normal. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“It’s so gross!” you sobbed, barely able to catch your breath between waves of nausea and your own tears. “I’m sweaty, and—and puking, and I don’t want you to see me like this!”

There was a long silence. Not awkward. Not disappointed. Just full of Spencer’s care, humming just beneath the surface like a low, warm current.

And then, with a voice so soft it barely reached through the wood: “Sweetheart… I’ve seen humanity at its worst. But I have never, not once, thought someone I loved being sick was anything but human. You’re not gross. You’re hurting. And I want to be here for you.”

You sniffled, knuckles pressed to your lips, too ashamed to answer at first.

“I can stay out here. I will,” he continued gently. “But just… let me bring you a glass of water when you’re ready. Or a washcloth. Or a hug. You don’t have to let me in, but don’t shut me out.”

Your heart broke a little at how kind he was. And maybe it was the nausea, or maybe it was love, or maybe both—but you whimpered through the door, voice small and shaky: “I hate being vulnerable.”

And Spencer, without missing a beat, said softly, “I know. That’s why I’m so proud of you. You’re doing it anyway.”

Before you could stop it, your body lurched forward and you retched again, vomiting hard and fast—hopefully for the last time. Your throat burned, your stomach twisted, and by the time it was over, you were choking on a sob you hadn’t meant to let out.

You flushed the toilet with a shaky hand, then slid back against the wall, collapsing ungracefully onto the tile floor. Knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. You were crying now—really crying—coughing between tears, breath hitching like your body didn’t know how to calm itself down.

The door creaked.

“Y/N!” Spencer’s voice was sharp with worry. “I’m coming in.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

The door opened, and there he was—barefoot, heart pounding, hair slightly windblown from the balcony breeze, and eyes wide with panic.

He spotted you immediately, curled up on the floor, flushed and tear-streaked, the air still heavy with misery.

“Hey—hey, no, no, no,” Spencer rushed to you, dropping to his knees without a second thought. “Can I hold you?”

“I didn’t—” you hiccuped, trying to catch your breath. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

He cupped your cheeks gently, thumbs brushing away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “You’re sick, not radioactive,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours. “Let me take care of you, please.”

And something in you cracked again—but this time, not from nausea or shame. This time, it was the comfort. The love. The refusal he had to let you face any of it alone.

You covered your mouth with your hand, still red-eyed and trembling. “At least let me brush my teeth,” you mumbled, voice hoarse and shaky, cheeks burning with leftover embarrassment.

Spencer immediately nodded, standing up with you in one fluid motion, his hands warm and gentle as they steadied your arms. “Yes, absolutely. That’s actually really important—”

You let out a wet, half-laugh, half-sob as he began.

“—because vomiting introduces stomach acid into your mouth, specifically hydrochloric acid, which can weaken enamel. So you should actually wait a few minutes and rinse with water first—”

“Spencer,” you croaked, even as you leaned against the counter, reaching for your toothbrush.

“Right, right,” he said softly, rubbing your back. “I’ll wait to give the lecture until you’re minty fresh.”

You couldn’t help but smile—still teary, still exhausted, but somehow lighter. Because he wasn’t there to see you at your best. He was there because he wanted to be, even when you were at your absolute worst.

“Need to be able to kiss you if you’re going to talk dirty to me,” you muttered flatly, toothbrush halfway to your mouth.

Spencer, who had just handed you a glass of water to rinse with, froze.

Then, slowly—painfully—his cheeks turned pink, that signature flush creeping all the way to the tips of his ears. He let out a surprised laugh, nearly stumbling back a step like the words had physically knocked him off balance.

“Oh my God,” he said, grinning now, visibly relieved to see a flicker of your usual spark return. “You’re definitely feeling better.”

You rinsed, spit, and wiped your mouth, finally looking at him with a tired but mischievous little smile. “Still weak. Still gross. But capable of inappropriate humor? Always.”

Spencer beamed and then, because he couldn’t help himself, leaned in to kiss your forehead. “You scared me.”

“I scared myself.” You sighed. “But thank you for being here. Even when I banish you to balconies.”

He chuckled, resting his hand on your hip. “For future reference, you’re allowed to puke. And I’m allowed to love you anyway.”

“Thank you, baby,” you murmured, stroking your fingers gently across his stomach—a spot you knew was always sensitive, always made him twitch or blush or just melt a little. His breath hitched ever so slightly, and he looked at you with soft, grateful eyes.

“You’re not allowed, though,” you added, scrunching your nose. “I don’t want to hear you puke.”

Spencer balked, his mouth dropping open as his eyebrows shot up in exaggerated mock offense. “Excuse me?”

You laughed, stepping back just slightly to put a hand on your hip, already amused with yourself. “It’s gross! I probably wouldn’t find you sexy anymore.”

He let out a sharp breath that was half gasp, half laugh, and shook his head slowly, grinning with that very specific brand of Spencer Reid indignation. “Wow. Wow. That’s… I see how it is.”

And then, with the softest, most ridiculous gesture imaginable, he raised his closed fist and lightly—very lightly—tapped it against your jaw. Like he was throwing the world’s gentlest punch.

You both burst out laughing.

“Violence?” you teased, holding your hand to your chest. “This is what happens when I speak my truth?”

Spencer smirked, eyes glittering. “You threaten my sex appeal and my digestive dignity, and I’m the villain?”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re rude.”

“You’re lucky I’m still in love with you.”

“You’re lucky I am,” he shot back, lips twitching into another grin.

And just like that, the nausea, the embarrassment, the tile-floor misery—it all drifted away, replaced by laughter, love, and the kind of comfort that only came from being exactly where you belonged.

—

Spencer’s sitting at his dining table, shoulders hunched and brow furrowed in concentration, a case file spread out before him. He’s got one hand tangled in his hair and the other scribbling something in the margins of the profile, lips moving soundlessly as he works through his thoughts. It’s the posture he takes when he’s fully in the zone—focused, brilliant, unreachable by most.

But not by you. Not usually.

You’re curled up on the couch a few feet away, watching him with quiet affection and just a hint of boredom. He’s been at it for nearly two hours, and though he’s still talking to you intermittently, it’s all half-responses and murmured agreements. You know he doesn’t mean to ignore you—he’s just wired this way, intense and single-minded when something’s clawed its way into his brain.

Still, you’re feeling a little fragile today. Not enough to show it or say it out loud, but just enough to want a little more softness. A little more attention. Something light.

So you joke, voice casual but tinged with a vulnerability you hope doesn’t show, “Sorry I’m being so annoying, I’ll try to contain the full force of my unbearable personality.”

Spencer doesn’t look up.

“Mm, yeah,” he murmurs, pen still scratching across the paper. “That’d be great, thanks.”

You blink, your breath catching slightly in your throat. It takes a second to process that he actually heard you. Or at least—he heard the words. Not the meaning behind them. Not the way you laughed softly at the end, like it was all a joke when it wasn’t really.

And now he’s nodding to himself, flipping the page, muttering something about behavioral escalation, completely oblivious to the way his offhand agreement landed like a punch to your gut.

You sit still for a moment, too still. The kind of stillness that only happens when you’re trying not to cry out of sheer ridiculousness. It shouldn’t hurt. You know he didn’t mean it. But it does.

It does.

Without a word, you stand up slowly and make your way down the hall. You don’t slam the door. You don’t huff or sniff or stomp. You just slip into the bathroom and close the door gently behind you.

Spencer doesn’t even look up.

But after a minute or two—midway through a paragraph—his brain finally pings with something off.

The silence. The lack of your usual commentary or music playing faintly on your phone. The way you hadn’t laughed at his last mumbled fact about the statistical relevance of childhood trauma. The fact that you’re gone.

His pen stills.

“...Babe?”

No answer.

He looks up. The living room is empty. The soft blanket you were under is tossed neatly on the arm of the couch. The bathroom door is shut. The apartment is silent.

His heart sinks.

He replays what just happened in his head, scanning it like a file, rewinding your last words.

And then it hits him.

Oh. Oh.

Spencer sets the pen down slowly. His brow furrows, not with confusion but with regret. He pushes his chair back, stands, and crosses the hall to the bathroom, knocking gently—barely more than a tap.

“Sweetheart?” he says softly, already wincing. “Can I come in?”

Because now he knows. Now he really heard you.

Your head jerks up at the soft knock, startled, and you quickly swipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, trying to erase any evidence of the tears threatening to fall. You hadn’t expected him to notice—not so soon, anyway.

His voice comes through the door, tentative and quiet, like he already suspects he’s hurt you. “Y/N?”

You sniffle, caught off guard but trying to play it cool. “I’m in the bathroom…”

“I know,” he replies, a sheepish little laugh wrapped in nervousness. “So… can I come in?”

There’s a pause. You stare at your reflection in the mirror—your red-rimmed eyes, the wobble of your bottom lip, the way you look like someone who’s trying too hard to keep it together. You sigh, but it comes out shaky, the kind of sound that gives you away before your words even have the chance.

“No, Spencer,” you say, voice cracking around the edges, thin and brittle. “Go back to work.”

You try to sound firm, but it’s no use. The second half of the sentence trembles out of your mouth like you’re holding it together with scotch tape and hope. And Spencer hears all of it.

On the other side of the door, he presses his hand flat against the wood like it might get him closer to you. Like maybe, if he touches it gently enough, the damage might reverse itself. His chest twists with guilt, a deep kind of ache he doesn’t quite know how to sit with.

“Hey,” he says softly, not moving away. “I’m not going back to work.”

“Spencer—” you try, your voice small.

“I wasn’t listening,” he cuts in, regret wrapped around every word. “And I’m so sorry for that. You were making a joke, and I just… answered without thinking. I wasn’t really hearing you, and I should’ve. That was a really stupid thing to say and I—I hate that it hurt you.”

You bite your lip hard, tears gathering again, this time not from the offhand comment but from how earnest he sounds now. How soft. How aware.

“I’m not going to push,” he says gently. “If you want me to leave you alone, I will. But I’m staying right here. Just so you know, you’re not alone in there. Not really.”

Silence falls again, but this one is different. It’s full of his presence, not the emptiness from before.

Your voice comes a moment later, barely a whisper. “I just felt… stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” he says immediately. “You’re not annoying. And you don’t have to joke about your feelings to make them easier for me to handle. I want to hear them. I want to know when you’re upset so I can help.”

You hesitate. Then, very quietly, the lock on the door clicks.

Spencer waits.

The door creaks open a few inches, and there you are, tearful and trying your best to look like you’re not.

His eyes soften as he takes a half-step forward, one hand reaching up to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. “Hi,” he says gently.

Your voice is still thick. “Hi.”

“Can I hug you now?”

You nod, and the dam breaks completely the second you’re in his arms. He holds you tight—steady, warm, and wordless—resting his chin on your head as you bury your face into his chest.

“I didn’t mean it,” he murmurs. “Not even a little bit. You’re my favorite person. Always.”

And you believe him. Because the thing about Spencer is—when he’s paying attention, really paying attention—he loves you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And right now, he’s paying attention to everything.

—

It was a slow afternoon at the Bureau, the kind where the hum of the fluorescent lights seemed louder than usual, and even Penelope had stopped trying to invent fake emergencies to liven things up. Files sat untouched, coffee mugs were half-full, and the bullpen was quieter than it had been in weeks.

So when Derek nudged Spencer’s arm and muttered, “Come on, pretty boy, lunch run,” Spencer didn’t argue. They wandered down to the corner deli with the flaky bread and the too-strong espresso Spencer would never drink but secretly liked the smell of.

They sat outside—Spencer with his book tucked under one arm, Derek unwrapping his sandwich with the kind of dedication that meant he wouldn’t speak for the first five bites.

But then, halfway through a fry, Derek looked up. Squinted. Tilted his head.

“Wait,” he said slowly, continuing their conversation, bugged by Spencer’s lack of enthusiasm about the subject. “So you’ve never…”

Spencer blinked, startled, then furrowed his brow. “No?” he answered cautiously, his tone more question than statement.

Derek nearly choked on his drink. “Bro, you literally have a girlfriend!” he said, laughter bubbling up. “How long have you guys been together now?”

“A little over a year,” Spencer replied, shrugging a little as he picked at the edge of his napkin. “But… it’s not about that. We don’t just have sex; we have a relationship. She’s my best friend.”

Derek clutched his chest in mock pain. “That’s sweet, Romeo,” he said dramatically. “But you’re telling me, in all this time, you never asked?”

Spencer looked thoughtful as if he were truly trying to remember if he ever had. “She never offered,” he said eventually. “And I didn’t want to pressure her. It’s not… transactional. We’re just—close. We talk. We… trust each other.”

Derek blinked. “You know you’re allowed to ask, right?”

Spencer tilted his head. “Are you?”

“Yes, Reid,” Derek sighed, dragging a hand over his face. “You can ask for things. Especially in a healthy relationship. Especially if you trust each other. You talk about stuff. It doesn’t make you pushy. It makes you communicative.”

Spencer sat back in his chair, chewing that over.

“…I guess I just figured… if she wanted to, she would.”

“And maybe,” Derek said, sipping his drink like he was about to drop the thesis statement of the day, “she’s just waiting for you to stop treating her like she’s a research subject and start treating her like she wants to be wanted.”

Spencer blinked.

“Oh,” he said. Then softer, “Oh.”

Derek just smirked, biting into his sandwich again. “You’re welcome.”

…

“So I had an interesting conversation with Derek today…” Spencer started, his tone just casual enough to seem like he was testing the waters—but not quite enough to hide that something was definitely on his mind.

You smiled over your shoulder at him, where he was sitting on the other side of the kitchen island, elbows resting beside the cutting board you’d left out earlier. The sizzling of the carrots in your pan gave a little punctuation to the moment. “Yeah?”

He nodded slowly, brows raised just a little, the way they always did when he was internally drafting something that made him nervous. He looked like he was mentally pacing even though he was perfectly still.

And then, as if someone hit play on the audio file he'd been rehearsing in his head, he blurted out with the grace of a baby deer on ice, “Will you give me a blowjob?”

The carrots hissed in the oil.

You froze for a fraction of a second—just long enough to let the words fully register—then turned to face him, eyes wide with amusement and a grin tugging at your lips.

“What did you and Derek talk about?” you asked, voice barely containing the delight now bubbling up in your chest.

Spencer flushed immediately, the tips of his ears turning red like you’d flipped a switch. “It—well—I just mentioned that we hadn’t… I mean, not that I expect anything, but he asked, and, well, we haven’t, and I wasn’t sure if—maybe—I was allowed to ask?”

You put the spatula down and turned off the heat, walking slowly around the island toward him, arms crossed but smile blooming. “You needed Derek Morgan to give you a permission slip to ask for a blowjob?”

“I didn’t need it,” Spencer said defensively, but he was already fidgeting with the sleeve of his sweater, looking up at you with a sheepish, caught expression. “He just reminded me that asking isn’t a bad thing. I didn’t want to pressure you. I didn’t know if you’d want to or if it would make things weird or—”

You leaned over, kissing his temple, your voice warm and teasing. “You’re adorable when you’re mortified, you know that?”

He groaned softly, letting his forehead fall into his hands. “Please forget how I said it.”

“No chance,” you laughed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind. “But… I am glad you asked. Even if your delivery needs a little work.”

“So that’s not a no?” he mumbled into his palms.

You nuzzled into his hair and whispered, “Definitely not a no, Spencer.”

And just like that, your carrot sauté had officially been put on hold.

Spencer looked up at you from his seat with those wide, impossibly earnest eyes, his cheeks already flushed with a mix of embarrassment and anticipation. His voice came out in a breathy little burst like he couldn’t quite believe the moment was happening.

“I’ve never had one before,” he admitted, almost reverent in tone like it was a confession and a milestone all at once.

You smiled, soft and fond, brushing your fingers through his curls with that familiar warmth that always settled him. “I know, baby.”

He nodded like he expected as much—but then curiosity sparked in his eyes again. “Have you?”

You tilted your head, pretending not to notice the question forming. “Have I received a blowjob?”

Spencer groaned immediately, covering his face with both hands again like he regretted opening his mouth in the first place. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, full and bright, the kind of laugh that always pulled a reluctant smile from him even in his most dramatic moments.

“Yes, I’ve given a blowjob or two,” you replied, nonchalantly, dragging out the answer just enough to tease him.

He lifted his head, peeking at you through parted fingers, eyes narrowing playfully. “Is that an accurate count?”

You smirked. “Do you want the real one?”

Without missing a beat, Spencer groaned again, this time more dramatically, and let his head fall forward—landing squarely against your chest like it was the only safe place in the world. He let out a muffled, mock-mournful, “I suppose not,” as his hands found your waist, holding onto you like he needed emotional reinforcement.

You chuckled again, wrapping your arms around him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re too cute for your own good, Dr. Reid.”

He sighed, breath warm against your skin. “And you’re still evil.”

“Mm. But I’m your evil.”

That earned you a soft laugh—low and content—and the kind of squeeze around your waist that said he was glad you were the one he was nervous with. The one he was learning with. The one he trusted to laugh, tease, and still love him through it all.

“Is my evil going to keep being evil or…” he mumbled, barely audible like he was trying not to let himself say it all the way.

You arched a brow, grinning as you tilted your head closer to him. “What was that, baby?” you teased, voice syrupy sweet. “You sound a little desperate.”

Spencer groaned—half a whimper, half a plea—his face still pressed against you as if the heat rising in his cheeks might be hidden there. “Y/N…” he whined, the syllables dragging out of his throat like they were coated in syrup and shame.

You cupped the back of his neck, fingers sliding into the soft curls there, and hummed, lips brushing beside his ear now. “Hmm? Are you getting worked up?”

He nodded.

Just once. Small. But you felt it.

“Thinking about my mouth?” you whispered, your voice velvet and heat, each word wrapped around him like a tightening string. “Wrapped around you? Licking you… sucking you…” You smiled as he shivered against you, the tension building in his shoulders like a coiled spring.

“…swallowing you?”

His breath caught—sharp, choked, completely involuntary.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

His whole body did it for him.

Spencer was trembling—not visibly—not in some dramatic, cinematic way—but in the subtle, desperate tension that rippled through him beneath your hands. It was the kind of trembling that came from want layered under nerves, from anticipation that had nowhere to go but deeper.

He was quiet, but you felt the way his fingers tightened around your waist, how his forehead pressed harder into your chest, like if he hid there long enough, he could escape the fire you were so expertly stoking.

But he couldn’t.

You weren’t going to let him.

Your voice dropped even lower, almost a purr now, your lips ghosting over the curve of his ear, “You want me to, don’t you?”

He gave the barest nod again. Like even that little motion required a full-body permission slip.

“I want to hear it, Spence.” You trailed your fingers down his back, slow and light, the kind of touch that made it worse. Made him ache more. “Tell me you want it.”

He groaned—tried to suppress it, but it broke free.

“I do,” he whispered, voice nearly cracked in half. “I want you to…” He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence, the weight of the words too heavy in his mouth.

You softened, cupping his jaw and tilting his face up so you could see his eyes. They were glassy, wide, and so full of helpless want that your heart nearly cracked for him.

“Sweet boy,” you murmured, brushing your thumb across his cheek, “you don’t have to be shy with me. You know I’d never laugh at you.”

“I know,” he breathed. “I just… I’ve imagined it so many times and now that it’s real, I…”

“You’re overwhelmed.” You nodded, brushing his hair back from his flushed face. “That’s okay. I’ve got you.”

He nodded quickly, jaw tight with restraint, pupils blown wide with anticipation.

You leaned in, kissing him—gently at first, then deeper, your mouth moving slowly over his like a promise. His hands gripped you just tight enough to ground himself, and when you pulled back, your lips were still brushing his.

“Go lie on the bed, baby,” you whispered, your voice full of velvet and control and care. “Let me show you what it feels like to be worshipped.”

And for once, in his brilliant, spiraling, overthinking mind—Spencer didn’t argue. He just obeyed.

You watched, wide-eyed and deeply amused, as Spencer practically hightailed it down the hallway like you’d just fired a starting pistol at a race track.

One moment he was wrapped around you, whimpering under your breathy teasing, and the next—whoosh—he was gone, a blur of long limbs and nervous anticipation as he disappeared into your bedroom.

You couldn’t stop the giggle that bubbled up from your chest. It escaped in a full laugh as you slid the pan of forgotten carrots to a cool spot on the stove. They could wait. Spencer Reid could not.

You walked down the hallway slowly, and deliberately, enjoying every heavy beat of your heart and the warm, fluttering thrill building in your belly. By the time you reached the bedroom doorway, you were prepared to find him nervously waiting under the covers, maybe still in his undershirt, doing that thing where he fiddles with the hem and doesn’t make eye contact—

But no.

Absolutely not.

You stepped into the doorway and nearly doubled over.

“Spencer!” you shrieked, half in joy and half in stunned laughter.

There he was.

Completely naked.

No covers, no strategic sheet positioning, no half-off clothes like some dramatic movie scene. Just all of him, sprawled on your bed, flushed pink and already looking a little overwhelmed—but so clearly ready.

His curls were messy from where he’d run his hands through them. His legs stretched out nervously, feet flexing like he didn’t know what to do with his limbs now that he was all bare. His hands were clenched into the blanket on either side of him, and his entire face was red.

But he held your gaze, wide-eyed and proud, despite how clearly embarrassed he was.

“I, um—” he began, voice cracking like a teenager, “I didn’t know if I was supposed to wait under the blanket, or if you wanted… access…”

You covered your mouth with your hand, laughing into your fingers before you walked over, eyes sparkling.

“Spence,” you whispered, crawling up the bed as he watched you like you were both a goddess and a thunderstorm, “you are the most beautiful, ridiculous man I’ve ever met.”

He swallowed hard. “Is… is that a good thing?”

You leaned down, pressing a kiss just below his belly button as he sucked in a breath.

“It’s the best thing,” you murmured again, lips brushing just above the sharp line of his hipbone, letting the heat of your breath linger there while your fingers lightly traced along the sensitive skin of his thighs.

Spencer’s entire body shivered. His hands clutched the comforter like he needed an anchor, his back arched just barely off the bed in anticipation. And then—his voice, soft and breathy and absolutely wrecked already, slipped out:

“O–okay good,” he stammered, blinking down at you with flushed cheeks and blown pupils. “So what do I do…?”

You looked up at him, chin resting lightly on his lower stomach, and gave him a smile so soft, so steady, it made him swallow hard. “Just let me do the work, yeah?”

“Mhm,” he nodded quickly, his curls bouncing, throat working around a nervous gulp. His fingers twitched against the blanket again, like he didn’t trust himself to keep still.

You brushed your hand up his thigh, slow and deliberate, watching as his eyes fluttered shut from just that. “Can I start, baby?”

His head lolled back against the pillows. “Please,” he whispered, voice hoarse and pleading. “Do anything… just—do something.”

You grinned—loving, amused, and more than a little hungry—and kissed the inside of his thigh.

“Anything?” you teased, voice like velvet.

Spencer made a sound that was half laugh, half moan, and all desperation. “Anything,” he groaned. “I’ve been mentally preparing for this since I was sixteen, please don’t make me wait.”

You kissed higher. “Well,” you murmured, lips grazing the base of him, “good thing I’ve been practicing since then.”

And then—finally—you took him into your mouth.

And Spencer Reid stopped thinking for the first time in his entire life.

It was just the tip.

Just the head, just the softest, most teasing pull of your lips around the very beginning of him. You didn’t rush, didn’t dive in or try to overwhelm him—no, you knew better. You knew exactly what you were doing. You let your mouth rest there, warm and wet and barely moving, while your tongue flicked out slowly, tracing over that sensitive little slit at the top.

Spencer gasped.

His entire body jerked, muscles twitching like he’d been shocked. His hands flew from the sheets to the top of your head—not to guide or push, never that—but to hold on. Because suddenly he wasn’t sure where the floor was.

You dragged your tongue around the underside of the head, slowly tracing that ridge, the texture of your mouth perfectly tuned to the places he didn’t even know he was sensitive. You flattened your tongue and gave one long, deliberate lick along the underside, and—

Spencer lost it.

A strangled moan burst from his throat, cracked and raw like he’d been holding it in for years. His thighs trembled on either side of you, his back arched, and his hands tightened in your hair just enough to let you know: this is too much, this is everything, don’t you dare stop.

“Oh my God,” he choked, voice barely recognizable. “Oh my God, what—what are you doing to me—”

You pulled back just an inch, lips glossy and grin slow, voice sultry with delight. “Just the tip, baby.”

He stared at you like you’d rewritten physics. “That was just the—” he stopped, exhaled like he’d run a marathon. “I’m gonna die. You’re going to kill me.”

You laughed softly, full of warmth, kissing the base of him. “Not before I ruin you first.”

And then your mouth was back on him, and Spencer Reid stopped remembering how language worked.

The muscles in his thighs tensed beneath your hands, his breath catching in his throat like his lungs couldn’t decide whether to inhale or just shatter. He didn’t say your name this time—he couldn’t. It hovered on the edge of his tongue, but the sound died somewhere in his chest, overtaken by sensation.

You were slow, focused, and reverent. Every little movement felt purposeful like you were studying him again—not with questions or statistics but with care, and your tongue.

His head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut, and a soft, fractured moan escaped him. “Oh my God—” he breathed, hands fisting the sheets beside him, his whole body trembling under the weight of what you were doing to him.

He wanted to say something. Anything. A fact. A thank you. A prayer. But all he could manage was another helpless sound from deep in his throat, one that seemed to surprise even him.

You looked up at him once—just once—and that was it.

Spencer came. Loudly. Beautifully. Like someone unraveling at the seams in the safest hands possible.

“Shit,” Spencer whispered, his voice cracked and breathless, still reeling from the wave that had just wrecked him.

You pulled back slowly as you swallowed, wiping your mouth with your thumb, smirking like you’d just completed the most satisfying science experiment of your life. “Hmm?” you asked sweetly, batting your lashes at him.

Spencer let out a groan and immediately covered his face with one hand, his curls sticking slightly to his forehead. “That was so quick,” he panted, the words muffled behind his palm. “That’s so embarrassing.”

You laughed—soft and affectionate—as you leaned forward to pat his trembling thighs. “I take it as a huge compliment, baby.”

He peeked through his fingers at you, cheeks flaming red, mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure if he should pout or grin.

“I had plans,” he said dramatically, flopping back against the pillow. “Plans that involved at least five more minutes of dignity.”

You bent over and kissed the top of his head. “Yeah, well, your dignity didn’t stand a chance the second I started kissing your stomach.”

Spencer groaned again. “I told you that spot is unfair—”

“Not my fault you’re cute and responsive.”

He sighed, defeated, and rolled onto his side, reaching for you like he needed to physically confirm you were still there. “You’re evil.”

You curled into the bed beside him, pulling the covers over both your bodies as his arm draped around your waist.

“Yeah,” you murmured against his temple. “So I’ve been told.”

And Spencer just nodded, breath finally starting to even out, already plotting revenge he absolutely wouldn’t survive executing.

—

They don’t happen often. Spencer’s nightmares—true, bone-deep night terrors—are rare, but when they come, they’re merciless. Cruel. All-consuming.

And tonight is one of those nights.

You wake before your eyes are even open, stirred not by sound exactly but by the feeling of wrongness beside you. The mattress shifts sharply under Spencer’s body as he thrashes, limbs jerking under the sheets. His breaths are short and panicked, puffing from his lips like he’s being chased, hunted by some unseen force only his subconscious knows how to conjure.

He whines—a soft, broken thing, high-pitched and choked—and it makes your heart snap clean in two.

Unlike the times when he wakes you in the middle of the night shuffling for a glass of water or pacing from a post-case spiral, there's no irritation, no groggy frustration. Only fear. Only worry.

You sit up instantly, resting your weight on one elbow as your free hand reaches for him, brushing the soaked curls back from his clammy forehead. He’s burning with sweat, his t-shirt clinging to him like a second skin, his body caught between escape and paralysis.

You start to hum. Soft. Steady. Familiar.

It’s the tune you’ve used a hundred times to calm him—after a case, after a long day, during those quiet moments when the world outside gets too loud for Spencer Reid’s mind.

Your fingers stroke through his hair as you hum, and slowly, slowly, the rhythm of his breathing begins to shift. His muscles twitch less. The tension under his skin begins to loosen like a tight knot finally unraveling. Then, finally, his eyes flutter open—wide and glassy and searching.

His head turns toward you like a compass, finding its true north. He reaches out blindly, fingertips catching your wrist, shirt, shoulder—anything to anchor himself in the waking world.

“I’m here, baby,” you whisper, taking his hand in yours and pressing it to your chest so he can feel the steady beat of your heart. “You were having a nightmare.”

He nods once, but his jaw trembles, and then—the dam breaks.

His chin wobbles, lips pulling into a grimace as silent tears rise like a tide and begin spilling down his cheeks. He doesn’t sob. He doesn’t wail. It’s quieter than that. More devastating. Like something fragile inside him finally cracked open.

“Spencer, my love,” you whisper, brushing your thumb under his eye as you guide him gently toward you, “do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head—violently, once, twice—and that’s enough for you to know. It was either his kidnapping… or you.

But you don’t press. You just nod. And pull him closer.

He lets you move him, lets you shift back against the pillows so he can collapse against your chest, curled in, face tucked to your skin, holding on like you’re the only thing keeping him afloat.

You cradle him. Wrap yourself around him like armor. And then—so softly, so lovingly—you begin to sing.

“Stars shining bright above you…”

Spencer’s breath hitches but slows.

“Night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you’...”

You press a kiss to his curls, feeling him melt into you.

“Birds singing in the sycamore trees…”

“Dream a little dream of me,” you finish gently, brushing your nose against his temple.

And then, a soft sound. A tiny, choked snort of a laugh.

You glance down to see his eyes squeezed shut, but the corners are crinkled.

“You’re ridiculous,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep, tears, and love.

“And you’re mine,” you whisper back. “Try and sleep now, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

And you do. Always.

—

Spencer barely remembered to eat that morning.

His mind had spiraled from the moment the facility called—soft voices and hesitant words and phrases like "she's declining" and "you may want to come soon"—and by the time he got to Hotch’s office, he could hardly string the request together in a full sentence.

But Hotch didn’t blink. Didn’t ask for details.

“Go,” he said simply, leaning back in his chair. “Take whatever time you need.”

Because everyone knew Spencer Reid never took time off. Not unless the sky was falling. And this? This was his sky.

He’d meant to text you. He really had. You were always the person he told first—when he had a rough case, when he learned a new theory, when he read a sentence in a book that made him think of you. But this wasn’t something he wanted to say over the phone. This wasn’t something he wanted to share—not yet. Not when it felt like he was barely holding it together.

So instead, he packed. A little chaotically. A little too fast. He folded things with military precision one moment, then dropped a pair of socks on the floor and forgot to pick them up.

He kept checking the clock, like maybe time would slow down if he stared at it hard enough.

And that’s where you found him—a half-zipped suitcase on the bed, his tie thrown over the back of a chair, a look in his eyes like he wasn’t entirely there.

You knocked as you opened the door, calling gently, “Knock knock!”

His head snapped up. Eyes wide. Guilt immediate. “Y/N—God, I—” he blinked, stepping toward you before stopping himself mid-step. “I was going to call. I should have called. I meant to tell you.”

You stood in the doorway, taking him in—his uncombed curls, the slight shake in his hands, the suitcase half-packed but with none of his favorite books.

“Tell me what?” you asked softly, walking toward him now, your voice the only calm thing in the room.

Spencer’s shoulders slumped. He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his palms over his knees like the movement might settle him.

“It’s my mom,” he said quietly. “She’s not doing well. They called. Said I should come.”

And then—his voice even softer, like it hurt to say— “I didn’t want to worry you.”

You knelt in front of him, gently grounding your hands into his. “Spence,” you whispered, “you don’t have to protect me from this. I want to be worried about her. With you.”

He didn’t speak right away. Just leaned forward, forehead pressed to yours, eyes closing as he exhaled like maybe he could finally let some of it go.

And when he opened them again, you were already packing his books. The ones you knew he’d want. The ones that made him feel at home. The way you did.

“You need to tell me these things,” you said, not unkindly but firm—your voice was soft, steady, and kind of serious, and it didn’t leave room for argument. You were beside his suitcase, carefully tucking the last of his books into the corner, smoothing the fabric over them like it would keep him safe.

Spencer nodded solemnly, his jaw tight, lips pressed into a thin line. He looked down, guilt clouding his features like a child being gently scolded—not because you were harsh, but because he knew he should have told you. He meant to. He just… didn’t. And that fact alone ate at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I wasn’t thinking.”

You looked up at him then, pausing for just a beat before you asked the question like it was the most obvious thing in the world, as natural as breathing: “Do you want me to come?”

His eyes darted to yours. Surprise flickered behind them—not because he didn’t want you to, but because the thought hadn’t yet made it to the surface. His mind had been too full of logistics, of fear, of memories he didn’t want to revisit alone—but now, with you saying it like, of course, like it wasn’t even a question—he felt his chest ache in the best possible way.

“What about work?” he asked quietly, still hesitant. Still Spencer.

You shrugged, standing slowly as you closed his suitcase and turned to face him fully. “It’s a family emergency.”

And you meant it.

Because Diana was your family too. Because he was your family.

Spencer blinked, and in that blink, something shifted. His shoulders dropped, the breath he’d been holding finally released, and his fingers reached for yours like he needed to ensure this was real.

“Okay,” he said.

And it was more than agreement. It was relief. He didn’t have to do this alone.

Not this time.

Spencer had thought it wasn’t possible to love you any more than he already did. He’d been so sure of it—so convinced that whatever threshold love had, he had already reached it with you. Already filled every available space in his heart with the sound of your laugh, the weight of your gaze, the way you said his name like it was a vow.

But then you stood in his bedroom, your hands on his suitcase, folding his shirts and slipping his books inside like you knew exactly which ones he’d reach for when the silence in the facility got too loud. You didn’t ask what you should pack. You didn’t ask for instructions. You just knew.

And when you asked if you should come with him—not out of obligation or pity, but because of course, you would—you said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. He was the one who needed to be reminded that this is what love looks like. This unwavering presence. This gentle certainty.

He looked at you and thought, How foolish of me.

To believe he’d reached the edge of it. To think there was a limit. To not realize that love, when it was real—when it was you—only deepened.

It didn’t swell like a tide. It unfolded like a galaxy.

And as you zipped up his bag, took his hand, and told him it was a family emergency—no hesitation, no doubt—he knew with absolute clarity: He hadn’t even scratched the surface of how much he could love you.

…

The plane ride was, as expected, not Spencer’s idea of a good time.

He had tried—really tried—to keep it together, to focus on the practicality of air travel, the necessity of getting to his mother quickly. But no matter how many times he told himself it was just recycled air, probability, and basic physics, his mind still latched onto every microbe, every cough within a five-row radius, every time someone touched the bathroom handle and then the seat tray without washing their hands.

His leg bounced with a steady rhythm. His fingers drummed lightly against his knee. His eyes stayed fixed on the in-flight safety card even after the flight attendant had long finished her speech.

And sleep? Forget it.

His brain was too busy. Running through timelines and medications, wondering if his mother would remember his face, wondering what kind of decline they meant when they said “declining,” wondering if he’d already missed something important.

But then, amid all that spiraling noise, he felt a small, warm weight shift against his arm.

You’d fallen asleep.

It was subtle at first, just the way your head leaned further into him, your shoulder relaxing as the hum of the cabin lured you in. And then, slowly, gently, your cheek came to rest against his shoulder. A little sigh escaped your lips, something soft and content, and then—

A tiny snore.

Followed by the unmistakable damp warmth of drool beginning to spread onto the shoulder of his sweater.

He blinked. Looked down. And instead of being annoyed or grossed out, or even startled—Spencer smiled.

It was small. Barely there. But real.

Because there was you in all the discomfort, stress, and spiraling unknowns. Snoring. Drooling. Completely knocked out and trusting enough to use him as your pillow. And for just a moment, the world didn’t feel so heavy.

He adjusted his arm a little so you’d be more comfortable, rested his cheek on top of your head, and let his eyes close—not to sleep, not yet, but to breathe.

And if his heart beat just a little slower after that? Well. He figured maybe drool wasn’t so bad after all.

When you and Spencer finally made it to the facility and stepped through the front doors, a weight settled over both of you—thick and invisible, wrapping around your lungs and squeezing with every step down the hall. It wasn’t just sterile lighting or that muted scent of disinfectant and aging upholstery. It was the stillness. The hollow kind that only existed in long-term care centers, where time felt both endless and unkind.

Spencer was quiet beside you. Almost too quiet.

He held your hand, but his fingers weren’t threaded with their usual softness—they were locked tight like he needed the contact to anchor him to the floor. He hadn’t spoken much since the drive. You knew he was trying to hold it together; that part of him was walking in that door as her son, and another part was walking in as a protector, a man who had spent his whole life-solving unsolvable problems—except this one.

You offered a small squeeze, and his eyes were already glassy when he looked at you. He gave you a grateful, heartbroken smile.

The nurse met you at the door of Diana’s room. He was kind. Soft-spoken. He gave Spencer an update that he barely registered, nodding absently as he mentioned medication changes, good days and bad days, and lucid moments that came less and less frequently.

And then… you were inside.

Diana Reid sat by the window, hair neatly brushed, her cardigan buttoned all the way to the top like someone had helped her with care. She stared out at the garden with a faint smile, her gaze fixed on something that wasn’t quite there.

“Hi, Mom,” Spencer said, his voice barely above a whisper.

She didn’t turn. Not right away. Not until he stepped closer.

And then—slowly, cautiously—her head turned. Her eyes met his, blinking once… twice…

And she smiled.

“Spencer,” she said softly, voice a fragile thread. “You’re so tall.”

Spencer laughed. It cracked in the middle.

You stood back, giving them space, tears threatening behind your eyes as he knelt beside her, taking her hand, speaking gently to her like she might drift away if he was too loud.

It was hard. So much harder than you thought it would be.

But watching him speak to her, watching him love her through the heartbreak—it reminded you of everything you already knew about Spencer Reid:

That his heart was vast. And no matter how much it hurt, he would always show up.

You would never tell Spencer how much it hurt you to see this. Not the weight of the facility. Not the trembling fragility in Diana’s voice. Not the way Spencer’s face cracked in places you’d never seen before.

Because this wasn’t about you. It wasn’t your pain to center. You were here for him.

And no matter how deeply it ached to see him kneeling there, clutching his mother’s hand like he was trying to hold time still, you knew the pain running through his veins was sharper. More personal. More impossible.

So you stood quietly at his side, calm, steady, present.

Spencer looked up at one point, eyes flicking toward you with a soft, hopeful smile, and said, “Mom, this is Y/N. My girlfriend.”

Diana tilted her head, brow furrowing slightly. She studied you for a long moment, her expression unreadable.

Then she let out a soft, amused little huff. “You’re far too young to have a girlfriend,” she said, teasing, her tone light but off-kilter, like she was only half in the moment.

You offered a polite, if slightly uncomfortable, smile, stepping forward gently. “It’s so nice to meet you, Ms. Reid. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Your voice was sweet, and your posture was perfect. You were warm, polite, and kind, even as her words stung—not because they were cruel, but because they were true, in their own heartbreaking way.

Because she didn’t see him.

Not the man who spent his entire life trying to understand her. Not the man who fought tooth and nail to keep her comfortable, safe, and protected. Not the man who flew across states to hold her hand.

She saw a boy.

“Aren’t you in school?” she asked him, blinking rapidly, confused now. “Where’s your backpack?”

Spencer froze.

You saw it the moment his smile faltered—the millisecond his lips tried to recover, tried to shape themselves into something reassuring. “Mom… I’m 28.”

She blinked. “No. No, you’re not. Don’t lie to me, Spencer.”

“I’m not lying,” he said gently, trying to hold her gaze. “I’m 28. I work for the FBI now. I—”

Diana’s face changed. The confusion shifted into something sharper. Panic. Fear.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re just a boy. You’re my little boy. Stop lying to me!”

Spencer’s voice caught in his throat. “Mom—”

You were already stepping forward, crouching beside him, reaching across to squeeze his arm gently. “Spence,” you whispered softly, “maybe… maybe not right now, okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just sat there, his mother’s panic echoing in his ears, his shoulders tense and still.

You turned to Diana, voice sweet and soft again. “Would you like to talk about your garden? It looks so beautiful out there.” You pointed to the window.

Diana’s eyes flicked to you, wide and tear-glossed, but she nodded slowly, her fingers relaxing just slightly.

And beside you, Spencer just kept holding her hand. Even as it trembled. Even as he did.

The night was hard—long, quiet, and restless. Spencer had said goodnight to his mother with that practiced softness you’d seen before, like he was trying not to fold inward, trying to be composed. But when you got back to the hotel, that composure started to crack.

He showered in silence. Didn’t ask for your music. Barely responded when you gently offered to order room service or rub his back. He just moved through his routine like a ghost, heavy and quiet, haunted by something too big to name.

Eventually, he crawled into bed beside you. But sleep didn’t come easy.

He tossed. Turned. Huffed softly against the sheets. You didn’t press. You just opened your arms when he finally rolled toward you, found your chest, and curled into the soft rise and fall of your breath like it was the only thing grounding him. You held him close, stroking his back, whispering nothing in particular—just letting him know you were there.

By morning, he was finally still. His curls were splayed across your chest, one arm slung limply around your waist, his breathing deep but a little uneven, like even in rest he couldn’t quite settle.

You tried to slip out without waking him—so carefully—but the second your warmth left his side, he stirred.

“Shh,” you whispered, already rounding the bed. You ran your fingers gently through his curls, leaned in, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Still here, sweetheart. Just sleep.”

He sighed under your touch, not quite waking, and you watched his brow soften again as you guided him back into slumber.

Only then did you slip into the bathroom with your phone, the door cracked open just enough to hear if he called out.

You sat on the edge of the tub, scrolling quietly.

There are flower shops near the facility, coffee places with quiet booths and good lighting, a few tucked-away bookstores, art galleries, natural history museums, and a pop-up science exhibit that might be small but still worth exploring.

Las Vegas had no shortage of distractions—but finding the right ones for Spencer? That was a challenge. It took knowing his moods, his quirks, the things that soothed his mind when it spiraled. You weren’t just looking for something to do—you were trying to build a soft place for him to land in case today broke his heart again.

You’d do it all if it helped. Because he would do the same for you. And because loving Spencer meant knowing how to love gently.

When Spencer finally stirred again, it was slow—his lashes fluttering, his breath shifting against the pillow, his limbs stretching just slightly like he was testing the air around him. The light from the window was soft, filtered through the gauzy hotel curtains, casting everything in that gentle, golden morning haze.

You were exactly where you wanted to be: curled up beside him, one hand absently stroking through his curls as your eyes skimmed over the pages of your book. The moment you felt him stir, you marked your place but didn’t move—just kept running your fingers through his hair, grounding him.

Then he let out a sound. Something between a whimper and a groan—deep, low, and raw from his chest.

You looked down immediately, concern tightening in your throat. “Okay, baby?” you asked softly, brushing a curl off his forehead.

He didn’t open his eyes fully—just turned his face slightly into your side, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.

“Just need you.”

You set your book down without hesitation and wrapped your arms around him, tucking his head to your chest, holding him as close as he needed. “You have me,” you murmured, kissing the crown of his head, letting your hands trail gently along his back. “Always.”

And in that quiet little cocoon of tangled sheets and steady love, you gave him the safety he didn’t know how to ask for—but always found in you.

Spencer nodded against your chest, his breath hitching just slightly. Before you heard the sniffle, you felt the damp warmth of a tear at the edge of his eye. His whole body curled into you like he was trying to hide inside your arms.

His voice cracked when he started, “You… you were so perfect yesterday.”

You tilted your head down, kissing the top of his hair again, your fingers still carding through the curls at the nape of his neck. “Hmm? Why’s that, my love?”

Spencer didn’t answer right away. You could feel him searching for the words, his mind flicking through the moments like files in a cabinet, trying to find the one that made his throat tight and his chest feel like it was folding in on itself.

“You didn’t panic,” he finally whispered, his voice fragile. “When she started to spiral when she didn’t remember me—when she yelled at me—you didn’t look scared. You didn’t try to fix it. You just… helped. You gave her a different focus, something gentle. You gave me time to breathe.”

You stayed quiet, holding him tighter, because you knew he wasn’t done.

“And I didn’t even say thank you. I—I didn’t tell you what it meant. I couldn’t. I think I was… still trying to hold myself together. But I saw it. I saw everything you did.”

You felt his shoulders tremble slightly as another breath shook out of him.

“You were just… perfect,” he murmured again like he didn’t know any other word big enough at that moment. “And I’m so lucky you’re mine.”

You pulled back just enough to kiss the corner of his damp eye and whispered, “You don’t have to thank me, Spence. That’s what love looks like.”

And you stayed right there, arms around him, holding the weight of everything he didn’t have to carry alone.

—

It started small—barely a shift. A silence between words. A longer pause before answering your texts. A softness to his eyes that held more weight than usual.

Spencer was in his head again.

You could feel it the way people feel a pressure drop before a storm: subtle, but undeniable.

He still kissed you good morning. Still held your hand when you crossed the street. Still brought you your favorite snacks from the store without asking. But behind it all, something tugged at him. A quiet unease that he hadn’t voiced yet, but you knew was there.

And in his head, it was loud.

Because Spencer Reid had never been loved like this before.

Not with the kind of tenderness you offered without question. Not with the way you remembered what calms him, what overstimulates him, what makes him light up. Not with the way you touched him so reverently, not because he was fragile, but because you treasured him.

You made space for his rituals. You never mocked his routines. You celebrated his quirks and soothed his spirals. You told him he was enough—and somehow, you meant it.

And he believed you. He did.

But tonight, after you’d made dinner, rubbed his back, and laughed at all his nerdy jokes, something inside him twisted tight.

You always did so much. You made loving him look easy.

And Spencer?

He didn’t feel like he deserved easy.

He lay beside you in bed, his arm wrapped around your waist, chin resting lightly against your shoulder, but his thoughts were somewhere else. Tangled and noisy and sharp.

Do I do enough? She deserves flowers and poetry and grand gestures and I… fold her laundry when she’s tired. What if she thinks I’m not trying hard enough? What if she doesn’t know how much I worship her?

His grip around you tightened slightly—subtle, but enough for you to feel it.

You turned your head, looking at him in the low glow of the bedside lamp. “Spence?” you asked softly. “Where are you right now?”

He blinked, eyes darting like he’d been caught.

“I’m here,” he said automatically, then hesitated. His voice dropped. “I mean… sort of.”

You rolled gently to face him, brushing a hand through his curls, watching how his lips pressed into a thin, guilty line.

“Talk to me?”

He swallowed, hard. “I just… I don’t think I do enough. For you.”

Your brows knit, but you didn’t speak. You let him keep going.

“You do everything in your power to make me feel safe and cared for, and—and loved, and I just—what do I do? I… hold your coffee while you put your shoes on. I memorize your schedules. I read your favorite book three times and bookmarked my favorite parts and never even told you because I was nervous you’d think that wasn’t enough.”

His voice cracked, just a little. “But I adore you. And I don’t know if I’m showing it right.”

You leaned in, and touched his cheek, your heart full and aching.

“Oh, Spencer,” you whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You do everything right.”

Spencer’s eyes glistened, and for a moment he didn’t trust himself to speak. He opened his mouth once, then shut it again, his throat working like he was trying to find language that didn’t exist yet.

“I…” he began, then paused, frustrated. “I don’t have the right words. Not—not mine, anyway.”

You rubbed your thumb gently along his cheekbone, watching him carefully, waiting.

His hand tightened around yours like it grounded him. Then, almost breathlessly, he said, “Can I… borrow someone else's?”

You nodded without hesitation. “Of course.”

Spencer took a breath, eyes fluttering closed for just a moment. And then, in a voice that shook at the edges but still carried so much warmth, he began to recite:

“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat. Pablo Neruda. You recognized it immediately.

Spencer’s voice dropped lower, reverent now, every word reverberating between you.

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.”

He stopped, just barely, a breath trembling against your skin. When he opened his eyes again, they shimmered—not just from tears, but from everything he couldn’t say without someone else’s poetry to carry it.

“I don’t always know how to say it,” he whispered. “Not the way you deserve. But I feel it. Every second. It’s—in me. Like that poem. Like breathing.”

You moved closer, cradling his face in your hands, your own tears slipping free now, quiet and full.

“Spencer,” you whispered, voice thick, “you show me you love me every single day. And that?” You touched your forehead to his. “That was the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

He exhaled shakily, wrapping his arms around you like he never wanted to let go.

And maybe, neither of you ever would.

—

The motel was small and a little sad—one of those off-the-highway places with flickering neon signs and rooms that smelled vaguely of lemon cleaner and disappointment. The team had wrapped up the latest round of interviews for the night and gathered outside near the parking lot, taking advantage of the cool evening air and vending machine snacks before turning in.

Morgan sat on the SUV's hood, tearing into a bag of trail mix like it had insulted his family. Emily leaned against the passenger-side door, sipping a bottle of water, eyes sharp and amused. The conversation had already veered wildly off-course from the case, and like clockwork, it had drifted into teasing territory.

“I’m just saying,” Morgan said, grinning around a mouthful of almonds, “this town might be depressing as hell, but I did see a very enthusiastic bartender eyeing me at the diner.”

Emily let out a low, knowing chuckle. “Oh, please. You were offered three numbers from women we interviewed today.”

“Hey, I didn't take any of them. I can’t help that I’m desirable,” Morgan said, giving her a playful nudge with his foot.

“Desirable or shameless?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

He smirked. “Why not both?”

Spencer, who’d been half-listening while flipping through the case file one more time, looked up from where he was perched on the curb. “Do either of you ever think about, I don’t know, boundaries?”

“Boundaries?” Emily repeated, grinning as she turned toward him. “Come on, Reid. You make it sound like we’re chasing people through hospital wards. We’re talking about consenting adults.”

“Exactly,” Morgan added, wagging a finger. “Grown folks, grown decisions.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow and muttered, “Some people might prefer to focus on the case.”

Emily narrowed her eyes playfully. “You mean you.”

Spencer didn’t respond, but the blush creeping up his neck was answer enough.

Morgan leaned forward like he’d just smelled blood in the water. “You’re telling me, Pretty Boy, that in all the time we’ve been out in the field—years, by the way—you’ve never, not once, had a little... off-duty adventure?”

Spencer shifted awkwardly. “I don’t really think—”

“Oh my God,” Emily gasped, feigning horror as she clutched her water bottle. “Never? Not even a little flirtation at a hotel bar? A mysterious woman with a tragic backstory? A man in a cowboy hat named—”

“You’re projecting,” Spencer said flatly.

Emily grinned. “I’ll allow it.”

“I just don’t see the point in meaningless interactions with people I’ll never see again,” Spencer said, shrugging a little like it wasn’t a big deal.

“Buddy,” Morgan said with a laugh, “it’s not meaningless if it’s fun.”

“Exactly,” Emily chimed in. “We’re not saying you’ve got to form a long-term emotional attachment over drinks and a shared trauma. Just that… exploration is healthy.”

“You guys sound like a pair of bad sex ed videos,” Spencer muttered, tucking his file under his arm and standing up.

Morgan grinned. “We’re trying to help you, man.”

“I don’t need help,” Spencer said. “And for the record, I’ve had plenty of—experiences. Just not with every waitress and desk clerk, we pass along the way.”

“Oh, come on,” Emily had joked. “Name one.”

And he’d blinked, fumbling for the simplest, most obvious answer. “I have a girlfriend?”

It was meant to be enough. More than enough. He thought maybe they’d drop it after that. Maybe Morgan would whistle, or Emily would roll her eyes and call him smug. But instead—

“And I bet those are the only tits you’ve ever seen,” Morgan laughed, head tossed back, that familiar, easy drunk-banter tone laced with sharpness he didn’t realize he’d crossed.

The laughter that followed was sloppy and loud. Emily chuckled too, but hers was a little more hesitant—her gaze already sliding toward Spencer like maybe they had gone too far.

Spencer didn’t laugh. His spine stiffened, and his mouth pressed into a tight line.

Because yeah… okay, maybe it wasn’t entirely wrong. Maybe he hadn’t racked up any wild, tangled encounters in foreign cities or hooked up with someone he couldn’t remember the last name of. Maybe he didn’t have wild stories about tequila-fueled nights or poolside flings. But it wasn’t like he’d planned that.

He was just… different.

And sometimes—especially moments like this—it made him feel like he’d missed something. Like everyone else had been handed a script on how to be effortlessly cool and experienced, and he’d shown up too late to memorize the lines.

Morgan was still grinning, but Emily had caught on now, her smile slipping completely as she glanced toward Spencer again. He wasn’t saying anything. Wasn’t making a witty comeback or rolling his eyes. He just stood there, arms crossed too tightly, jaw clenched a little too hard.

“Hey,” Emily said softly, nudging Morgan. “That was a little much.”

Morgan blinked, still chuckling, but when he looked at Spencer and saw the tension there—the discomfort etched into his face—his smile dropped too.

“Reid,” he said, sobering, “I was just messing around, man.”

Spencer gave a small, tight shrug. “Yeah. I know.”

But his voice didn’t match the words. Not really.

Emily stepped forward and leaned her shoulder into his gently. “Hey. You’re not missing anything, you know. We just talk a big game. It’s a lot of noise.”

Spencer nodded, still not quite looking at either of them. “It’s fine.”

Morgan sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Seriously, that wasn’t cool. I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. You’ve got someone who loves you, and that’s more than a lot of people ever get.”

That softened something—just slightly—in Spencer’s shoulders.

“I’m gonna head back,” he murmured after a beat. “Big day tomorrow.”

And he turned, walking slowly back toward his room, hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

Behind him, Emily gave Morgan a look, and Morgan just exhaled heavily.

Because for all the joking and teasing… they sometimes forgot how deeply Spencer felt things. And how, sometimes, even good-natured laughter could echo like a bruise.

…

He hadn’t stopped thinking about it.

The conversation replayed in his head like a bad tape—Morgan’s words looping, the laughter echoing louder than it had in real-time. He knew, knew, they didn’t mean it to cut so deep, but it did. Not because it was true, necessarily, but because some part of him believed it might be. That maybe he wasn’t enough. Not worldly enough. Not man enough. Not good enough to keep someone like you.

So when he got to your place, there was no ritual. No careful organization. No meticulous unwinding.

His bag hit the floor with a dull thud. Coat flung over the back of a chair. Shoes still on. Keys? Thrown onto the table without a second thought.

He didn’t call out for you. He didn’t stop to think. His whole body was thrumming, full of something frantic, aching, needy.

He found you in your office, sitting at your desk, focused and unbothered by the world unraveling outside your door. You barely had time to register the sound of his footsteps before he was there—pulling you out of your chair and into his arms like gravity had just given up.

“Spencer—” you gasped, your hands reaching up to steady yourself, to steady him, but the name barely made it past your lips before his mouth was on yours.

He kissed you hard, breathless and desperate and full of something wild. It wasn’t how he usually kissed you—not the slow, adoring kind. This was urgent. This was please and prove it and don’t go anywhere ever again.

“What’s up, baby?” you whispered against his lips when he let you breathe for a second, searching his face, already knowing something wasn’t right.

“Need you,” he murmured hoarsely, his hands already on your waist, sliding up your back like he couldn’t hold enough of you. “So badly.”

You blinked, caught in his intensity, your palms cupping his jaw as he dove back in—another kiss, this one softer but still tinged with desperation. His hands moved like he was afraid you’d disappear, like he had to memorize the feeling of you all over again in case this was the last time.

“Spencer,” you murmured, voice gentler this time, one hand finding his curls, the other pressed flat over his chest. You could feel his heart pounding. Racing.

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closing. “I couldn’t stop thinking about what they said. Morgan. Emily. The way they laughed—like I’d missed out. Like there’s something wrong with me for not having… all those stories. And then I thought—what if you think that too? What if you’re just being patient? What if you’re settling for someone who doesn’t know what he’s doing, who’s boring, or… or disappointing?”

Your heart shattered right there in your chest because he said it with such rawness like the words had been pressing against his ribs for hours, maybe days, desperate to be let out.

His brow was still pressed to yours; eyes closed like he couldn’t bear to see the look on your face when you answered—afraid, deep down, that some part of his fear might be right.

“Baby,” you breathed, your voice caught halfway between shock and heartbreak, your hands gently cradling his face, “what are you talking about?”

He opened his eyes slowly, and they were glossy now, full of something unspoken, something tangled and bruised and fragile.

“I just—” he started, then shook his head, frustrated with himself, with the thoughts that wouldn’t let go. “They said it like it was funny. Like I was some… monk. Like I’d never lived, never explored. And I laughed it off, but it got stuck in my head. I kept wondering if I’d missed out on something. If you felt like you were missing out.”

Your mouth parted to respond, but he kept going, like now that it had started spilling out, he couldn’t stop. “I know I’m not like other people. I know I can be awkward and too intense and not very spontaneous. I like routines. I like structure. I don’t know how to do the whole flirty one-night thing, and I never wanted to, but I also don’t have some grand collection of stories or past lovers or wild memories. I have you. And maybe I’m scared that’s not enough for you.”

You stared at him, chest aching, your thumbs brushing along his jaw as you tried to hold in the tears forming behind your eyes—not from hurt, but from how deeply he was hurting.

“Spencer,” you whispered, pulling him close until your foreheads touched again. “You are enough. You are so enough, baby. You are the most thoughtful, attentive, ridiculously loving man I have ever known. If you think for even a second that I’m missing out, then you really haven’t been paying attention to how obsessed I am with you.”

His breath hitched. “But they—”

“They don’t know us.” You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. “Spence, I don’t want the stories. I want you. I chose you. Again and again, I would, and I will choose you.”

He swallowed hard like the words you’d just given him were something he hadn’t expected to receive—something he didn’t quite know how to hold without shaking. His eyes were still wet, dark, and glistening as they searched yours, wide and aching with hope he wasn’t sure he was allowed to have.

“You mean that?” he asked, his voice barely there as if it might break if he spoke any louder. There was something so young in the way he asked, so open and raw, like some forgotten version of himself was still standing there, waiting to be told he was too much, or not enough, or somehow both.

Your thumb brushed the side of his cheek with a gentleness you didn’t even know you possessed until you met him. And with your lips inches from his, you whispered back—

“I mean it as much as I do when I say I love you.”

You didn’t blink. You didn’t smile or try to soften it. You just said it the way you meant it—honest, unwavering, full.

Spencer stared at you for a long, still moment as if trying to memorize the shape of those words on your face. Then his arms tightened around you suddenly, pulling you flush to his chest like he could hide you in his bones like he needed to protect this feeling from ever being pulled away again.

“I love you,” he breathed into your hair over and over again. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You could feel it with every word—how much he needed to say it now, not because he thought you didn’t know, but because he needed to believe it was real again. That someone could know him like this, down to the soft, sensitive, tender center of him, and not walk away.

“I’m not settling,” you whispered into the fabric of his shirt. “You’re it, Spencer. You're everything.”

His hands trembled just slightly as they threaded into your hair, and he kissed you again, more like a promise than a need this time.

And he stopped thinking about that conversation for the first time in hours—maybe days. Because nothing they said mattered anymore. You were his truth now.

“But…” you started, your voice soft and trailing off, like you weren’t quite sure if it was the right moment. Spencer pulled back just slightly, enough to look at you with those wide, earnest eyes, already on alert. He searched your face like he was bracing for another blow, some revelation that would unravel all the reassurance you’d just given him.

You saw the nerves there—always just under the surface with him—and your heart ached with affection. So you softened the weight of the moment with a gentle smile, tilting your head and raising your brows with playful mischief.

“If you still want me…” you said, voice dropping just enough to hint at something less heavy and a lot more suggestive, “…I’m right here.”

And then you wiggled your eyebrows dramatically.

For a second, Spencer blinked at you, caught off guard—until the realization hit, and he let out an actual, genuine laugh, rich and real, the kind that melted the last traces of tension from his shoulders.

He leaned in slowly, letting his nose brush yours, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I always want you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and warm.

You felt the hum of it in your chest, your fingers curling into the collar of his shirt as you leaned into him again. “Even when I’m annoying?”

He kissed you once, then twice, like punctuation. “Especially then.”

You giggled, your foreheads pressed together, your noses brushing as you whispered, “Even if I don’t have a wild backstory and a cowboy hat?”

“I’ll buy the hat,” he grinned.

“You’d look terrible in a cowboy hat.”

“And you’d still want me.”

You sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, hands wrapped around you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. And maybe you were.

Spencer’s hands moved without urgency, just steady and sure, like he was mapping every part of you he already knew by heart—reaffirming that yes, you were here, and yes, you were his, and yes, you wanted him just as much.

His palms slid along your back in slow, grounding strokes, fingers pressing into your muscles with the kind of gentle care that made you sigh into the kiss, your body melting against his. You could feel the way his fingertips flexed—like he wasn’t just touching you, he was feeling you, trying to say a thousand quiet things all at once with nothing but the movement of his hands.

You hummed softly, lips parting against his in a breathless murmur of contentment, and just as you were leaning further into the kiss, his hands drifted lower.

Down the curve of your spine. Down to the swell of your hips. And then—

Both of those big, warm, sturdy hands settled on your ass, squeezing gently before he started kneading with slow, purposeful pressure like he had all the time in the world.

You broke the kiss with a quiet, needy whine, your fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt. “Spencer…” you breathed, not even sure what you were asking for—just overwhelmed with how good it felt, how expressive he was being.

He only smiled, his forehead still pressed to yours, his thumbs stroking slow circles against the fabric of your pants as he spoke in a whisper that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You like that?”

You gave a small, breathless laugh, eyes fluttering half-closed as your hips shifted instinctively under his touch. “You’re lucky I love you. Anyone else, and I’d be filing a formal complaint for being so handsy.”

“Mm,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your jaw. “Good thing I’m yours then, huh?”

His hands squeezed again, just a little firmer this time, and the warmth in your stomach curled tighter.

“God,” you muttered against his throat, “you are so repressed until suddenly you’re not.”

He chuckled into your skin, the sound deep and warm and intimate. “Just needed to be reminded you’re not going anywhere.”

You pulled back enough to meet his eyes, fingers stroking gently at his curls. “Spence,” you whispered, smiling softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He kissed you again like a thank you. Like a promise. And then he kissed you again, just because he could.

This was new.

Not the wanting—he always wanted you, always looked at you like you were the safest place he’d ever known. Not the intimacy either—you’d memorized the shape of his affection over time, the soft way he kissed you good morning, the slow, reverent way he touched you like he was reading a favorite passage over and over again.

But this—this was different.

This was Spencer stripped down to something raw and instinctive, something that didn’t think twice, didn’t second-guess or calculate or stop to breathe. It wasn’t the soft hum of his love—it was the ache. The heat. The urgency that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with how much he missed you. Needed you.

He had walked through the door, and in that instant, the world narrowed down to you.

No bag hung up. No coat carefully folded. No slow exhale as he sanitized his hands or washed away the day.

He’d tossed everything aside like it didn’t matter—and to him, right now, it didn’t. All that mattered was you.

And now here he was—holding you like he couldn't stand even a molecule of air between your bodies, kissing you with something fierce in his mouth, something that tasted like longing and relief and the echo of every moment he’d spent thinking what if she thinks I’m not enough?

But he wasn’t thinking anymore.

There was no mental filing system running in the background, no tallying glances, no hesitation as he moved his hands from your back to your ass and touched you with the kind of surety that had your breath catching.

Spencer Reid was making the first move. Spencer Reid—whose fingers usually trembled with careful reverence—was now gripping you, pulling you closer, like he needed to remind himself you were real and his and here.

And for once, he wasn’t checking to see if it was okay. He wasn’t reading your expressions like a case file. He wasn’t trying to solve you.

He was just feeling.

Driven by want. By love. By the low, possessive ache of missing you too much for too long.

And you could feel it in every kiss, every touch, every shift of his body against yours.

You barely managed a breath. “Spencer…”

But he kissed you again, cutting off whatever else you were going to say, hands gripping tighter like he couldn’t bear to let go. His voice was low and rough when he finally spoke, lips brushing yours as he whispered—

“Need you.”

Another kiss.

“So badly.”

There was no doubt in his eyes now. No fear. Just hunger. Warmth. You.

This wasn’t the moment he fell in love with you. He already had.

This was the moment he let himself have you. Not carefully. Not hesitantly.

But fully. Completely. Now.

“Oh—okay,” you sputtered, your voice breathy and barely coherent as Spencer’s mouth moved lower, tongue warm and wet against the soft skin of your neck. He kissed you there with a kind of focus that made your knees feel untrustworthy, his lips sucking gently just beneath your jaw, tongue flicking over the mark he left behind. Your head tilted without conscious thought, already giving him more access, and your hands clutched at his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you from floating away.

But then he paused. You felt it in the shift of his breath, the faint hesitation in his hands. Not out of doubt—no, not anymore. Out of deliberation.

Spencer huffed softly, almost frustrated with himself, forehead resting against your collarbone as he breathed in deep, trying to center himself. He was never this forward, never this commanding, and it was clearly throwing him off for a second.

Then he lifted his head, pressed his lips to your ear, and in the lowest, softest tone, said, “I’m going to shower.”

You opened your mouth to protest, heart thudding, already missing his warmth—“Spence, wait—”

But his hand came up, gentle but firm, covering your mouth with one broad palm, effectively silencing you.

“No,” he murmured, meeting your gaze with something that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’m going to get clean before we continue.”

Your eyes widened, heart hammering now for an entirely different reason. There was no teasing glint in his eye, no nervous laughter. Just calm certainty and the weight of intention behind his words.

You nodded beneath his hand, slow at first, then faster, your face burning with heat as his fingers brushed your cheek, thumb lingering just shy of your lips. You could feel how flushed you were, how needy—his sudden authority was so quiet, so natural, that it wasn’t even about the tone. It was about him.

“Good,” he said softly, nodding once in return. His hand slipped away, leaving your lips tingling. “While I shower, I want you to log out of your computer,” he murmured, voice a warm ribbon against your skin. “Then I want you to go wait for me in the bedroom. Can you do that for me?”

You whined, your throat catching on the sound, and you nodded again—eager, trembling, soaked.

He smiled, and even that was gentle, but his eyes had darkened with something deeper, something you weren’t used to seeing from Spencer—but loved.

Without another word, he kissed your temple, then backed away, his fingers trailing down your arm like he didn’t want to leave but had to.

“I won’t take long,” he said, walking backward toward the bathroom, watching your dazed, needy form with an expression that was already promising more.

And you? You didn’t move for a solid ten seconds after the door shut. Just stood there, breath shaking, heart pounding, thighs pressed together.

Then—obedient, aroused, and wholly overwhelmed—you walked toward the computer.

Log out. Bedroom. Wait.

You'd never followed instructions faster in your life.

Spencer had never taken a faster shower in his life. No overthinking, no triple-wash rotations, no alphabetizing of shampoo bottles or lingering beneath the spray with his eyes closed and the world churning in his mind. Tonight, it was all function—scrub, rinse, done. Because you were waiting.

Waiting like you wanted him. Like he was allowed to take. And God, did he want to take.

He toweled off quickly, wrapping the fabric low on his hips, water still clinging to his skin in rivulets that caught the dim bathroom light. He barely looked in the mirror. He didn’t need to. His feet carried him straight out of the bathroom like he had a gravitational pull toward you, eager and electric.

He reached the threshold of the bedroom, breath catching the second he saw you. And everything in him went still.

You were sitting in the center of the bed, cross-legged like something carved out of a dream—soft light from the bedside lamp casting golden shadows over your bare shoulders. You clutched a pillow to your chest, arms wrapped around it, chin resting lightly on top, eyes wide and glowing.

But it wasn’t the posture. It was what wasn’t there.

From behind that pillow, there was nothing. No straps, no sleeves, no hem. Nothing to hide behind but the downy shape of the pillow—and your teasing, trembling confidence.

Spencer’s breath left him in a rush like it had been yanked from his lungs. His fingers flexed instinctively at his sides, nails lightly digging into the soft terrycloth at his hips.

“Darling…” he said it like a prayer, like a plea, like a man trying to keep his soul tethered to his body. His voice cracked ever so slightly. “Is there… do you have anything on?”

You tilted your head, biting your bottom lip with the most innocent look like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing to him. And then, without a single word, you shook your head.

No.

Spencer inhaled sharply through his nose, a sound half desperate, half reverent. He took a slow step forward like he wasn’t sure whether to drop to his knees or just stand there and stare.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked, “you’re gonna make me forget how to speak.”

You just blinked up at him, lashes fluttering slightly, still hugging the pillow to your chest like you were shy—though the playful twitch at the corner of your mouth said otherwise.

He ran a hand through his damp curls, chest rising with each deep breath, trying to keep control of the fire simmering just beneath the surface. You had listened. You had waited. And now here you were, offering yourself with that look like he could do anything and you’d say please.

“Are you teasing me?” he asked softly, taking another step closer.

You hugged the pillow tighter, lips curving into a guilty smile. “A little.”

His eyes darkened.

“Good,” Spencer whispered, and something about the way his voice dropped—low and sure and just a little wicked—sent goosebumps racing up your arms. He was close now, close enough that you could see the rivulets of water still trailing down his chest, the way his curls clung damply to his forehead, the flush of heat rising up his neck.

He wasn’t shy right now. Not uncertain or hesitant. This wasn’t the man who asked for permission at every moment. This was the man who’d spent the last week thinking about you. Who had walked through the door and claimed you with his mouth. Who had told you what to do and watched you obey.

And he was still in control.

His fingers slid under the edge of the towel at his hips, knuckles brushing his skin, slow and deliberate. His gaze raked over you like he was starving, and you could barely breathe under the weight of it.

“Because now,” he murmured, taking one step closer, “I can finally repay you.”

You felt it like a chord pulled taut between you—the anticipation, the heat, the hunger wrapped around something deeper. Not just lust. Craving. Possession. Worship.

Your breath hitched, hands gripping the pillow tighter, but your thighs pressed together under it involuntarily, betraying how completely undone you were by the sight of him like this—wet, bare, confident.

“Repay me?” you echoed softly, trying to sound coy, but your voice trembled.

Spencer’s eyes flicked up to yours, and his smile—God, that smile—was all promise.

“For all those times,” he started, letting the towel drop silently to the floor, forgotten. He stood there without shame like he already knew you couldn’t look anywhere else. “For all those times you touched me, kissed me, looked at me like you do, and made me beg for it. For making me want you so bad I couldn’t even get through a full shower.”

You swallowed hard, lips parted.

He leaned in slightly, hands coming to rest at the edge of the mattress, bracketing your knees. “Put the pillow down.”

You blinked at him, and he raised an eyebrow in quiet command. “I want to see all of you.”

You threw the pillow.

His breath caught. And then he was moving.

Spencer kissed you like a man possessed—nothing careful about it. No hesitation, no gentle build. Just heat and hunger and the wild ache of missing you pressed into every inch of your mouth. His lips were rough against yours, breath warm and heavy as he claimed you all over again with just his mouth.

Then his hands—those beautiful, skilled, big hands—came up to your shoulders, steady and sure. He broke the kiss only to guide you gently, reverently, down onto your back, your hair fanning out over the pillows as he followed your descent until your spine hit the mattress with a soft sigh.

You reached for him again the second he pulled away, lips parted in protest, already pouting. “Spence—”

But he was already rising, standing tall again at the foot of the bed with that look on his face. The one he got when he was running through a theory in his head, all focused intensity and faint amusement, the corners of his mouth twitching like he knew something you didn’t yet.

You watched in confusion as he bent down, plucking the discarded towel off the floor. “What are you doing, baby?” you asked, blinking up at him, breath still uneven.

He straightened and looked at you with the kind of soft determination that made your chest squeeze. “You’re going to lift your hips,” he said matter-of-factly, walking back toward the bed, towel in hand, “and I’m going to put my towel under you.”

Your brows furrowed, heat crawling up your neck. “Wh–what? Why?” you asked, your voice going small. “Am I… too messy?”

You sounded shy. Embarrassed, even.

Spencer just chuckled, low and warm and affectionate as he knelt one knee onto the bed and leaned forward, brushing his nose gently against yours. “No, darling,” he whispered, lips grazing yours in a kiss so soft it almost broke you. “But you will be.”

And then he smiled—sweet and so smug—like he’d already made you come twice in his head and was just now getting started.

Your breath hitched. Your thighs pressed together. And your hips lifted.

As soon as the towel was nestled beneath you, Spencer’s hands smoothed over your hips with a kind of care that contrasted sharply with the fire simmering just beneath his skin. He settled between your legs with a reverence that made your heart ache, eyes dark and steady as they trailed down your body like he was studying a sacred text.

And then he began to kiss.

Soft, open-mouthed kisses against your thighs, the crease where your hip met your stomach, the delicate line of your navel. Each one slower than the last, parting your skin with warm breath and tongue, worshipful in a way that made your breath catch in your chest.

He was so focused, not distracted, not looking for affirmation. Just there, completely absorbed in the act of being close to you. Of learning you. Of claiming this new part of you for himself.

But still… your heart fluttered with nerves. A pang of insecurity twisted in your chest.

“Baby…” you murmured, voice shaky, half-laced with awe and half with hesitation. Your fingers brushed through his curls, trying to tether him, your voice barely a whisper. “You don’t have to.”

He stilled at the bottom of your stomach, lips warm against your skin, hands gently cradling your hips like they were the most precious thing he’d ever held.

His eyes lifted slowly to meet yours, his expression unreadable for a moment—serious, but not cold. Just concentrated.

“I know I don’t have to,” he said softly, voice like velvet, slightly hoarse. “But I want to.”

You swallowed, lips parted.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss just above your hipbone, the gentlest kind of reassurance.

“I want to learn every part of you,” he whispered. “Not just the ones we’ve already explored. I want to know what makes you breathe harder. What makes you loud. What makes you fall apart.”

You whimpered then—just from the words.

Spencer’s lips twitched, eyes full of quiet, contained hunger.

“I’ve thought about this,” he continued, breath ghosting lower, hands still firm on your thighs. “About you. About how you’d taste. About how you’d sound when I finally got to make you feel good like this.”

You exhaled sharply, eyes fluttering closed.

“And if you’re nervous,” he said gently, “that’s okay. But I’m not. Not anymore.”

He pressed one more kiss just beneath your navel.

“Let me show you how much I want this,” he murmured. Then his mouth dipped lower. And you forgot how to ask him to stop.

His mouth dipped lower—slow, deliberate, reverent—and your breath caught in your throat so fast it almost hurt. You were trembling, just slightly, with the anticipation of it, your fingers still tangled in his curls, not pulling him closer, not pushing him away, just holding on like you weren’t sure what would happen when he finally reached you.

Spencer’s hands stroked slowly along the outside of your thighs, thumbs brushing upward in long, soothing arcs, grounding you. You could feel the way he wanted this—his touch wasn’t frantic, wasn’t hurried. It was intentional. Every movement, every breath, every kiss, like a declaration.

And then—finally—his mouth reached where you needed it.

He started with a soft, exploratory kiss, his lips pressing gently against the most sensitive part of you, and you gasped, hips jerking slightly. His hands tightened around your thighs, just enough to steady you, but not to restrain you.

Your voice was barely a whisper. “Spence…”

He hummed, low and content against your clit, and the vibration of it traveled through you.

He looked up once, just briefly, to check on you—and what he saw made his breath hitch. Your head thrown back, lips parted, chest rising and falling with shaky, shallow breaths. You were a vision. All flushed skin and trembling limbs, and you were his.

His hands slid further under your thighs as he settled in, fully committing now, and when his tongue flicked out to taste you—slow and precise—you whimpered, thighs twitching against his palms.

Spencer groaned. Deep and low in his chest, like he hadn’t expected to enjoy this so much like you had just become his new obsession.

“That’s it,” he murmured against you, his voice half-praise, half-need. “You’re already doing so good for me.”

And then he really got to work—slow, languid licks followed by teasing little swirls of his tongue, like he was trying to memorize what every reaction meant. Every little gasp. Every roll of your hips. Every shaky moan.

It wasn’t perfect—it was messy and unpracticed and full of a kind of eagerness that was unmistakably Spencer. But it was so good. Because it was him. Because he was paying attention. Because he wanted to give you everything.

Your fingers tightened in his curls as you let out a breathless, broken moan, back arching into the pillow, into the towel, into him.

“Spencer—Spence, oh my God—”

He moaned softly in response, like your pleasure was feeding something primal in him, and he redoubled his efforts, his tongue moving with more confidence now, more pressure, more purpose.

He treated this like an experiment like you were his thesis and your pleasure, the final data set he had been born to analyze.

If anyone asked him—if you asked him—he’d turn beet red and stammer something about just following instinct, maybe quote some outdated medical journal on female arousal, but the truth? The truth was that Spencer Reid had done his homework.

He’d read. He’d watched. He’d studied. Not just academically, but with purpose, with the quiet kind of obsession he reserved for the things he wanted to master. And right now, that thing was you.

You were already breathless beneath him, trembling from the waves of pleasure he’d pulled from you so far. But Spencer had that look in his eyes again—the one he got when he was chasing a theory, testing hypotheses in real-time. He’d seen what you responded to. He was collecting the data, building toward a conclusion.

So when he adjusted his grip on your thighs, anchoring them gently but firmly over his shoulders, and leaned in again, you thought you were ready.

You weren’t.

His mouth closed over your clit—not gently. Not shy. And then—he shook his head.

Your cry was sharp, ragged, pulled straight from your chest without filter or form. Your back arched off the bed, every muscle in your body drawn taut like a bowstring as pleasure burst through you, electric and dizzying.

“Oh my— Spencer!” you gasped, voice cracking as your thighs instinctively tried to close, but his arms were already bracing them open, holding you there, grounding you with a strength you hadn’t expected from someone who spent most of his time holding books, not bodies.

Spencer paused for the briefest second, blinking up at you in stunned, awe-struck wonder. You were writhing. Crying out. Your back was arched so high he genuinely worried for a split second you might hurt yourself—if not for the desperate way your hands clawed at the sheets and your breath came in gasping, incoherent strings of his name.

And then you said it—voice cracked and reverent and broken around the edges— “Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—”

Spencer didn’t stop. He doubled down.

His mouth sealed over you again, this time with even more purpose, sucking and shaking, varying pressure like he was experimenting, chasing the formula for your complete and utter unraveling. And God, he was close.

You were incoherent. Wrecked. A shaking, crying mess of nerves and sensation, repeating his name like a litany, fingers in his hair, in the sheets, in the air, searching for something to hold on to while your body tried to come apart under the weight of it.

He moaned into you—actually moaned—because he hadn’t known it could feel like this. Your pleasure was addictive, intoxicating, and he never wanted to stop chasing it.

When you came, it wasn’t a gentle fall. It was a collapse like your body couldn’t hold itself together any longer. Your voice was gone, your thighs shaking, and all you could do was ride it out.

But Spencer hadn’t stopped.

You were still trembling—breathless and glassy-eyed, your limbs splayed out like you’d just been unraveled and your soul hadn’t quite returned to your body yet—but Spencer? Spencer was locked in. Focused. Eager. Insatiable.

His mouth remained sealed to you, tongue still lapping in slow, methodical strokes like you were his favorite dessert, and he wasn’t done savoring every last drop. And maybe he hadn’t realized.

No, you realized, he definitely hadn’t realized.

He hadn’t realized you’d just had a full-body clitoral orgasm. That you were already spent, flushed, and shaking from the inside out. Because to Spencer, this wasn’t the end. This was still data collection. Ongoing results. Field research.

Your hips gave a weak jerk beneath him, overstimulated but helplessly pliant. You tried to lift your head, tried to warn him with a broken, “Spence—baby—I—I already—”

But your voice dissolved into a moan as he gave another slow, deliberate drag of his tongue over your still-pulsing center. Your body flinched, caught in the strange limbo of pleasure and overwhelm, but Spencer didn’t pause—he moaned, and the sound vibrated through you, making you shudder again.

And then you saw it.

You felt it.

The slight shift of the mattress. The tension in his thighs. His hips grinding down into the bed. Not frantic—rhythmic. Slow. Purposeful.

Your dazed eyes dropped to where his body pressed into the sheets—Spencer was grinding into the mattress, his cock rigid and leaking, caught between his stomach and the bed as he rutted against it with the kind of desperate need he probably didn’t even realize he was showing. All while still licking you with the same kind of focused obsession he brought to his most complex theories.

The sight nearly took your breath away.

He was lost in it—eyes half-closed, one hand gripping your thigh tightly, the other splayed possessively over your stomach, holding you down, holding you here as he licked and licked like you were everything he’d ever wanted.

And maybe you were.

“Oh—Spencer,” you gasped, voice caught somewhere between awe and overstimulation, your fingers sinking into his damp curls again. “Baby, you’re gonna kill me—”

He finally pulled back—barely—his mouth glistening, lips swollen, breath ragged as he looked up at you with dazed, reverent eyes. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, and his voice was hoarse, hungry when he spoke.

“You taste—so good,” he whispered like it was a revelation. “I can’t stop.”

You whimpered, your back arching again just at the sound of his voice.

And still, you could feel the soft thrusts of his hips into the mattress, like he couldn’t help himself. Like just being here, having you like this, tasting you, was enough to drive him to the brink.

And it hit you clear as day—this wasn’t for your pleasure only.

Spencer Reid was getting off on this. On you. On making you fall apart again and again. On turning every theory into practice.

And God help you—you were ready to let him keep going.

Spencer ate like a man starved. Not of food, but of you—the taste of you, the sound of you, the way your body responded to his every touch like it was made to be deciphered by him and him alone.

He experimented—slow flicks, gentle suckling, broad strokes of his tongue that made your thighs twitch and your toes curl. He noted every whimper, every little gasp, every sudden grab at the sheets with the quiet, terrifying brilliance of someone who didn’t just want to please you—he wanted to master you. Completely.

And then, when you were already trembling and slick with sweat, eyes half-lidded and barely able to breathe, he brought his fingers into the mix.

Two long, elegant fingers—ones that had flipped through a thousand pages and solved puzzles most couldn’t dream of—slid up and pressed directly against your clit, rubbing furiously, while his tongue pushed inside you with an intensity that made your thighs snap closed around his head like a vice.

The world fractured.

You cried out—screamed, really—as your hips bucked wildly, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. You weren’t just coming. You were thrashing, your entire body consumed by the overload, trembling violently as Spencer held you down and kept going.

He didn’t stop. Not when your thighs clenched. Not when your fingers yanked at his hair. Not even when your voice cracked trying to call his name through the chaos.

He moaned against you, drunk on your body, on the mess he was making, the slickness he was drinking down like nectar. His eyes rolled back as he kept thrusting his tongue into you, fingers rubbing your clit with that same maddening rhythm, chasing something deeper, more.

“Spence—!” you choked, the sound mangled by a sob, too far gone to form words, too sensitive to take anymore.

It wasn’t even about pleasure anymore—it was just too much.

You reached for him with shaking hands, every part of you trembling, legs twitching uncontrollably. “Baby— Spencer, I can’t—please, please—”

And even then, he didn’t stop until you grabbed fistfuls of his hair and physically pushed him away, your voice wrecked and teary as you cried out, “I need—I need a second—!”

Spencer pulled back immediately, breathless and wide-eyed, mouth glistening, curls messy and damp where your thighs had pressed against his head. His hands released you like he was afraid he’d gone too far.

You were panting, chest heaving, body covered in sweat and shivering from head to toe, the towel underneath you wrinkled and soaked.

He opened his mouth to speak—an apology, maybe—but your hand caught his cheek.

Your eyes met his, hazy but full of emotion. “That was incredible,” you whispered, voice hoarse and shaky. “But holy shit, Spencer.”

He blinked. “Did I—? Was that—?”

You gave a dazed, giddy laugh. “I had to push you off. That’s how good it was.”

He flushed instantly, eyes wide, pride, concern, and lust tangling across his face.

“Let me just—let me breathe for a second,” you added, still gasping as you pulled him down into your arms, your body too weak to do anything else but hold on.

Spencer melted into you without question, lips pressing to your cheek, jaw, and forehead. “Okay,” he murmured softly, voice wrecked but sweet. “Okay. I’ve got you.”

And he did. Every piece. And he wasn’t letting go.

You were blinking up at the ceiling, dazed and glowing.

And maybe later, Spencer would blush. Maybe he’d be shy, overthink it, and pretend he wasn’t proud of himself.

But right now?

Right now, Spencer Reid looked at you like he’d just discovered fire.

Spencer had his head nestled against your shoulder, still catching his breath from how completely he’d just wrecked you. His curls were wild, lips swollen, cheeks pink, but his hands had returned to their default setting: gentle, steady, anchored somewhere on your body like a reassurance that you were still here, still his.

Still real.

But even as he held you, your chest rising and falling in the aftermath, he lifted his head slightly to check in—eyes soft but searching.

“You okay?” he asked, voice hoarse, lower than usual, like the sheer intimacy of what had just happened had rewired something in him. “Still with me?”

You turned your head just enough to fix him with a tired, narrow-eyed glare, your voice still raspy but laced with teasing fire. “You’re not that good.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up immediately, a smug little smile blooming across his face as he shifted onto an elbow to look down at you. “I think I am,” he replied, way too pleased with himself, voice silky and satisfied.

You blinked slowly up at him. “Oh, do you?”

He nodded, eyes half-lidded, hair clinging to his forehead, looking every bit the genius who had just figured out a new way to make you lose your mind.

So you did the only thing you could do to wipe that smirk off his face.

Your hand slid down between your bodies, warm and sure, and wrapped around him—soft at first, fingers barely ghosting over his cock, which was flushed and heavy and leaking at the tip, still twitching slightly from the way he’d been grinding against the mattress earlier. Spencer let out a soft gasp, hips jerking almost reflexively.

But you weren’t done.

You pinched lightly at the tip, just enough to make him jolt with a strangled sound in the back of his throat, the kind that shot straight through you.

“Oh my—” he hissed, breath catching completely.

You began stroking him slowly, deliberately, the barest pressure over his most sensitive skin. You watched with a lazy sort of satisfaction as his eyelids fluttered and that smug expression crumbled, replaced by slack-jawed awe.

“Still feeling smug, baby?” you asked sweetly, your thumb dragging through the moisture at his tip.

Spencer whimpered.

Actually whimpered.

His mouth opened but no words came out, just a shaky breath as his hips bucked into your hand and his fingers gripped the sheets beside your head.

You smiled.

“Didn’t think so.”

You moved slowly down the bed then, with sultry purpose, eyes fixed on his like you knew exactly what kind of power you had—like you’d reclaimed every ounce of strength he’d taken from you moments ago, and now, you were going to use it to ruin him in return.

You trailed your hands up his thighs, soft and deliberate, and he was already shaking beneath your touch, eyes wide, lips parted, chest heaving. Still flushed, still glistening slightly from his feverish grinding into the mattress, he looked like a man who had no business looking so undone.

And then you leaned forward—so close he could feel your breath against the head of his cock, tongue slipping out to just barely trace a circle around his leaking tip.

Spencer gasped, his hips twitching, one hand flying into your hair as the other gripped the edge of the bed for dear life.

“Oh my God,” he breathed, voice ragged. “You—oh, fuck—”

You didn’t answer. You just kept eye contact as you moved in slow, delicate laps, tasting the salt of him, flicking the very tip with the flat of your tongue until he was cursing under his breath and moaning freely—no longer quiet, no longer composed.

He’d come into this night feeling unsure, wondering if he was enough. But now? Now he was helpless. Vulnerable in the best way. Because you weren’t just giving—you were showing. Showing him what he did to you. Showing him how much you loved him. How much you wanted him.

You wrapped your lips gently around the head, sucking—soft at first, light pressure that had his whole body jolting. “Ohh— god, I—please—” he groaned as his fingers tightened in your hair, not guiding, just holding on.

And then, without warning, your mouth dropped lower.

Your tongue slid beneath him, your lips parting wider, and suddenly his balls were enveloped in the wet heat of your mouth.

Spencer cried out, his head thrown back with a choked sound that was more pure sensation than speech, thighs trembling under your palms.

“Nn—fuck, you’re gonna—” He couldn’t even warn you properly. He couldn’t think.

It was overwhelming. Too good. Too new. Too much.

You hummed softly against him—just enough vibration to push him that last little bit over the edge—and that was it.

Spencer broke.

He came with a cry, long and raw and completely unrestrained, his fingers twitching in your hair, hips stuttering as his whole body shook with the force of it.

You felt him pulse in your hand, warm and heavy and completely at your mercy, and still, you didn’t look away.

When he finally slumped back onto the bed, breathing like he’d just sprinted through a storm, his hand falling from your hair like his bones had melted, you leaned forward and kissed the inside of his thigh before slowly climbing back up beside him.

His eyes fluttered open, glassy and wide.

“Wha—what just—what was that?” he whispered, voice hoarse and trembling.

You smiled, smug and sweet, curling up beside him and running your fingers through his hair.

“Field research,” you murmured.

Spencer let out a breathless, wrecked laugh and buried his face in your neck.

He wasn’t going to let you go anywhere.

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goldenroutledge · 3 months ago

Text

i wish you roses

pairing: lewis hamilton x fem!reader

word count: 8.0k

warning(s): angst !!

summary: inspired by ‘i wish you roses’ - kali uchis. in which no one can have it all, not even lewis hamilton. sometimes the best way to love, is to let go.

a/n: my first time writing for lewis! i just had to take a break from the blurbs to write this, and honestly i love how it turned out 🥹 enjoy!

masterlist

“Now we have one more question, Lewis…” The interviewer teases with a grin, “You and your girlfriend Y/n Y/l/n have been the most talked about couple inside the paddock ever since you debuted your relationship. If you’re comfortable answering, what does your future look like together?”

“If I had a crystal ball, I would tell you.” Lewis jests, deflecting as he always does best. The personal questions have never been his favorite.

“Of course you’ve been very protective of your personal life, and rightfully so, but the people wanna know! Do you see yourselves getting married? Possibly raising a future World Champion or two?”

Lewis chuckles, wondering how he’ll successfully play this off. “Like I said, I can’t predict the future. What I can tell you is that I’m absolutely committed to Scuderia Ferrari and what we plan to achieve together. That’s the only “marriage” I’m focused on.” The interviewer thanks Lewis, leaving him to carry on with the rest of his day of his media day.

But not even hours pass before the interview is published, making headlines on every platform possible, with each one more gossipy than the last. It wasn’t until your best friend sent you an ‘Everything okay?’ text that you started to panic.

Your first instinct was to check Google first, knowing the press has more access to your life than you’re comfortable with. One of the many tradeoffs you’d come to accept with dating Lewis. There was always something to talk about, you have to brace yourself for anything.

‘Still He Rises… Alone? SHOCKING Revelation on Hamilton’s Next Chapter’

‘What’s that Sound? Not Wedding Bells, says Lewis Hamilton’

‘All that Glitters isn’t Gold: Trouble in Paradise for F1’s Golden Couple’

‘Not so Fast: F1 Bachelor Lewis Hamilton ENDS Marriage Rumors with Longtime Girlfriend Y/n Y/l/n’

Your eyes couldn’t stop scanning over the headlines that lit up your screen, as if reading them again and again would somehow change the words or make them disappear altogether. It wasn’t heartbreak that struck you, it was anger. Usually it wouldn’t have been your first resort. You’d learned to take everything in the media with a grain of salt, especially when it pertains to Lewis. You always gave him the benefit of the doubt, always believed him above everyone else.

This time, as you listen to Lewis give the answer on video, something shifts. Sure the headlines are dramatic, carefully crafted to get clicks, but there’s not much to be misconstrued when he very clearly answers the question. The only ‘marriage’ he’s focused on is his partnership with Ferrari. Hell, you almost wished he’d said nothing at all. Before you can react any further, his keys are jingling in the door as he unlocks it.

“Honey, I’m home!” His footsteps sound through the hallway, and you remain silent in your place on the sofa, pouring yourself a glass of wine. “Y/n?”

“Hi, Lewis.”

His brows furrow at the cold tone that sharpens your response, combined with the way you barely acknowledge him as he takes his coat off. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s great. How was your day?”

“Long. Sorry we couldn’t meet for lunch today. With joining this team there’s always someone new to meet, you know how it goes.”

“Sounds busy.”

“It was, but in the best way.”

“Right.” You chide sarcastically. “You couldn’t have lunch with me today because you were a little busy telling the world that you have no intentions of marrying me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Please Lewis, don’t play clueless with me tonight, I watched the interview. It’s only been covered by every major celebrity news publication today.”

He rolls his eyes, knowing exactly the moment you’re referring to. Honestly, he expected for you to praise how well he shut down the conversation, knowing how sacred privacy is to you. “Come on, sweetheart. You know you can’t take that stuff seriously.”

“They may be making a mockery out of it but you were quoted, Lewis. I heard it, I read it, I saw it… there’s no way you can downplay this right now.”

Lewis moves to your spot on the couch, sitting down beside you and placing a hand on your thigh. “We’ve always agreed to keep our life away from the vultures, haven’t we? I didn’t think it would be fair to share something with the world that we’ve barely discussed ourselves.”

“That’s only because you never let us talk about it, Lewis. You act like the ‘future’ is something so distant and far away that you don’t even have to think about it yet. Every time you get a question like that, you give the same bullshit answer. Everyone thinks you’re not serious about our future together and honestly, I’m starting to believe it.”

His eyes widen as he registers that you have, in fact, had enough of his non-answers. “Honey, you can’t possibly believe that. They have no idea what our life is like, they’re taking crumbs to make it seem like we’re having problems!”

“And those are crumbs that you fed them!” You remind him, not wavering under any circumstances. Not under his gaze that usually takes your breath away, not under his touch that usually leaves you warm and tingly inside. He can’t keep getting away with this. “I mean, what am I supposed to think when I hear you say something like that?”

“I didn’t mean for it to sound like that! I wanted to keep the conversation focused on my career and the team.”

“Yet at the mention of making me your wife, you answered the question like they asked you what you ate for dinner last night! You were indifferent, Lewis. There was no sparkle in your eyes, no small smile that you try to keep to yourself. I know you well enough to know by now when there isn’t anything there.”

His head hangs low and he tries to take in what you’re saying. “I’m sorry honey, hurting you is the last thing I’d want to do. You know that right?”

“I do.” You nod, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. Deep down, you want so badly to believe him with all of your heart. “But I need you to tell me that they’re lying. I need you– no, I need us– to prove them wrong. We’ve come this far, Lewis. I can’t stand the thought of it being for nothing.” Your eyes lock with his, and it’s comforting to notice that you both share the same look of sincerity, the same commitment to never turn your back on the other.

He cups your face in his hands and presses a kiss to your forehead, then engulfs you in his arms as he whispers gentle words. “It’s not for nothing, it could never be. I promise, Y/n. I’ll prove them wrong. We’ll prove them wrong.”

His promise sticks with you. Silently, you hope and pray that he’s trying to convince you instead of himself.

–

The nightstand looks much prettier the next morning, decorated with your favorite red roses standing on top of it. Somewhat of a tradition between you and Lewis, as he would buy them sometimes to make up and sometimes ‘just because’. They were always nice to wake up to, especially when your bed would be empty come sunrise.

A note rests underneath the bouquet.

My love,

I’m sorry about last night, I wish we could have woken up together this morning.

Figured I’d let you sleep. Text me when you get this, we’ll make up that lunch from yesterday.

I love you.

Lewis

–

The pitter-patter of raindrops falling outside the cafe window are distracting. Almost enough to keep you silent all through lunch, unable to stop your mind from wandering. Lewis sits opposite you, occasionally brushing his thumb across your knuckles as he holds your hand in his.

Sometimes the quiet moments are the best. You can simply bask in each other’s presence without a word being said between you. It’s unfortunate to realize these moments must always come to an end, even by your own doing.

“Can I ask you a question, Lewis?”

“Anything.”

“When we first started dating… What did you envision for us?”

“This.” Lewis meets your eyes, smiling peacefully. You can’t help but give him a smile back.

“Do you still dream about it?”

Lewis furrows his eyebrows, confused as to where this is coming from, but lingering questions from the previous night haven’t stopped playing in your head. “Honey, of course I do. There’s nobody else I’d rather be on this journey with.”

You nod, still somewhat unconvinced, even though you try to tell yourself differently. Lately, that hasn’t been enough. The pit in your stomach only seems to be growing.

When you don’t respond, Lewis continues. “If I remember correctly, when we first met, you dreamed of becoming a florist and opening your own shop. Do you still dream about that?”

Your eyes snap back to his at the mention of something you’d told him years ago. You’re a little surprised he still remembers, after all this time. “Of course I do. Maybe my dreams changed a little bit when I fell in love with you, though.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. I guess you have dreams big enough for the both of us. Doesn’t leave much room for mine.”

Lewis frowns. “How long have you been feeling like that?”

“How long have we been together?” You answer rhetorically with a chuckle, but Lewis doesn’t laugh with you. “It’s not your fault, by any means. I choose to be with you and I embrace everything that comes with loving you. But it’s the truth.”

“I didn’t know you felt that way. I always figured we would explore that after I retired, when our life is a little more stable.”

You sigh at his admission, calling his bluff before you can stop yourself. “You’ll never be retired, Lewis.”

He gives you a puzzled look. “As much as I love Formula 1, I won’t be racing forever.”

“Sure, maybe you’ll retire from racing. But you’ll fill your calendar with a million other things. Film projects, fashion partnerships, Almave, jumping out of planes in between… There will always be something else.”

He smiles softly in reflection and it makes your stomach turn. Whether he acknowledges it or not, Lewis knows you’re telling the truth. “Maybe. But there’s always room for you in that plan, and for your plans too. It’s not just you and me, it’s our life together. We’ll make room for it all, won’t we?”

You chuckle at his relentlessness. “You’ve got to be the most insatiable man in the world, Lewis. You’re never satisfied. And for some strange reason, I love that about you. I can’t help it.”

Lewis grins, leaning over to kiss you across the table. “Good. Promise you’ll never stop?”

“I promise.” Your forehead rests against his for a moment, needing to hear him vow the same to you. “Will you do the same for me?”

“Always.”

–

“So love, I’ve been thinking…” Lewis starts, getting dressed for the day on one side of the closet while you get ready on the other. “We should walk the carpet together at the MET this year.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. I am a co-chair after all, so it’ll be extra special. What do you say?”

“Sure, but isn’t it a little early to be thinking about that? The first Monday in May is still months away, honey.”

“It is.” Lewis agrees, making his way over to you as he wraps his arms around your frame from behind, locking eyes with you in the mirror. “But it would mean a lot to me if it was us up there together.” He presses a kiss to the back of your neck to emphasize his point, before he helps you clasp your necklace together.

“Well, forgive me for being the slightest bit surprised. A lot of people will be talking about it, you know.”

“Exactly. And we’ll be there to show them a united front.”

You freeze in his hold, connecting the dots out of pure skepticism. His choice of words doesn’t exactly help your worries. “United front?”

“Yeah, we’ll show the world that our relationship is not ‘on the rocks’ or whatever those bullshit articles were saying.”

You take a step away from him, turning around so you are standing face to face. “Is that why you’re asking me? To squash the media’s narrative about the strength of our relationship?”

“Y/n.” Lewis sighs. “I don’t want to do this again. I just want us to live our lives, everyone else can go fuck themselves as far as I’m concerned.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Are you asking me to go with you for appearances; Yes or no?” He pauses, attempting to say something, anything to put your mind at ease, but the words fail to come out. “Don’t lie to me, Lewis.”

“It’s not the only reason!” He defends. “Maybe I want to stick it to the media because they have no idea what they’re talking about. They shouldn’t get to make these stupid claims about my life while I just take it on the chin! I’ve had enough of that.”

“And I agree, but you can’t just use me as a pawn to make a point or whatever you’re trying to do! I’m not your accessory, I’m supposed to be your partner.”

“And you are my partner in this, forever. I just want everyone to be reminded of that.” Lewis explains, placing his hands on your hips to keep you from retreating away.

“So do I. But you’re so caught up in blaming other people that you can’t even acknowledge that these rumors only started because you fed them the story!”

Lewis retracts his hands, growing defensive. “Oh, so this is my fault? Well, excuse me for trying to fix it!” Your movements are quick as you lace your sneakers and throw on a jacket, leaving the bedroom with haste. “Where are you going?” Lewis questions, defeated.

“For a walk. Don’t follow me.” And with that, you were out the door before he has a chance to protest.

–

The London weather is typical, cloudy skies with the fresh smell of rain filling the atmosphere. It couldn’t better reflect the way you’re feeling about your relationship with Lewis, the uncertainty consuming your thoughts more often than not lately. It’s the first time in your life that you’ve wondered if you and Lewis would make it or not. It’s the first time you’ve wondered what life without him would look like. It’s scary, but not impossible.

Autopilot has consumed you for so long, that taking control of your life attracts you now more than ever. The beautiful greenery in Hyde Park reminds you of it. If only the rose garden were in full bloom. Still, it’s amazing to see how some of the bushes have survived through the first frost. It’s oddly inspiring to look at what appears to be so delicate, remain standing through rough conditions. You can’t help but imagine if things would be the same for you, too. Maybe there’s a reason why this has always been your favorite trail to walk.

About 40 minutes pass before he finds you, having left the house 10 minutes after you did. He even stopped to get a bouquet of roses on the way, knowing they always find a way to cheer you up. Lewis figures you need some time to clear your head, and he understands that feeling better than anyone. He’s more than happy to give that to you, but needs to know you’re safe above anything else.

You’re standing in front of an empty building when he spots you. It’s old and rustic, but not quite to the point of collecting dust. It has charm, you can tell just by looking at it. Even though there’s nothing here anymore but a ‘For Sale’ sign hanging in the window, a phone number listed below it, you can’t stop gazing through the glass.

“Honey?”

The familiar sound of Lewis’ voice startles you, breaking your trance. “What are you doing here?” You’re surprised more than anything, but you really shouldn’t be. It would be unlike Lewis to leave you alone for too long after an argument.

“I come bearing roses.” He laments, handing you the bouquet, albeit smaller than what he usually gets. Those ones are large enough to fill a room, but he can only carry so many at once.

“And I also come bearing an apology. We’ve been having the same fight lately and I’ve been so frustrated in trying to stop it. The only opinion in this world I care about is yours, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did in the interview. Me not wanting to marry you? That couldn’t be further from the truth. Everyday I wake up the luckiest man on Earth because I’m laying beside you.”

“They’re lovely, Lewis. Thank you.” You smell the roses, instinctively feeling that familiar calm take over as you do. “The apology isn’t so bad either.”

He chuckles, letting himself relax. By the looks of it, the fresh air and a little space did you both some good. “This has been a struggle for me, too. I should be talking to you about these things instead of trying to control them on my own. I just want to protect you from everything I can.”

“I know. You always try your best to do that.” You offer, hoping to assuage some of the guilt he’s feeling.

“It’s just… My life has been Formula 1 for so long that I guess I never imagined a time where Lewis Hamilton spends his day at the office and comes home to the wife. I’m not wired that way.”

“I know you’re not. I’ve always known that, it would be unfair of me to try and change you now. Not that I would want to, anyway.”

Lewis’ heart warms at your understanding nature. It’s both exciting and scary how well you know him, and love him through all of it. “What’s unfair of me, is to pretend that what you’ve imagined for us isn’t important, or that it doesn’t exist at all. I’ve been narrow minded and I’m sorry about that.”

His apology fills you with the hope that you’ve been needing, in order to move past this once and for all. “You’ve always been stubborn, I’ve gotten used to it.”

Lewis smiles. “You love all of the things I wish I could change about myself. I can’t thank you enough for that.”

“You don’t have to. Kiss me, instead?”

Lewis grants your wish and places his lips on yours. You’re careful not to drop the beautiful bouquet of flowers into the puddle on the ground below you. Your free hand cups the side of his face and you smile against his lips, finally feeling some peace as you open yourselves up to each other. It’s been a long time coming.

When you pull back, he holds your body close to his, wishing to never let go. It’s something he should do more often. “So, what brought you over here?”

“Oh, I was just walking through the park when I noticed this building, I couldn’t help but stop and stare. It’s cute, right?”

“Very.” He agrees, picking up the way you glance between your roses and the empty building space. “You see yourself here, don’t you?”

“A little bit.” You admit reluctantly, never letting your hopes get too high. Not yet, anyway. “But it would never happen.”

“How can you be so sure?”

You give him a confused look, remembering that he knows exactly the reason why it won’t happen. “Me, starting a business right now? It’s a little far-fetched, isn’t it?”

Lewis’ expression is one of indecision. “Maybe you wouldn’t open tomorrow, but I’d say it’s worth looking into.”

“Of course you would say that, you’ve had the entrepreneur title for a while now.�� You tease lightheartedly, and he laughs.

“I’m not saying for me, silly. It’s your dream and I want to support you, no matter how long it takes.”

“If I decided to pursue it now, I don’t know what that would mean for us.”

Lewis sighs, taking your free hand in his. “Me neither.”

You might use that to distract from the truth, but it goes without saying that you both know exactly what it means. The goodbye would be tough; it’s not one either of you are ready to say yet. Neither of you can even acknowledge that it would take saying goodbye for your dream to step out of your imagination to come to fruition. For now, denial feels like the better of the two options.

“We should get home, I want to take care of these roses, not all of them can stand the cold.”

“They’re strong enough, I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

You nod along, remembering your thoughts from earlier. These roses are a lot stronger than one might think, their fragile appearance would throw anyone off. “You’re right, I’m sure they will be, too.”

Lewis offers his arm so yours can link with his. If all it took was this walk to be able to talk with him openly again, you would’ve gone on it weeks ago.

Maybe your newfound serenity can be attributed to reconciling with Lewis, or the phone number for the building space that’s folded up in your back pocket.

–

“Hyde Park Realty Group, this is Sandra.”

“Hi, Sandra, this is Y/n Y/l/n. I’m calling about a property I came across the other day, a commercial space.” You inform her, listing off the address.

“Oh, Y/n! You’re in luck because it just went on the market this week! It’s in great condition despite what the pictures may show.” Sandra advises cheerfully, until her tone drops ever so slightly. “It’s so nice that we’ve actually received an inquiry already.”

“Oh wow, I guess I’m not really surprised. It’s a great little place. Did I mention that I’d be willing to pay above the asking price?”

“I will be sure to keep that in mind! Anything for my favorite client.”

You laugh at her enthusiasm on the other end of the line. “Well, since you mention that… Is there any way you can give me a name? Find out who’s interested in the place?”

“The listing agent happens to be a friend of mine, so I’m sure I can figure it out. Can I give you a call back when I do?”

“Absolutely, I’d appreciate that very much. Thank you, Sandra!”

“Always a pleasure.” She returns your pleasantries, ending the call immediately after.

–

Lewis sits in his office, unable to remain focused when he’s waiting for his phone to light up with a phone call. A few minutes turns into a half an hour, and it’s almost as if he’s manipulated the call into existence when his phone finally rings. He wastes no time in answering.

“So, I have good news and I have bad news.” Mark, his real estate agent, starts over the phone.

“What’s the bad news?” Lewis queries.

Mark pauses. “Someone has their eye on the property near Hyde Park, so we might be looking at a bidding war.”

“And the good news?”

“The good news is there’s no need for a bidding war, because the person interested happens to be your girlfriend, Y/n.”

Lewis' eyes widen and he can feel his heart beating out of his chest in anticipation. “What?! How is that supposed to be good news?”

“It’s simple, one of you buys the building and the other sleeps on the couch.” Mark jests.

“Yeah, very funny. The whole point of this is that it’s supposed to be a surprise. I don’t want her to know I’m buying the property. She doesn’t know that I’m putting an offer on it right?”

Mark hesitates on the other end. “Her realtor and I owed each other a favor… So I can’t promise that Sandra won’t let the cat out of the bag.”

“Isn’t there some kind of realtor-client confidentiality? What happened to that non-disclosure clause in the contract we signed?” Lewis admonishes, wanting to be furious when in reality, he’s a little thankful to get the heads up on this.

“Look, this information is just as useful to you as it would be to her. We’ll make a cash offer and I’m sure the seller will accept instantly. Just make sure Y/n doesn’t get to them first. You’re a fast man, aren’t you? I’m sure you can make that happen.”

Lewis sighs. “I can try. Thanks for the call.”

“No problem, I’ll take care of everything.” Mark assures, hanging up the phone.

Lewis lets his head fall into his hands. This certainly isn’t how he planned for things to go. The more you kept quiet, the more he did too, desperate to maintain control of the situation before it’s too late. He wants nothing more than to give you this gift, convinced that this is the one thing he can do to make it up to you after everything.

Lewis’ mind wanders, as it often does when he has a rare moment alone. He wonders why, after you two made up in Hyde Park, would you be inquiring about the building so soon? Were you planning to lease it until you both can spend more time in London? Surely you can’t start a business and still travel with him to races.

On the other hand, if there’s anyone that can do it, it’s you. But he knows you, and he knows that you don’t do anything halfass. Especially not something like this.

Maybe that’s partly why he’s still drawn to you so intensely after so long. You’re two peas in a pod in that regard; burning with an unyielding desire to tune out the world while you pursue your dreams.

An uneasy feeling settles inside of him, knowing that you’re getting restless. Lewis doesn’t know if you’d ever be sick of travelling with him, putting your dreams on hold while he continues chasing his. If the tables were turned, he knows how he would feel.

He doesn’t want to hold you back anymore, but it will be a cold day in hell before he sets you free. At the end of the day, he loves you. If Lewis can’t decide on his own, the velvet ring box in his desk drawer will do it for him.

–

Not even a day goes by before Lewis is asking you out to dinner again. A part of you wonders if he’s truly trying to make up for lost time, or if he knows that you’ll have one foot out the door if he doesn’t. Ever since Sandra called you back, this time with a name, you didn’t know what to make of Lewis’ behavior. All you did know was that you wouldn’t be playing any games with him. Not about this.

When you’d asked him what the occasion was, he played it off, giving you something sly like ‘Since when do I need an occasion to treat my girl?’. Corny, you’d admit. But there was something about it that made it feel like the beginning of your relationship again. Those butterflies came back out to play. You decided to make the most of it, hoping that this time, they’ll last.

“Wow, Lewis. This is a lot, even for you.” Your eyes scan the private balcony, decorated with red roses all around. The weather is chilly, but not cold enough to stop you from enjoying an evening under the stars, secluded from the world.

“It’s nothing for you. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to you or do for you, honey. Never forget that.” He charms, squeezing your waist gently.

You kiss him softly, hoping to relieve some of his nerves. Your thumb glides across his lips, wiping away a faint smudge of your red lipstick. “I know, and I love you very much for it. You have this way of making me feel like we’re the only two on Earth, and I could never get sick of it.”

“It does feel like that, doesn’t it?” Lewis muses, taking your hands in his as he smiles to himself. He bites his lip, feeling that he has so much more to say. “Somedays I wish that were true, we’d be spending a lot more time together.”

“Yeah but before me, you had a dream way bigger than us. And you’ve achieved that dream not only once, but seven– technically eight– and now almost nine times.” You beam with pride, knowing how much Lewis has dedicated himself to his career, and managed to rise up again after a tough few years.

Instead, Lewis gulps at your comment that your dreams individually might be bigger than the ones you have together. He wonders if that’s how you feel about your precious flower shop, too. It’s certainly not the best of moments for his mind to go there, not when this ring box is practically burning a hole through his pocket.

“Since I met you, I’d say this dream has grown on me quite a bit, too. Spending my life with you, having a family one day. Those have become my dreams too now.”

“And they’ve become mine.” You smile, squeezing his hands reassuringly. “Gosh, you don’t know how badly I’ve dreamed of that. But I understand why you’re hesitant to rush into it.”

“Yeah, about that.” Lewis wavers, clearing his throat to regain some steadiness to his voice. “What if I was done hesitating? I think I’ve done enough of that, haven’t I?”

You shake your head at his insinuation. “I’m not going to pressure you into marrying me, Lewis. That can only come from your heart.”

“It does come from my heart.” He reassures you. “I’ve been thinking about it for quite some time now, I just… I’ve been waiting for the right moment to come around. But you know what? I’ve waited long enough.” Lewis retracts one of his hands from yours, reaching into the pocket of his wool coat.

To you, it happens in slow motion. You can barely register what you’re seeing as he lowers down onto one knee, opening the small velvet box for you to see, a beautiful diamond ring cushioned inside.

“Y/n, my love, will you marry me?”

You freeze.

Through all the times you’ve pictured this moment, none of them were like this. You never imagined that your answer could be anything but a resounding yes being shouted from the rooftops. You definitely didn’t imagine this would happen after the series of arguments you’d been having lately.

You remember that building in Hyde Park, how Sandra told you that it was someone close to you who was interested in buying it. Lewis does happen to be the most calculated man you know, and always uses it to his advantage, in business and on track. Not even in your worst nightmares have you imagined that he would ever use it against you.

But looking into his eyes as they search yours for some kind of answer, you realize this isn’t a nightmare. This isn’t some fantasy that’s too good to be true. Being Lewis’ wife, having him as your husband… that’s been written in your dreams for some time now.

“If you’re not ready, I understand. I’ll wait, I’ll give you however much time you need to think-”

“Yes.” You breathe out, so quiet that he needs to hear it again to be sure.

“What?”

“Yes, Lewis. I’ll marry you.”

The man has never gotten on both feet so fast, as he literally sweeps you off of yours, holding your body close to his. Heat radiates off his body as he embraces you tightly, but maybe that has less to do with his designer coat and more to do with the nerves that have been consuming him since you arrived.

Lewis pulls back, but only to kiss you with every ounce of passion he carries around, and has carried around with him from the very day you met. He slides the diamond ring onto your finger and you both admire the way it shines under the stars.

“I’ll love you forever, Y/n.”

“I’ll love you forever too, Lewis Hamilton.”

–

“Just keep them closed!” Lewis pleads, carefully guiding you beside him as you walk through Hyde Park together.

Sandra had been unusually quiet lately, and in all honesty, your heart was beating out of your chest to get a glimpse of that building that’s grown on you so much. You see it all the time. In your daydreams, imagining yourself fixing it up, one day making your own arrangements and selling flowers.

“We’re here!” Lewis exclaims, telling you to open your eyes. Sure enough, standing in front of the address you’ve become quite acquainted with over the last few weeks.

“What are we doing here? What is the surprise?” You take a look around, heart throbbing as you notice the ‘For Sale’ sign has been removed from the window. One look at Lewis’ smirk, and your stomach drops. “No, Lewis. Tell me you didn’t.”

“Surprise, baby.” He kisses your cheek excitedly, handing you a shiny golden key to unlock the front door. “Go ahead, it’s yours.”

“I was gonna buy this place.”

“I know! And I talked to Sandra, and convinced her to keep it a secret so I could surprise you. Please don’t hold it against her, okay?”

“So if you knew I wanted to buy it, why didn’t you let me?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to let you blow your savings on this place just as we’re about to get married. It didn’t make sense to me.” Lewis explains, eyes scanning yours to figure out why you’re not leaping into his arms joyously, like he thought you would. “Come on, you’re not mad at me are you?”

“No, I’m not mad.” You reassure, a smile growing on your face as you examine the building all over again. Your building. “I really don’t know what to say, Lewis. I guess thank you would be the best place to start.”

“You deserve this. You deserve everything, and I intend on giving it to you.”

Lewis smiles against your lips as you kiss him, losing the words you wish to say. “I guess you’re right. Whether it was you or me to buy the space, it doesn’t really matter. I just thought it could’ve been a fun process, buying it on my own. I’ve never had something all to myself like this.”

“I don’t want you to worry, okay? It’s in your name anyway. Now, shall we go in?”

You take the hand he holds out for you. It’s reassuring to have Lewis as your partner in all of this; there’s no greater gift. There’s not a single house or building that could top that, not even a hundred red roses to wake up to in the morning.

–

‘Can’t wait to celebrate you tonight xx’

You re-read Lewis’ text from hours ago, to make sure it was still there. You’re not going crazy, right? He said he’d be here, at the opening party for your flower shop.

To say you were embarrassed would be an understatement. Everything had been going so well. Remodeling and decorating the place to fit your taste, something that your customers would love too. Lewis was always sure to offer his advice when you asked for it.

Now, as the party full of your family and friends is in full swing, you can’t help but wish you hadn’t asked him for anything at all. Hours had gone by before people stopped asking where he was, you ignored their obvious, hushed whispers.

Some of your friends even suggested texting him again to make sure he’s not busy dealing with some kind of emergency. You brushed them off, knowing that any of those excuses would be far from the truth.

Maybe he didn’t intend on missing your big night, but did it really matter? He’s not here to see the bright bunches of florals elevating the space from what it once was; hollow rooms and cream walls so plain that they were begging for someone to bring them to life.

The arms of the clock keep inching forward, yet the front door to your shop never moves. You have to look away every time you subconsciously glance at it, your eyes daring to water as each person that congratulates you, isn’t the man you’re waiting for.

For now, you have to pretend it doesn’t bother you, when nothing has ever infuriated and saddened you so much at once. You have to lie to your friends when they offer to stick around after the party’s over, instead telling them that you just need a minute to let it all sink in.

They assume you mean embracing your accomplishment in becoming a business owner, a dream you’ve sought to fulfill for as long as you can remember. Your parents brought it up when they congratulated you in a toast, reminiscing on how their daughter stopped to smell every flower she came across growing up. They spoke about how proud they were to see how far you’ve come. What a shame it was that your fiancé wasn’t standing beside you when they did.

Tonight is about growth, but never in the way you expected. You’re left here to mourn the loss of something you never really had to begin with. Lewis; but more specifically, his undivided love and attention. The diamond ring pulls at your left hand, weighing it down more than usual. You fight the urge to take it off altogether. Even if you did, would it really matter? Given that the man who put it there isn’t here to witness it.

Until the bell on the front door chimes. The sound is more chilling than anything, in the midst of the quiet that’s fallen over your shop. Only soft jazz music plays throughout, you haven’t bothered to turn it off after the party ended.

You swallow the lump in your throat, and you don’t look up from your drink before speaking. But you can feel his eyes on you. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Don’t say that, honey. I’m the idiot.” He protests, heart dropping in panic as he realizes that it’s just you and your flowers in here, he missed the whole thing. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“No, Lewis. You may be hyper focused on your career but it’s taken the both of us to get to this point. I’ve only been enabling it. Forgiving you even when I don’t really mean it. I haven’t been honest enough.”

“Please, stop blaming yourself. I fucked up, okay? I lost track of time at a business dinner, but there’s no way I should’ve missed this. I can’t believe my assistant didn’t pull me out early, at the very least.” Lewis rants, though he knows the fault doesn’t belong elsewhere.

“Don’t you dare do that to me. Again.” You finally look in his direction, this time you can’t stop the tears from flowing. “You don’t get to blame your assistant, or your team, or anyone else! We can talk semantics, and if we do we’ll be here all night. Let’s face it, if tonight was really important to you, you would’ve been here!”

“And I’ll never forgive myself for missing it. Please, honey, I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Stop fucking calling me that, Lewis! And I hope you don’t forgive yourself, you don’t deserve to! I mean I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that you just don’t care enough, or that all of this is just one big fucking game to you because you can’t stand the thought of me living a life without you. You tell the world you’re not thinking about marrying me, and it’s not until I want to do something on my own that you propose within fucking weeks. Not to mention snatching up this property before I could.”

He stands there, silently, which only fires you up more. Truthfully, you don’t need the press, you don’t need Sandra, you don’t need anybody to tell you about the man you’ve known, the man you’ve loved for several years now. And it guts you, but that feeling comes straight from your intuition. It rips your heart in two to see all of it go down the drain.

Nevertheless, when one door closes, another one opens.

“Now that I think about it…” You trail off, the weight on your ring finger now growing unpleasant. “I think it’s time you got this back.”

Lewis’ eyes widen as he watches you tug at the jewelry and rip it off with haste. He strides to you in a few quick steps, yet the distance between you has never felt greater. “Y/n, please. You have every right in the world to be upset with me but we can work through this, we always do!”

You scoff, offended by the way he’s diminishing you. “Of course you think we could just move on! Because to you, this is just a fucking launch party. You’ve had plenty of those. But Lewis, this was my one. My one night that I wanted to share with you, and you couldn’t do it! You couldn’t be there when I needed you to. I wasn’t asking for one whole day or one whole week of your time. Hell, I wasn’t the one who asked for the rest of your life! All I wanted was an hour or two. And you couldn’t do that.”

“I love you.” Lewis utters, his voice shaking. The words aren't as promising as they used to be. Instead, he’s begging you to remember what he hasn’t yet convinced you of. Maybe you haven’t felt loved by Lewis in quite a while, grand gestures aside. “I never meant to hurt you like this.”

“You know, I used to believe you when you said that. The twisted thing is, a part of me still does. A part of me really wants to.” You cry, wishing nothing more than for this nightmare to come to an end. If you don’t say something now, it won’t. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore. Like you said, we’ve been waiting long enough right? Maybe we should’ve had this conversation a long time ago. We were never going to make things work.”

“Please don’t do this, I’ll do anything to make it better.” Lewis breathes out, a few stray tears slipping down his cheeks.

There was a time when you’d wipe them away, no matter if the two of you were fighting or not. It’s a rude awakening to not feel that urge anymore. No urge to lean forward, to run into his arms. No urge to step backward or run for the door. You just stand there and face him.

“Lewis, when you said you’d love me forever… did you mean it?”

“Yes!” Lewis rushes, cradling your face in his hands, needing you to see it in his eyes that not an ounce of him feels differently. “I absolutely meant it, from the bottom of my heart. I still mean it, I will love you forever, Y/n. As long as I live and then some.”

“Then do me this favor? Just this one…” Lewis shakes his head in denial— in refusal— as you grasp at his wrists, disconnecting his hands from your face. They trail down your frame, as a way to hold onto you. To remind himself that you haven’t disappeared yet. And you let him, committing his touch to your memory for a final time.

He takes a deep breath. “Anything.”

“Just let me go, Lewis. Don’t put up a fight. Don’t put me through any more of this hope and disappointment. Please? I don’t think I can stand to resent you more than I already do.”

His jaw clenches, you’re unsure of what he’s holding back. It might be the first time that you don’t want to know. It’s the first time that Lewis’ closed off nature hasn’t sent you spiraling, desperate to find some kind of sign to cling onto. The silence for once, is quite refreshing, despite his repressed cries that sound through the air. Yours, too.

He presses his lips to your forehead, and your cheeks feel wet with tears as they flow. The gesture strikes through your heart, and the weight of it becomes heavier. “I’m sorry I failed you. I’m so, so sorry, Y/n. Please remember that.”

Lewis walks out of the shop, your shop, but not without taking one last look at you in it. A part of him wants to weep with pride and joy, knowing you’ll be just fine here. After tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day after that, this burden will become easier to carry.

How ironic, for it’s the exact reason that this tears him up inside. When the sun comes up in the morning, this won’t be a nightmare he wakes up from. The bed will be empty, and everything will come rushing back to him like a riptide when he feels for you and you’re not there.

That pattern will repeat itself day in and day out, only with the outside noise growing louder. Pictures from your grand opening will be published and the comments will flood with questions about his absence. Those same gossip rags spreading speculation about you two breaking up some time ago, will resurface with something new to talk about.

Little by little, pictures of the two of you, and your life together, will disappear from your feed. He won’t know what to make of it, seeing the pure joy on your face while you interact with your customers, living the life you were made for.

Guilt will consume him as he wonders if that unbridled happiness is what he was keeping you from all along? You just might come to regret the relationship entirely, if you knew then what you know now. You’re closing one chapter as you begin another one, and you’re writing it on your own this time. He has no choice but to carry on with writing his too.

As time passes, Lewis knows that you’re somewhere out there thinking of him, just as he’s thinking of you. When he wakes up he rubs the sleep from his eyes, wondering how long he’s been living like this. Where his days blur together and all he can think about is where he went wrong.

Lewis notices a decadent arrangement sitting on his marble countertops after he drags himself out of bed. Those bright red roses are unmistakably and undeniably, your own. The sight alone brings a fresh wave of tears to his eyes, and a few drip onto the note sitting beside the arrangement. He reads it again and again until his vision clouds over completely.

–

I think it’s your turn to have these.

I wish you roses, Lewis. Take care of yourself.

Y/n

💌: reblogs & comments are always appreciated! thank you for reading :)

taglist: @marjorieswrld @alex-wotton @freyathehuntress @alexxavicry @pickingupmymercedes (add yourself here!)

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shinyuin · 4 months ago

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First "I Love You" — Cale Henituse x Reader

You had always known that Cale Henituse was a man of contradictions.

He called himself a slacker but never rested. He claimed to want a peaceful life, yet he stood at the forefront of wars, rebellions, and disasters. He insisted he wasn’t kind, yet his hands carried the weight of the world for those he considered his people.

And, of course, you knew that if there was one thing Cale Henituse absolutely did not do, it was expressing unnecessary emotions.

So, you had never expected an “I love you” from him.

Even after everything you had been through together—standing at his side through battlefields, tending to his wounds after every reckless act, and sharing quiet moments in between the chaos—you never thought he would say it outright. Because Cale wasn't someone who put his feelings into words. He showed them in his own way: in the careful way he ensured you ate properly, in the way his sharp eyes always found you first in a crowd, in the way he positioned himself slightly in front of you when danger was near.

And that had always been enough.

Until now.

—

The battlefield was quiet. The kind of silence that only followed after an overwhelming victory or a devastating loss.

You weren’t sure which this was.

Your body ached, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, but you ignored it. Your eyes were focused on Cale, who sat slumped against a broken wall, his usually pristine red hair damp with sweat and blood. His breathing was steady—thank the gods—but he was clearly spent. The ancient powers had drained him again, his body unable to handle their toll.

You crouched beside him, reaching out instinctively. Cale.

His eyelids fluttered open slightly, revealing tired but sharp red eyes. He stared at you for a long moment before sighing. You’re still here?

You frowned. Of course, I’m here.

A weak smirk tugged at his lips. I thought you’d be smart enough to run away from all this madness by now.

You rolled your eyes. And leave you to die in a pile of rubble? Not a chance.

Cale exhaled slowly, shifting slightly. That’s foolish.

And yet you’re the one who threw yourself into the heart of battle again, you shot back, voice tight with lingering frustration. How many times have I told you not to—

I know. His voice was quiet, but it held a weight that made you stop. His eyes locked onto yours, serious despite the exhaustion clouding them. I know. But I had to.

Because that was who he was. He would never sit back and do nothing while his people were in danger.

Your shoulders sagged, your anger fading into something softer—something heavier. You always ‘have to.’ And I always have to sit here and watch you get hurt.

Cale was silent.

Then, after a long pause, he spoke.

I don’t want you to get hurt.

You blinked. What?

His gaze flickered away, lips pressing together as if he was considering taking the words back. But then he sighed again, almost in resignation, and looked at you.

I don’t want you to get hurt,he repeated. I don’t want you to worry about me. I don’t want you to—He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his bloodied hair. It’s annoying.

Your heart clenched. You knew Cale well enough to understand that when he said annoying, he didn’t mean it in the way others did. He meant frustrating. He meant terrifying. He meant that the thought of you being in danger, of you worrying over him, made something twist inside him in a way he wasn’t used to.

Cale…

I don’t understand it, he muttered, almost to himself. “But every time I see you in danger, I— He cut himself off, his jaw tightening. I don’t like it.

You reached for his hand, gripping it gently.

I know.

Cale stared at your joined hands as if the sight was foreign to him. And maybe, in a way, it was. He had spent his whole life avoiding deep emotional attachments, keeping people at arm’s length.

But he hadn’t been able to do that with you.

Slowly, as if testing the motion, he curled his fingers around yours. His grip was weak but warm, grounding.

And then—

“…I love you.”

It was barely above a whisper.

Your breath caught. Your mind froze.

And yet, despite the quietness of his voice, those words echoed louder than anything else on this battlefield.

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs. Cale—

I don’t know when it happened, he continued, as if he hadn’t just shattered the reality you knew. His brown eyes locked onto yours, uncharacteristically raw and unguarded. I don’t know why it happened. A pause. “But it did.

Your fingers tightened around his.

He sighed again, tilting his head back against the wall. Annoying.

You let out a choked laugh. You keep calling it that.

“Because it is.” His eyes slid shut for a moment before reopening, softer this time. 'But… I still love you."

Your chest felt impossibly full, emotions threatening to spill over. Cale Henituse, the man who refused to let anyone in, had just laid his heart bare. And he had done it in the most Cale way possible—begrudging, frustrated, but undeniably real.

You lifted your joined hands, brushing a kiss against his knuckles. “I love you too.”

Cale blinked, as if the words were somehow surprising to him despite everything. Then he let out another long-suffering sigh, muttering, “Now we’re both doomed.”

You laughed, pressing your forehead against his. Yeah. But at least we’re doomed together.

#manhwa x reader #tcf x reader #cale henituse x reader #cale x reader #cale henituse #reader insert #x reader #manhwa #trash of the count’s family x reader #trash of the count's family #romance #totcf x reader

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unintentionalseductress · 8 months ago

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Someone You Loved

I'm a mess since I finished Xavier's myth and my period came early so now I'm just sad and can't focus on anything else. Headcanons for the men when MC breaks up with them. Warnings: None, but lots of angst because everything SUCKS. Love and Deepspace. Hmph. More like Love and Deep Depression.

In the darkness, Zayne wakes suddenly, his hands instinctively reaching out to pull you to him; only for his grasp to curl into cold sheets and emptiness.

How long had it been? Since he’d slept peacefully? The nightmares never seemed to plague him when you were asleep beside him in his bed, your breath softly ghosting the crook of his neck. He glances up at the ceiling trying to calm his breath. The little dreamcatcher you’d hung so long ago sways slightly and his heart clenches. The bed felt too big for just him. Before meeting you he slept in the middle; now he can’t bring himself to take back your half, leaving it empty, remembering the way your curled form occupied it.

The only time he saw you was when you came in for your checkup. And you seemed fine, which was good, but a part of him is haunted by the possibility that maybe something about him had made you leave him. You had insisted it wasn’t but he can’t help but run scenarios over and over in mind, swirling like a mess of ink in water.

Perhaps his reticent nature had finally driven you away. Or his sarcasm. Or maybe the scars on his hands. Women didn’t like scarred men, did they? He’d wondered about that for too long before Greyson, catching him staring at his hands, said, “Your hands are healing Dr. Zayne. Why do you look at them so doubtfully?”

After those words had been spoken, Zayne had thrown himself into his work. He’d always been a workaholic of course, but it had amplified to a point where he couldn’t go home. It was on purpose. He slept in his office until his superior had caught him, insisting he can’t sleep here.

No one was checking in on him. No one to remind him to take a break or to coax him into taking a nap in between patients. No one waking him up with a smile and a slice of cake that they’d picked up on their way to his place.

The nightmares started after he tried sleeping at home. He hates himself for feeling like a little boy, unable to sleep without a security blanket. But he needed you. The way all living things needed air and sunlight to thrive, he needed you in such a poignant way that it almost stops his blood knowing you’re not in his life anymore.

He knows he needs to sleep. Silently, because that’s what he’d grown accustomed to, silently rolling out to bed so as to not disturb you, he pads over to his closet and pulls out a t-shirt, far too small to be one of his own.

The t-shirt had somehow survived the purge, the day you’d taken all your stuff out of his apartment. It was strange to look at his apartment now because all he sees are the empty spaces you left behind. The spots on the windowsill where your little planters used to be. The blank space on the nightstand on your side of the bed where your phone, earbuds, and hand lotion used to once sit. The cup in the bathroom now holds only one toothbrush.

He brings the t-shirt to his nose and instantly your scent fills his being. He’s thankful he didn’t return it to you as he’d initially planned. The piece of fabric that retained the wonderful smell of your shampoo and the fresh scent of your skin. It calmed him. Cradling it against his cheek, he makes his way back to the bed, laying the t-shirt on his pillow and burying his nose into it as he tries to find a comfortable position.

The t-shirt works its magic, eventually lulling him into a dreamless sleep. The only peace he’s ever known was when he was with you.

It was hard to avoid Xavier no matter where you went. His being your upstairs neighbor and your mission partner made it impossible not to see him. His chest ached whenever he saw you but he masked it with a smile. He never stopped looking out for you. Because he had promised, hadn’t he? So many centuries ago, in a different lifetime, that he’d always be there for you no matter what?

The day of the breakup is always a blur to him. He can’t recall any of the details, but he remembers your face with clarity, remembers the pained expression in your eyes. He had soothingly embraced you, encouraging you to talk to him about what was bothering you, because even his deepest worries never fathomed the idea of you leaving him.

Xavier had frozen when you had tearfully whispered that you wanted to break up. Surely he had misheard you? But no, he hadn’t. You had tried, in vain, to get him to explain where he disappeared to. It bothered you when Xavier disappeared and it didn’t matter if he came back each time. You told him you wanted the truth, and nothing less than that would convince you to stay. Xavier had faltered; he knew he owed it to you, but he didn’t know where to begin.

Philos was a distant dream, probably lost to time and deepspace but he couldn’t help it. The possibility of returning to his own timeline weighed down on him, a heavy burden of duty. If it had been just him, he would have gladly given up months ago, content to stay here with you. But the crew that had accompanied him, dedicated to his cause, stuck here because of his decisions deserved the chance, and he couldn’t give up on them.

Knowing he would never be able to explain without hurting you, he had given you a sad smile, his blue eyes growing misty as he tried to put conviction into his words. “I hope you find someone more worthy.” The feeling of your hands leaving his felt like a rift had divided his heart into two, a chasm separating you both. You left his apartment, and he spent the night on his balcony, listening to your sobs carrying through the air, not knowing how he could take away your pain.

With much trial and error, Xavier now had a cordial relationship with you. He accompanied you whenever you asked. He still hung out with you at the arcade and came out for hot pot whenever you asked. Because hadn’t he promised to love you even when you weren’t his?

Xavier watches you talking to Tara and when you finally catch his eye, you give him a smile and wave, which he returns. Although he wishes you weren’t broken up, it always brings him relief to see you smiling. He had felt the satisfaction of watching you become a happier person, seeing you grow and eventually finding joy around you. And that would have to be enough.

He would settle for having you in his life any way he could, even if you decided you didn’t love him. Because after losing you twice, he’d take anything to cut his losses.

Thomas follows Rafayel around his studio. He can see the state Rafayel is in, the dark bags under his eyes, and the unkempt hair and clothes.

“Rafayel, I think some rest-”

“I don’t need it.” Rafayel picks up a paintbrush, which is already messy from the various hues it was dipped into previously and begins to put strokes onto his canvas. Across the room are scattered paintings and unfinished sculptures, all half-done and looking rather gloomy.

Thomas tries again. “I can book you a weekend at your favorite onsen. Perhaps a massage. It’ll help clear your head.”

Rafayel glares at him, anger in his lavender eyes. “I said I don’t need it. I have work to do. You know where the door is.”

Signing, Thomas takes his dismissal and the studio is plunged into silence. Rafayel tries again to finish his painting then grits his teeth and hurls the paintbrush away. Droplets of paint drip across the marble floor as it clatters some feet away.

It had been a while since you had broken up with him and Rafayel feels like he’s stuck in time. All his works are incomplete, becoming a neverending list of things that he might never actually pay attention to again.

Of late, he’s obsessed with trying to paint you, but each time he recalls your face, something or the other feels off. The shape of your eyes, too slanted to be accurate, the curve of your nose, too round to be correct, haunt him as he gazes at the canvas before him. It was you, yet it wasn’t you.

There’s panic growing in his chest at the idea that he might be forgetting what you look like. His hands and memory seem to be at odds with each other, unable to communicate and translate what he was remembering onto paper.

He traces the edge of your face, the paint smearing his fingertips, frustration welling up in his heart. He feels disappointed in himself. Hadn’t he said to himself that even if you forgot, he’d remember for the both of you? Yet now, he can’t recall the features of your face, like the image of you in his head was behind a pixelated curtain, and all he could recollect were rough features that somewhat resembled you.

He might put himself into a manic state. He hasn’t slept, haunted by the possibility that he may never paint your portrait accurately again. Rafayel pulls out his phone, the light illuminating his tired face and he desperately looks through his photos. A few days after the breakup, in a fit of rage, he’d deleted all your photos off his phone, an action he now regretted.

“Please…please…there’s gotta be at least one…” he prays as he swipes through the pictures. As he’s about to give up, he finally comes across a single photo, a group picture, taken from his art exhibition some time ago. And there you are, all your features coming back to him with painful clarity. With a sigh, he picks up a fresh paintbrush and tries again, feeling relief flood him as your familiar face finally begins to bloom onto the canvas.

Luke and Kieran looked in concern at the closed door of Sylus’s room. Sylus wasn't the type to conduct business remotely. Even with all the henchmen at his disposal, he still preferred going out into the N109 zone to ensure his armories and money accounts were secure. But after the breakup, he had been delegating more and mingling with his associates less.

The missing bottles of whiskey hadn’t gone unnoticed by their keen eyes, and the twins carefully crack open his bedroom door a fraction. He’s slumped over the large desk made of fine oak wood, a liquor bottle cracked open, and a glass in his hand.

His ruby eyes are hazy and it’s clear he’s intoxicated. The little grumpy crow plushie was sitting on his desk, and his unfocused eyes were gazing in reminiscence at it while Mephisto glared at the soft toy in objection.

“Boss?” Luke dares to approach him, and Sylus looks up sharply.

“What?” The irritation in his voice is evident.

“Um…Your meeting with the protocore dealer. He just left a message saying he hasn’t been able to get in touch with you and…” His voice falters as Sylus’s eyes glow like embers in a fireplace.

“He can wait.” The words are snarled as he downs the whiskey in a single gulp before pouring more. “Get out.”

Luke and Kieran retreat but they glance at each other despairingly. This was the N109 zone after all. Dealings with mafia leaders didn’t just get put on hold without consequences.

“Damn it all,” Sylus murmurs. He swirls the whiskey in his glass, and all he sees are your eyes, fixated on him in horror. He was used to the erratic atmospheric changes in the N109 zone but the night you left, it felt like he was being choked by the air, not a drop of oxygen left for him to breathe in. He knew he’d overdone it when threatening the merchant, knew he should have controlled himself from using his evol as cruelly as he had. But he needed the upper hand and the only way knew how to assert himself was through violence.

He’d never hurt you. His precious little dove, his whole heart. But what you’d witnessed had left you terrified of him and his ominous abilities. Sylus had begged; his pride wasn’t so great as to risk losing you. He’d fallen to his knees, his arms locked around your waist, his cheek resting on your chest, listening to the way your heart was beating in your ribcage. It was hard to say how long the two of you had remained that way until you had gently disengaged from his grip, bid him goodbye, and left. He wasn’t deterred at first, calling and texting you desperately, sending gifts and bouquets to your door until you had called him and told him to stop.

He drinks, feeling the heat and the sting of the whiskey as it goes down his throat, the only thing that helped with the pain. You were the sunlight in this dark world and without you, Sylus feels nothing except coldness. You were gone, the only blessing he’d ever received.

@theimmortalbuns @otomegamesforlife @sweets-kozume @supernaturalbaesduh @ladyparamount

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rosachae · 21 days ago

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existentialism | karina x reader

⁍ song: bleed - malcom todd, omar apollo ⁍ requested: yes-- thank you anon! ⁍ genre: AU! angsty, fluffy. idol!reader x fansite!karina ⁍ a/n: i hope this is what you were looking for, anon <3 ⁍ wc: 11.3k ⁍ warnings: none that i can think of. ⁍ synopsis:

y/n is an idol in a struggling group from a nearly forgotten company. karina, an amateur photographer, accidentally captures her most unguarded moment onstage. as their lives begin to intersect through late-night messages and fleeting encounters, both must confront what it means to be seen. not as a persona, but as a person beneath the facade.

karina hadn’t meant to become anyone’s favorite fansite. that kind of attention belonged to people with ring lights in their backpacks and watermark signatures they spent hours perfecting. she didn’t even think of herself as that kind of photographer. she just liked the way light hit things. how it caught on collarbones, glinted off earrings, poured over a stage like it was part of the performance.

it started quietly, the way most important things in her life did. it was her 22nd birthday. the restaurant had closed early, not because her parents had time to spare, but because they loved her. aeri had shown up late, out of breath, hair messy from the subway, holding a perfectly wrapped box like it was fragile.

“don’t say i never give you anything,” she’d said, plopping it onto karina’s lap as they sat in the backroom, legs curled on crates of radish and flour.

karina peeled the wrapping slowly, careful with the tape, as if savoring the moment might stretch it out a little longer. inside was a fujifilm x-t4, sleek and unreasonably beautiful. she blinked at it, then looked at aeri, who just shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal.

“you’re always noticing things,” aeri said. “figured you should have something that keeps up.”

karina didn’t touch the camera again for a week. it sat in its box under her bed while she sliced scallions and restocked soy sauce bottles and worked double shifts on weekends. but sometimes, when the dining room was empty and sunlight crept in through the windows just right, she’d find herself picturing how it would look through the viewfinder.

the first real photo she took was of her mother rolling out dough in the morning, flour dusting her hands, her expression somewhere between focused and serene. the shot was imperfect—slightly overexposed—but karina stared at it for longer than she meant to. it didn’t just look like her mother. it felt like her. solid. enduring. full of quiet strength.

after that, she started carrying the camera everywhere. tucked into her tote bag beside chopsticks and gum and receipts she never threw away. she shot alleys and rain puddles, foggy bus windows, the backs of people’s heads on the subway. it wasn’t about creating art. it was about holding onto moments before they passed.

and then one night, aeri dragged her to a music showcase in hongdae. a half-basement space with sticky floors and too many bodies, where the speakers were too loud and the lighting was an assault of reds and blues. karina wasn’t planning on shooting. she almost didn’t bring the camera at all.

but when the first group stepped onto the stage, something shifted. the lights flared, the bass rolled through her ribs, and the girl in the center smiled like she knew exactly what kind of effect she had. karina reached into her bag before she even knew what she was doing. the lens cap came off, the camera powered on, and her fingers moved on instinct. framing, adjusting, snapping, again and again.

later, when she uploaded a few shots—just a handful, raw and unedited, she thought maybe a few friends would see them. maybe aeri would leave a sarcastic comment. instead, her inbox filled up overnight. reblogs. retweets. strangers asking for more. someone called her “the eye behind the moment.”

she didn’t know what to do with that. she wasn’t trying to be known. she just didn’t know how else to look at the world.

but that was only part of it. there was the camera, sure, but karina’s life didn’t revolve around it—not completely. not yet.

the restaurant kept her grounded. a narrow two-story space tucked between a laundry shop and a bike repair store, with faded signage and the smell of grilled mackerel permanently baked into the walls. it used to belong to her parents, but they’d stepped back a few years ago, retiring with the quiet relief of people who had worked too long and too hard. now it was hers, even if she didn’t say that out loud too often. it felt strange, being twenty-something and responsible for payroll and supplier invoices, but she was doing okay. the regulars still came. the lights still turned on every morning.

ningning and minjeong, her best friends since high school, worked the evening shifts. both were juggling classes and internships, trying to survive off iced americanos and convenience store triangle kimbap. working at the restaurant was supposed to be temporary, but it never really felt like work. they were here, together, and that was enough reason to stay.

aeri didn’t work there, but she might as well have. she spent most of her afternoons at one of the corner tables, sketchbook open, doodling commissions or drawing whatever her brain felt like spitting out that day. she said it was the atmosphere. the way the place smelled, the sounds, the way the light fell through the front window. “and also,” she’d added once, “because you feed me for free.”

on nights like this, after hours, the place felt like theirs. dishes cleaned. chairs stacked. lights dimmed. the doors locked, but no one really ready to leave yet.

“minjeong, you missed a whole-ass table,” ningning called out, balancing a wet rag in one hand and dramatically pointing with the other. “again.”

“do you ever shut up?” minjeong deadpanned, wiping in increasingly aggressive circles. “it’s a water ring, not a war crime.”

“i’m just saying, the health inspector would have a field day with your laziness.”

“and yet,” minjeong replied, tossing the rag at ningning’s face with perfect aim, “i’m the one who passed organic chem senior year. unlike somebody.”

ningning shrieked and ducked behind a chair. “low blow! low blow! i was sick with a broken heart!”

“girl, he ghosted you after three dates and a noraebang session,” aeri chimed in without looking up from her sketchpad. “that’s not heartbreak, that’s natural selection.”

karina didn’t laugh, though she probably should have. she didn’t even look up. she was sitting at the far end of the dining room, camera resting on her knees, flicking through photos from a small showcase she’d wandered into last night. it wasn’t a big deal. just a filler show at a lesser-known venue, one of those lineups with too many groups and not enough lighting. but she’d gone anyway. she’d been bored. curious. sometimes the smaller acts surprised her.

and then there was you.

you weren’t even the headliner. she didn’t know your name, didn’t know your group. maybe she wasn’t even supposed to be filming by that point. but you’d stepped into the spotlight and something about the way you moved made her pause. not because it was clean or polished. not because it was loud. there was just something there. something raw and sharp and almost too real to be coming from a stage performance. it wasn’t the choreography. it was your eyes.

she hadn’t even intended to take more photos, but her fingers had moved on instinct. she zoomed in. framed. captured. the moment felt urgent, like it would disappear if she blinked too long. and now, in the quiet hum of the closed restaurant, she was staring at a still image of you mid-chorus, mouth open in song, hair clinging to your cheek with sweat. your expression was unreadable. eyes wide, almost desperate, like you were trying to claw your way out of the screen.

there was something beautiful about that. not in the traditional sense. not the curated kind of beauty fans expected from fancams and photobooks. no, this was different. you looked like you were trying to survive something.

karina liked photos like that. more than she ever admitted. she posted the clean ones, the ones where idols looked like perfection incarnate, frozen in joy and light. she knew that’s what fans wanted. but sometimes, she kept the others for herself. the moments when an idol’s smile didn’t quite reach their eyes. when their shoulders sagged between movements. when their mask cracked.

once, she’d used a photo of a male idol for her university thesis on existentialism. in the picture he was smiling for the crowd, full teeth, perfect posture. but his fists were clenched at his sides, and his knuckles were white. the angle of his body betrayed exhaustion. slightly hunched, like he was about to fold. the essay argued that idols existed in a liminal space between personhood and persona, between being seen and being known. her professor called the photo “haunting.” karina just thought it was honest.

you looked honest, too.

“karina,” aeri called from across the room, pencil tucked behind her ear. “if you don’t stop spacing out and come look at this cursed drawing of ningning with cat ears, i’m going to print it on a t-shirt and wear it to your funeral.”

karina didn’t answer. her thumb hovered over the save button, eyes still fixed on the image of you. something inside her twisted. not unpleasantly. not quite.

maybe she’d go to your next show. maybe she’d take more photos. maybe, this time, she’d take a video.

there was just something about you that she couldn’t shake, even as the night shifted to morning.

y/n was tired in the way that didn’t show on her face, but lived somewhere in her bones. another performance day. another barely promoted showcase in a cramped venue where the dressing room was just a partition and a folding table, and the smell of sweat and floor cleaner clung to every surface.

it wasn’t that she didn’t love performing, because she did. she really did. but lately, it felt like the love was one sided. her group had been active for long enough that the silence felt personal. comebacks with no traction. practice videos with barely any views. they trained like everyone else, starved like everyone else, cried in stairwells like everyone else. but they weren’t getting anywhere. not really.

their company was small. generous with promises, stingy with everything else. they’d been wearing the same reworked stage outfits for three promotions now, and their stylists had long since stopped showing up to these smaller events. today, they’d done their own makeup in a bathroom mirror with cracked lighting, blending eyeshadow with their fingers and praying no one would notice the frayed edge of a hem or the glue dot holding an earring in place.

“they’ve only got handhelds,” their manager said on the way in. “no headsets. sorry.”

y/n hadn’t answered. she just nodded and adjusted the strap on her mic pack that she now didn’t need.

the group before them was finishing up. another act from another no-name company, probably in the same situation as them. bright smiles, tight formations, doing their absolute best for a crowd of maybe fifty people and a camera crew that would forget their name by morning. they were solid. enthusiastic. the kind of performance that reminded y/n just how replaceable she might be.

she took a breath and let it out slowly, gripping the mic in both hands, the weight of it heavier than usual. it wasn’t nerves exactly. it was something deeper. a slow, crawling ache in her chest that whispered to her long into the quiet hours of the night. every night.

what if this is it? what if this is all there ever is?

“you okay?”

the voice pulled her back. she blinked and asa was suddenly next to her, fidgeting with the zipper on her jacket, eyes darting between her and the edge of the curtain.

“you look like you’re about to throw up,” asa added, laughing, but it was tight. nervous. she was trying to be casual but the crack in her voice gave her away.

y/n forced a small smile. “thanks. that’s reassuring.”

asa shrugged, tugging at the hem of her sleeve like she always did when she was anxious. “sorry. i just… i dunno. i can’t tell if this venue is hotter than usual or if i’m overheating from impending doom.”

“maybe both.”

asa snorted, then paused. “you think people will actually cheer this time?”

y/n didn’t answer right away. she looked out past the curtain where a small crowd was gathering. half of them probably friends or staff, maybe a few real fans, maybe none at all. she could hear the muffled bass from the group on stage before them, feel it thrumming through the floor.

“i think,” y/n said slowly, “we do what we can. and we make it count. even if no one claps.”

asa nodded, quiet. then she sighed. “i swear to god, if my mic cuts out again mid chorus, i’m quitting and becoming a barista.”

“you can’t even drink coffee.”

“exactly. motivation to keep going.”

y/n huffed a laugh despite herself, and for a second, the ache in her chest eased. not gone. just quieter.

the stage manager gave them the nod. tight, brisk, all business. asa straightened beside her, tugging her jacket into place one last time. their other members fell into formation like instinct, like ritual. y/n felt her feet move before her mind caught up, boots scuffing slightly against the edge of the raised platform. the mic was cold in her hand, heart knocking against her ribs in a rhythm too fast, too loud.

the lights hit first. hot, blinding, a poor imitation of grandeur. and then the music, tinny through the speakers but familiar in a way that wrapped itself around her spine. she stepped into position, found her mark, breathed.

and then she was performing. no room left for doubt, for fear, for aching questions about whether anyone out there even knew her name. there was only the music, the motion, the echo of their voices layered imperfectly through handheld mics and trembling breath.

she didn’t know if anyone would remember it.

but she would give them something they could.

karina, embarrassingly enough, had spent most of the night deep in the trenches of the internet. the kind of rabbit hole where time folded in on itself and the only light came from a glowing screen and the blurry reflection of her own dumb, obsessed face. she wasn’t proud of it. but she also wasn’t stopping.

she’d found the smallest of leads. a screenshot from a barely active kakao chatroom used by venue staff. a schedule list, blurry and cropped, buried in a thread about broken light fixtures. in the corner was a group photo of five girls, clearly snapped on someone’s phone with zero artistic intention. the lighting was bad, the focus worse. but one face stood out.

y/n.

karina didn’t know her name at the time. didn’t know the group’s name either, not really. just a half readable hangul tag someone typed without bothering to correct the spelling. it didn’t matter. the only thing that did matter was that the photo didn’t do her justice. not even close.

karina stared at the screen, frustrated. not with y/n, but with the way the world had failed to capture her properly. if it had been her behind the lens, she would’ve framed her with softness and sharp light. she would’ve caught the way her expression shifted between verses, the fire tucked behind her eyes. maybe it was bias. or maybe it was just that she saw what others didn’t. and once she saw it, she couldn’t not see it.

so of course she had to go. of course she had to try. and somehow, by some divine combination of manipulation, bribery, and guilt—she managed to convince aeri, minjeong, and ningning to come with her.

“we closed early for this?” ningning groaned, arms folded as she eyed the neon-lit venue like it had personally offended her.

“my eyeliner is melting,” minjeong added flatly. “you said this was a cultural experience. you didn’t say it would be humid and depressing.”

karina ignored them, already scanning the crowd near the entrance with laser focus.

“do we even know the name of the group?” aeri asked, squinting at the flyer taped to a post. “because i’m not gonna lie, i’m seeing at least three acts with glitter names and vaguely tragic-sounding concepts.”

“we’ll know when we see her,” karina muttered, tightening her grip on her camera like it might help her focus.

“so just to recap,” ningning said, deadpan, “we abandoned paying customers to follow our emotionally repressed friend across the city to chase down a girl she doesn’t know, whose name she doesn’t know, in a group she also doesn’t know, all because she took one blurry photo of her looking vaguely ethereal.”

karina didn’t even flinch. her eyes were locked on the stage entrance like a hunter waiting for a sign. “when she comes out,” she murmured, “you’ll understand.”

“that’s what you said about the tofu place in yongsan,” minjeong replied. “we all got food poisoning.”

“and the time you dragged us to that underground film screening in itaewon,” ningning added, crossing her arms. “you know, the one where the director made us sit on the floor and watch three hours of interpretive dancing and crying in slow motion.”

“art is subjective,” karina said, without looking away from the stage.

“i hate it here,” minjeong cried, but she didn’t move. none of them did. despite all the complaints, the three of them stood beside karina. tucked just inside the dim edge of the crowd, the air heavy with stage fog and cheap hairspray.

the music had dipped into transition mode. those awkward ten seconds where the next act lined up and the audience collectively held their breath.

karina leaned forward slightly, camera already raised. “shut up,” she whispered. “this is it.”

ningning sighed. “if she’s not the reincarnation of venus i swear to god—”

then the lights came up, and karina pressed the shutter.

the rest of the world collapsed into static. the chatter of the crowd, the sharp whine of a speaker adjusting, even her friends bickering a few steps away. it all blurred into the background. karina didn’t hear a thing. didn’t want to. her camera was already in place, viewfinder pressed to her eye like a second heartbeat.

and then, there you were.

center stage, swallowed in too-bright lights and haze that clung like mist. not even fully in frame yet, but karina felt it in her chest, low and sharp, the same way she sometimes did when stumbling across a perfect shot at golden hour. your movements weren’t perfect, not polished like bigger groups, but there was something in the way you carried the weight of the song. the way your body snapped from choreography into raw instinct. your expression wasn’t just practiced. rather, it looked like it meant something.

like you were clawing your way out of anonymity with every verse, like every beat might be the last chance you’d get to be seen.

karina adjusted the focus, breath shallow. it wasn’t just technical skill, though you had that, too. it was presence. the kind of magnetism that cracked through cheap lighting and echoed off concrete walls. something unruly and honest. like pain, or hope, or both tangled together.

she didn’t realize how tightly she was gripping the camera until the shutter clicked—soft, barely audible under the music. she filmed. slowly, reverently. tracking you through the chorus, through that sharp turn of your chin, that flicker of emotion in your eyes that felt earnest.

the music cut out on a final, echoing note, and the lights dimmed just a beat too late—just enough for karina to catch the way y/n’s chest rose and fell, quick and uneven from exertion. and then y/n bowed with the rest of her group and slipped backstage like a ghost.

the crowd gave polite applause. not wild, not dead, just that middle ground kind of lukewarm appreciation that stung more than silence. but karina wasn’t paying attention to them. she let her camera fall against its strap, her fingers still tingling.

“…okay,” ningning said slowly. “i’ll give you that one.”

karina blinked, turning toward her.

“what?”

“you were right,” aeri continued for her, her tongue clicking against her cheek, a look of genuine surprise on her face. “she’s got something. i don’t know what it is exactly, but i wanna draw her like, fifty times and then write poetry about it.”

“i felt things,” minjeong muttered. “against my will.”

“you’re welcome,” karina said, dazed, still watching the empty stage like she expected you to come back out.

ningning raised an eyebrow. “you got the shot?”

karina nodded slowly. “i got something.”

a beat.

“so… what now?” aeri asked. “are we gonna become groupies? follow them around the country? make a fan club?”

karina didn’t answer. not right away. she was already thumbing through the footage, pausing on a frame where y/n’s expression looked too real to be staged.

“i don’t know,” she murmured. “but i’m not done.”

her friends exchanged a look.

“this is going to turn into another ‘project,’ isn’t it?” minjeong said.

“worse,” ningning sighed. “it’s gonna turn into a feelings thing.”

“i hate when she gets feelings,” aeri added.

karina didn’t bother defending herself. she just hit play again.

because something in her gut told her this wasn’t a one-time thing. this was the beginning of something she didn’t quite have words for yet. but she’d find them.

and when she did, you’d be in every frame.

when y/n stepped off stage, her chest was heaving, every breath thick with adrenaline and exhaustion. sweat clung to the back of her neck, her limbs heavy, the kind of heavy that only came after pouring yourself into something with no guarantee it mattered.

she gave it her all. she really did.

“you okay?” asa asked, brushing past her to grab a water bottle off the folding table in the corner of the backstage hallway. her voice was hushed, cautious.

y/n nodded, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “yeah. just… heart’s still racing.”

“mine too,” asa admitted, cracking the cap. “i thought my mic was gonna short out halfway through the bridge.”

“it might’ve,” y/n muttered, half-laughing, rubbing at her temples. “i think i was singing in the wrong key the entire chorus.”

“you were fine. we were fine,” asa said, then added more quietly, “better than we usually are.”

before y/n could respond, their manager rounded the corner with that frantic, harried look she always wore after a performance. clipboard in one hand, phone in the other, pressed between her shoulder and ear.

“come on, come on,” she barked, waving them forward. “wrap it up. van’s waiting out back. you guys did great. people clapped. that’s something.”

asa rolled her eyes and shoved her bottle into her bag. y/n followed, muscles aching, nerves still frayed. but there was something buzzing beneath it all. a strange energy she couldn’t place.

they stepped out into the back lot, the cool night air a welcome slap of relief. she was just about to pull her hoodie up over her head.

flash.

a camera went off. bright, sudden, close. too close.

y/n flinched, instinctively jerking back, hand half-raised in defense. she blinked hard, vision adjusting, and there—just a few steps away—was a girl.

not a fan, not press. she didn’t look like the others. she wasn’t shoving a phone in y/n’s face or shouting a name. she was just standing there, camera still in hand, eyes wide with guilt and something else. awe, maybe.

“shit,” the girl said quickly, lowering the camera. “sorry. that was… i didn’t mean to get in your face like that.”

y/n shook her head, still catching her breath. “it’s fine. just surprised me.”

the girl stepped back, hands slightly raised like she was trying to prove she meant no harm. her features were striking. she almost looked unreal. elegant, sharp around the edges, but softened by the way she kept worrying her bottom lip. probably the prettiest girl y/n had ever met. which was unfair, honestly, considering she had just finished a performance looking like she crawled out of a thunderstorm.

“i, um…” the girl hesitated, then gestured vaguely to her camera. “i like your music. i mean. tonight. you… stood out.”

y/n blinked. what? she let out a short laugh, soft and self-deprecating.

“you must’ve really low standards.”

the girl smiled, slow and a little crooked. “or really good taste.”

that pulled a quiet laugh out of y/n, one that surprised even her. there was something disarming about the way the girl looked at her. not in a dissecting, distant way, but like she saw something worth keeping.

“i’m karina,” she offered, finally.

y/n glanced over her shoulder at the van, her group piling in, her manager waving impatiently. then she looked back.

“y/n.”

karina nodded, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “i know.”

and somehow, that didn’t feel creepy. it felt… kind.

the flash didn’t seem so jarring anymore.

y/n lingered at the edge of the lot, hoodie bunched in her hands, still warm from the stage lights and not quite ready to disappear into the van’s flickering overhead bulbs and the smell of fast food wrappers. karina hadn’t moved either. camera still slung over one shoulder, fingers curled around the strap like she didn’t want to let go just yet.

“you always do this?” y/n asked, tilting her head slightly. “ambush tired performers in alleys with flashes and compliments?”

karina grinned, just a hint. “only the ones who make me feel something.”

y/n raised a brow, caught off guard by how sincere it sounded coming from someone with a smile that could cure all ailments. “you’re smooth. has anyone told you that?”

“no,” karina said, a little too quickly. “i mean. they have. but not like… seriously.”

y/n laughed, properly this time. it came up from her chest, unexpected, and when it slipped into the air, karina looked—well, proud. like she’d won something.

“i just wanted one more shot,” karina added, a bit softer now. “you had this moment on stage. just… I don’t know. you looked like you were carrying the whole song in your bones. like it was breaking you and holding you together at the same time.”

y/n’s smile faltered. not in a bad way. just… enough to let something real settle between them.

“you saw that?”

karina nodded. “yeah. and i got it. i think. i hope.”

a honk cut through the quiet. asa leaned out the van window, clearly fed up. “y/n! if we leave without you it’s not personal!”

y/n rolled her eyes but didn’t turn away just yet.

karina cleared her throat, suddenly shy. “i mean. if you want the photo, i could send it. or… whatever. if that’s weird, ignore me. this is probably weird.”

y/n held out her hand. “give me your phone.”

karina blinked. “what?”

“so i can put my number in it. for the photo,” she added, almost teasing. “and maybe because I owe you a proper thank you that doesn’t involve me looking like i’m about to collapse.”

karina handed it over without a word, eyes wide but amused. their fingers brushed.

and y/n, still riding the echo of a half-empty stage and a performance she’d nearly drowned in, thought—for the first time in a long while—that maybe someone had seen her after all.

not just the version she performed.

her.

y/n finished typing and handed the phone back, her thumb brushing lightly against karina’s as she did. the contact was brief, but it left something charged in the air, something that hummed between them like the aftermath of a too-good chorus.

“thanks,” y/n said, backing toward the van. “for the picture. and, you know… seeing me.”

karina offered a crooked smile, a little too honest. “i couldn’t not.”

y/n’s lips twitched. half amusement, half something softer. “you’re gonna make me regret not being more photogenic.”

“you’re already wrong about that,” karina said, voice barely above the sound of the idling engine behind them.

y/n shook her head, cheeks warm, and turned to leave.

asa opened the door from inside, leaning out dramatically. “did you just flirt with a fan?”

“you don’t even have fans,” one of the others chimed in from the back.

“shut up,” y/n muttered, ducking into the van as laughter erupted.

karina stood there for a moment longer, watching the van pull away until its tail lights blurred against the city’s glow. her hand was still wrapped loosely around her phone, like it hadn’t registered yet that she was holding more than just a contact. it was the beginning of something.

she wandered back toward where she left her friends, the girls loitering near the venue entrance just outside a half-shuttered convenience store, picking at bags of chips like they hadn’t been standing in the cold for twenty minutes.

“well that took forever,” ningning said as karina approached. “what’d she do, recite her entire discography?”

minjeong popped a chip in her mouth. “karina’s blushing.”

“i am not,” karina said, immediately.

“you so are,” aeri chimed. “girl, you’re one soft smile away from writing her poetry in your notes app.”

“shut up,” karina muttered, but she was smiling, and they knew it.

by the time they got back to the apartment, it was late and the city had settled into its usual lull. neon signs blinking slower, streets emptier, the hum of life still present but quieter now.

karina plugged in her camera the second she walked through the door, pushing past the chaos of their coat pile and ignored dinner dishes. she transferred the files with practiced ease, fingers flying across her keyboard, eyes scanning through each frame.

she didn’t post everything. just her favorites. the ones that mattered.

a still of y/n mid chorus, eyes wide, mouth open, hand outstretched like she was trying to grab something intangible.

a candid just before the final note, sweat glinting at her temple, expression cracked open with something raw.

a short clip from the bridge— shaky, imperfect, real—where y/n’s voice dipped low enough to sound like a confession.

she uploaded them to the fansite, quietly, without fanfare. no clickbait captions. just a few words.

“she deserves to be seen.”

and then she closed her laptop, let her head fall back against the couch, the hum of adrenaline slowly dying down.

she had no idea what she’d just done.

no idea that by morning, the photos would be everywhere. that hashtags would start trending. that the internet would do what it does best. amplify. echo. obsess.

no one knew yet, not even karina, that the post would change everything.

one day y/n’s group was scraping together performances at half lit venues with static ridden mics and lukewarm crowds. almost overnight, their company—which had long operated on the thinnest of margins, barely scraping together enough for rented rehearsal spaces and reused stage outfits—found itself overwhelmed. it started slowly, then all at once.

more likes on a performance clip, a few reposts from bigger accounts, a comment section that suddenly wasn’t empty. then, emails came in faster than they could answer them. variety show invitations, modeling inquiries, stylists offering racks of clothes they never would have dreamed of affording, choreographers who used to work exclusively with chart topping acts now asking if they had time to meet. people who once ignored them suddenly wanted a piece of them.

the difference was staggering. their managers were stunned, stumbling through new opportunities with wide eyes and open calendars. it wasn’t luck. it wasn’t a random viral moment.

everyone knew where it started. even if they didn’t say it out loud. it was the photos.

karina’s photos.

not just because they were beautiful, though they were. it was the way they captured something deeper. something true. the exhaustion behind a sharp smile. the fire behind a subtle glance. the quiet power of a girl mid performance, holding nothing back because she never had the luxury of half trying. and for the first time, everyone was finally paying attention. not the passive kind of attention, not the polite clapping or half hearted glances they had grown used to. this was real. eyes wide, breath held, curiosity turning into obsession.

karina had managed to benefit from it, too. her inbox was filled with requests from magazines, creative agencies, brand managers. people she once looked up to were asking her to shoot for them. she was getting job offers, collaboration deals, invitations to events where her camera had once only earned her sidelong glances. they weren’t just looking for any photographer. they wanted the one who saw what others missed. the one who told stories through still frames. the one who captured something real.

karina was no longer just another fansite admin with a good lens and a sharp eye, working nine to five in her parents old shop.

she was an artist. a name people remembered.

but even with all the momentum, all the noise and new beginnings, she never stopped being what she had been from the start.

your biggest fan.

she sent the photo late one night. for a moment as she sat in the closed restaurant, minjeong and ningning arguing about in their typical way, she stared down at the contact you put in her phone. she hesitated, at least for a moment. the memory of your kind smile, your soft spoken voice. her fingers glided across the screen in tandem with her beating heart. no fanfare, no filter. just a single image attached to a quiet message. it was the close up she took of you after the show. you were caught mid-step, your hoodie bunched loosely in your hands, the flash of her camera catching you off guard. there was no performance left in your face. no mask, no practiced smile. just fatigue and something softer beneath it. you weren’t posing. you didn’t even know she was watching. the message that came with it was short.

thought you might want this one. it felt like yours.

you stared at the photo longer than you meant to when the message chimed in your phone. not because of the lighting or the angle or the composition. it was the way it made you feel like someone had been paying attention, not to the version of you you put forward, but to the one you were seldom able to show.

you didn’t know what to say, so you kept it simple.

i don’t know how you did that. but thank you. really.

and that was how it started. not with fireworks, not with some grand confession or twist of fate. just a photo, a message, and the quiet, unmistakable feeling that someone out there understood something about you before you’d even found the words for it yourself.

there were late night messages, the kind that came unprompted but never unwelcome. blurry voice notes where laughter bled into silence. text threads that stretched past 2am, full of half-formed thoughts and gentle check ins. karina always said she was just doing what any fan would do, but it never felt like that—not to you. because when she spoke to you, she didn’t perform. she didn’t talk like someone trying to impress a name on a screen. she never asked for a selfie or a signature, never treated you like a symbol to collect or admire from a distance. instead, she asked about your day. she wondered if the stage lights ever gave you headaches, if you ever got tired of being seen all the time, but rarely looked at for real.

you told her things you hadn’t said out loud in months. about how much you missed home. about how your own voice made you wince when you heard it back in interviews. about how surreal it felt to be loved so loudly and still feel, somehow, invisible.

karina never rushed to reassure you. she didn’t offer pity or polished wisdom. she just listened, and when she answered, it was always with care. always in a way that made you feel solid again, like a person instead of a product.

and you gave that back, in your own way. you asked her about her photography, about her life. you asked about her best friends, the ones you started recognizing in the background of her instagram stories. ningning with the bright smile, minjeong with the dry wit, and aeri, the chaotic artist who seemed to live in bursts of color.

karina began sending you photos she never posted anywhere else. quiet moments. behind-the-scenes shots of a life unfolding in soft focus. unedited, warm, honest. glimpses of the world as she saw it, framed not for performance, but for truth.

and somewhere in those quiet, electric moments, something shifted. not all at once. not with drama or declarations. just a bond.

weeks later, your group found themselves sitting beneath the glare of studio lights, surrounded by producers, stylists, and a modest but buzzing live audience. it was your first real appearance on a major network talk show—an undeniable sign that something had shifted. the couches were too stiff, the air too cold, and you were suddenly aware of every camera angle, every eye trained on you.

and yet, when the host leaned forward with an easy smile and asked, “what do you think changed? what made things finally click for your group?”

you didn’t hesitate.

“a fan,” you said.

then, almost instinctively, you softened. your fingers fidgeted slightly in your lap, but your voice held steady.

“or… maybe not just a fan. she took this photo of me that kind of blew up online. it wasn’t, like, flattering in the usual sense. it wasn’t pretty-pretty. i looked tired. drained, even. but it felt real. like someone had caught something honest. i didn’t even realize how much i’d been holding in until i saw it.”

you paused, glancing down as if the words themselves carried weight.

“i guess it was the first time i looked at a photo and didn’t think, that’s what i’m supposed to look like. instead, i thought, yeah. that’s me. and somehow, that made me want to keep going. she didn’t glam me up. she gave me back to myself.”

the studio went quiet for a beat. not out of discomfort, but reverence. then the applause came. soft at first, then rising.

across the city karina sat in her apartment above the restaurant, laptop balanced on a stack of art books, camera lenses spread across the coffee table like instruments mid-performance. aeri was on the floor beside her, paint-splattered sweatpants and brush in hand, halfway through a bold, chaotic canvas.

minjeong was sprawled on the couch, bowl of popcorn in her lap. when the interview clip played and your voice filled the room, she didn’t even look up. she just tossed a handful of popcorn straight at karina’s head.

“you’re in love,” she said, deadpan.

karina didn’t blink. didn’t even react. her eyes were locked on the screen, on the way you smiled at the end of your sentence like you were thinking of someone specific.

“shut up,” she mumbled.

aeri snorted from the floor. “it’s giving muse energy.”

karina said nothing. she was already reaching for her camera bag.

the next day, she was at inkigayo. her press pass hung around her neck, laminated and slightly bent from use. her camera bag was snug against her hip, and her hands were calm, practiced, like they’d been made to hold that camera. the venue was a storm. fans crowding the barriers, chants echoing, lightsticks flashing like signals in a galaxy of movement.

but when you stepped on stage, something in the atmosphere changed.

karina found her place front left of the pit. she didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until your eyes found hers. it happened somewhere between the pre-chorus and second verse. one glance, a pause in the blur of it all. you saw her. really saw her. hair tied back, camera steady, face tilted just slightly as if she didn’t want to blink and risk missing something.

you smiled. not the practiced curve they taught you during training. not the camera ready flash for fanservice or headlines. this smile was different. unguarded. real. and in that moment, amidst the pulsing beat and the sea of screaming voices, you didn’t feel like a product. you didn’t feel like a placeholder in a group scraping to stay relevant.

you felt like you.

and it was all because of karina.

karina wasn’t sure what exactly made her send the message. maybe it was the way the restaurant felt too still that afternoon, the echo of wiped-down surfaces and idle ceiling fans humming like a nervous heartbeat. maybe it was the thought of y/n finally having a rare day off, the kind she barely got anymore, and wanting—no, needing—to be part of how she spent it. either way, her fingers had moved before her brain caught up, and suddenly the invitation had been sent.

it wasn’t phrased like an invitation, not really. just a casual mention.

i’m at the restaurant today. it’s quiet.

she’d told the others to clear out well before sunset. ningning pouted. aeri dramatically draped herself over the bar like it was a tragedy. minjeong smirked with that knowing look that made karina want to crawl into the floor. they left, eventually, but not before tossing back a few parting jabs.

“don’t combust,” ningning had said sweetly, snatching her drink on the way out.

“try not to sweat through your shirt,” aeri added from the doorway.

minjeong just leaned in, low and amused. “don’t blow it.”

karina scrubbed the same table three more times after they were gone, even though it was already spotless. the place looked as perfect as it could. lights dimmed just enough, music barely audible, the warm smell of soy and grilled rice still lingering from the afternoon rush. she fixed her shirt twice, changed it once, then changed back. she told herself it wasn’t a date, even though her heart hadn’t stopped racing since noon.

when y/n arrived, it was quiet. no cameras. no staff. just asa’s car slipping down the street and disappearing around the corner like a secret. the door creaked open, and there she was. hood up, mask tucked low on her chin, eyes wide with something that looked almost shy.

“hey,” she said, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

karina could barely breathe. “hi.”

y/n pulled her mask down fully once the door clicked shut behind her. she glanced around, taking it all in. the faded wood of the booths, the soft clatter of wind against the windows, the smell of something warm and faintly sweet still hanging in the air. her expression softened.

“it’s cute,” she said. “feels like home.”

karina didn’t know how to answer that, not really. she just rubbed the back of her neck, nodded awkwardly, and offered to make her something to eat. y/n didn’t protest. she perched on a stool by the counter, elbows resting loosely on the edge, watching with something like quiet amusement as karina bustled around the kitchen pretending she wasn’t hyper aware of every movement.

they talked about nothing at first. food, the weather, the stray cat that kept appearing by the dumpster out back. y/n teased her about being bossy with her friends. karina rolled her eyes and muttered something about “necessary survival tactics.” there was laughter, easy and unforced, and then there were silences that didn’t feel empty at all.

at one point, karina dropped a spoon. y/n leaned down to pick it up before she could, their hands brushing, barely. it wasn’t a moment worth writing down, but it lingered.

after dinner—mismatched bowls and a shared plate of grilled dumplings—they moved upstairs to the apartment above the restaurant. karina unlocked the door like it was something intimate, not just a key, and y/n stepped in slowly, quietly, her eyes moving over the space.

it was simple. lived in. warm in the way real places are, the kind that don’t need curated furniture or expensive lighting to feel whole. a stack of photo books by the window. slippers kicked halfway under the couch. art pinned carelessly to the fridge with old magnets.

“this feels familiar,” y/n said, her voice lower now, thoughtful. “my parents used to have a place kind of like this. smaller, though. messier. but... same energy.”

y/n drifted toward the table by the window, where the light hit soft and slanted, and her gaze landed on the camera resting there like something waiting to be remembered. her fingers hovered first, then moved with quiet confidence, tracing the curve of the strap, the smooth edge of the body, as if she already understood it wasn’t just a tool. like she knew that it was an extension of karina herself.

karina stilled, halfway through reaching for a pair of glasses to pour water, the motion forgotten as she watched.

“can i?”

the question landed like a hush in the room. karina didn’t answer right away. the instinct to say no curled at the edge of her thoughts, the way it always did. no one touched the camera. not her friends. not even family. it wasn’t about possession, not really. it was about the way memory clung to film, the way the lens saw everything and sometimes too much. she guarded it because she didn’t know how not to.

but y/n didn’t reach like she wanted to take. she waited, like she already knew the weight of what she was asking for.

karina looked at her, at the patience in her eyes, the quiet way her fingers curved but didn’t close around the camera. and something softened.

she nodded once, almost imperceptibly. “yeah. okay.”

her voice was barely above a whisper. but she meant it.

y/n held it with reverence, turning it gently in her hands, fingers moving over buttons and dials like she was trying to learn the shape of karina’s world through touch. the moment stretched, soft and quiet. then, without asking, she lifted it, brought it to eye level, and pointed it at karina.

karina blinked, caught somewhere between startled and breathless.

“wait, i—”

click.

y/n lowered the camera, grinning a little. “too late.”

karina stood frozen, heart thudding in her chest. “you didn’t even warn me.”

“i didn’t need to,” y/n said. she turned the camera around, looked at the preview screen, then smiled again. this time quieter, fonder. “you always say your best photos happen when no one’s paying attention.”

karina didn’t answer right away. her voice felt caught in her throat. when she finally spoke, it came out softer than she meant.

“can i see it?”

y/n hesitated, then handed the camera over. karina looked. the photo wasn’t perfect. her hair was a little out of place. she looked tired, maybe. surprised. vulnerable in a way she usually tried not to be. but there was something else there too. a light behind the eyes. a softness. like maybe, just for a second, someone had seen her without the walls.

“keep it,” karina said, surprising even herself. “if you want.”

y/n just nodded. “i do.”

they stood close now, the space between them quiet but charged. y/n looked at her the way she always did. unflinching, sincere. not with expectation, not with some idolized version of karina in her head. just... her.

“i think,” y/n said slowly, “i wanted to see how you looked when you weren’t behind the lens.”

karina didn’t know how to respond to that. not with words.

so she didn’t.

she stepped forward, just slightly, enough that she could feel the warmth radiating between them. y/n didn’t move back. her eyes flicked to karina’s mouth, then back up.

“is this okay?” karina asked, barely more than a whisper.

y/n smiled, gentle and sure.

“yeah,” she said. “it’s more than okay.”

when they kissed, it wasn’t fireworks or orchestras. it was slow and quiet, like the closing of a door, like the breath before a song begins. it tasted like dumplings and late summer air. like truth. like a beginning. their mouths met gently, not in a rush, not all at once. lips parting slow, testing the shape of closeness. karina’s free hand found y/n’s waist, tentative at first, then firmer when y/n responded with the same kind of softness. the kind that steadies rather than consumes. their noses bumped, slightly, but neither pulled away. instead, they smiled into it—barely, just enough to feel the curve of each other’s lips.

the kiss deepened, not with urgency but with familiarity, the kind that comes from long nights spent talking about nothing, and photographs that said everything. it was quiet. a little clumsy. real.

karina’s fingers slid up the back of y/n’s shirt, curling into the fabric like an anchor. y/n’s hand lifted to her cheek, thumb grazing just beneath her eye, like she was trying to memorize the moment by touch alone. there was no need to fill the silence. no need to ask if this meant something. it already did. the camera between them carefully lowered to a side table, forgotten.

somewhere, downstairs, the ice machine clicked on. a car passed by outside, headlights sweeping shadows across the window.

but up here, there was only the soft thud of a camera on the table, and two girls finally leaning into the gravity that had been pulling them closer from the start.

a week had passed since their kiss, since the night they had spent together, a night that lingered like a secret melody beneath everything y/n did. even though they hadn’t seen each other since, karina was the first name on y/n’s lips when she woke, and the last thought before sleep took her. every message from karina was a small lifeline. quiet jokes, shared moments, bits of their worlds folded together across the distance.

today, y/n was back in the practice room, the weight of the choreography solid and familiar beneath her feet, but her mind kept drifting, pulling to the memory of karina’s smile. the warmth of her hand, the way the quiet between them felt less like emptiness and more like space made just for two. moving through the routine gave her a strange kind of comfort, something steady to hold onto while the rest of the world spun faster and farther away.

but then y/n’s phone buzzed. once, twice, a steady stream that pulled her attention away from the mirror where she’d been rehearsing the steps again. she glanced down, the screen flooding with messages. urgent, clipped, impossible to ignore. her manager appeared beside her, eyes wide and serious, voice low but sharp like a warning.

“you need to see this,” she said, handing over her own phone. her hand trembled just a little, the way someone might if they’d just stumbled into a storm.

y/n’s fingers hovered over the screen before she swiped, revealing the dispatch article that tore through the quiet like a blade. the headline was blunt, loud, impossible to miss.

“rising idol caught in ‘dating scandal’: secret visits to family restaurant spark rumors.”

the photo below was grainy, taken from a distance, but unmistakable. y/n stepping inside karina’s restaurant, hood pulled low but face visible enough for anyone who knew her to recognize. the caption twisted the simple truth into something explosive, something meant to divide and shame.

y/n’s breath caught in her throat. her heart hammered so fiercely against her ribs she was sure it might burst free at any moment, wild and desperate. no warning came before she was pulled aside from rehearsal, her manager’s grip firm but hurried on her arm as they navigated through sterile hallways to a small, windowless room tucked behind the scenes. the air inside felt heavy, suffocating, as if the walls themselves held the weight of every decision made within.

waiting at the long, polished table were the company executives. their faces were unreadable masks, eyes sharp and cold, devoid of any trace of empathy. they didn’t ask how she was doing or what she wanted; they only delivered orders.

“this has to be contained,” the eldest executive said, voice low and clipped, like he was issuing a verdict rather than offering guidance. “the group just broke into the mainstream. your image is crucial. any hint of controversy could set us back months, if not years.”

another executive, younger and more impatient, leaned forward, fingers steepled. “we’ll draft a statement. something tight, professional. deny everything. discredit the source.”

“you understand,” a third added, voice even colder, “you cannot be seen with her again. no contact. no meetings. no social media interactions. if you don’t comply, your career is at risk.”

y/n swallowed hard, words lodged in her throat. she tried to find a foothold in the conversation, to explain, to plead. “but it’s not true. karina and i—we didn’t want this. we didn’t do anything wrong.”

the executives exchanged glances, unimpressed. “this isn’t about truth,” the eldest said flatly. “it’s about control. perception. you are a product. you have a responsibility to protect that.”

the cold finality of their tone crushed something fragile inside her. the group was finally on the rise, the spotlight shining brighter than ever, and now the one thing she wanted most—the quiet connection she’d found—was being torn away, dismissed like a distraction, a liability.

she nodded silently, the weight of their demands settling like a stone in her chest. there was no room for hesitation, no space for feeling. only the harsh reality that the life she had been building might unravel in a heartbeat.

karina was at the restaurant, wiping down tables with a tenderness that seemed almost reverent. the afternoon sun filtered through the windows, casting long, lazy shadows across the floor, and the soft quiet wrapped around her like a blanket, fragile and precious. every folded napkin, every wiped surface held an echo of the calm she found in the idol she couldn’t shake from her mind no matter how hard she tried.

and then her phone lit up.

a message from y/n. another from the group chat with her friends, followed by dozens more. strangers with sharp tongues and cruel words.

her fingers trembled as she opened the article. the headline screamed across the screen, twisting the memory of y/n walking through that very door just a week ago into something dark and explosive. her breath hitched. the rag slipped from her hand and fell silently onto the floor.

karina had faced criticism before, the kind that stung and lingered. but this was different. this was a storm that threatened to drown everything she’d built, everything she cared about. her phone flooded with messages calling her reckless, selfish, an opportunist who had destroyed y/n’s rising career. the restaurant’s ratings plummeted, reviews turning venomous, and anonymous whispers spread across social media like wildfire, each one cutting deeper.

her parents called, worried but unsure how to help. karina couldn’t meet their eyes when they asked if she was okay. the guilt weighed heavier than any insult, twisting tight around her chest.

karina slid down behind the restaurant counter, the worn wood cool against her back, just beneath the register where the afternoon light fell soft and golden through the window. her fingers trembled around her phone, still buzzing faintly from the recent facetime call with her parents, their worried faces lingering in her mind. she stared at the screen, the quiet hum of the empty restaurant wrapping around her like a fragile shield.

then, her phone lit up again. y/n’s name, bright and sudden, breaking the silence. karina’s breath hitched. she hesitated a moment, then swiped to answer.

“karina?” y/n’s voice came through, low and fragile.

“yeah,” karina whispered, voice barely steady. “i’m here.”

they sat with the silence for a beat, neither sure where to start. finally, y/n’s voice cracked, raw and uncertain.

“i’m sorry. for everything. for how this all happened. i didn’t want any of this. especially not to hurt you.”

karina bit her lip, the ache settling deep in her chest.

“i’m scared,” y/n confessed, voice trembling. “they told me to cut you out or i’d lose everything. and i don’t even know what losing you would mean, but it hurts more than i thought it would.”

karina swallowed the lump that rose tight in her throat. listening to y/n made everything feel real. her mind kept bouncing back and forth through memories. seeing y/n on stage at that shabby venue for the very first time, seeing her again and taking all the pictures she knew she would commit to her heart like gospel. the late night calls, the laughter, the vulnerability that y/n shared with her– only her.

the feeling of y/n’s body beside hers last week, her fingers brushing over y/n’s bare shoulder. it was that moment karina decided that no photo, not even her own, could do y/n justice. not when her chest rose and fell with breaths shared between them in that moment then.

karina shook her head, raising a palm to wipe at her eye. she didn’t want to cry.

“i don’t want to lose you.”

“you won’t.” y/n said, voice fragile but steady. “i want to fix this. but right now… i can’t. i’m sorry.”

the call ended, leaving the quiet heavier than before. karina held the phone close to her chest, breathing in the silence.

a few hours later, y/n’s social media account posted a carefully crafted statement. the words were measured, rehearsed. she denied the rumors, calling karina a “family acquaintance” and insisting they were just friends. her hands trembled as she typed, each sentence feeling like a weight she had no choice but to carry. the message wasn’t hers but it was the only way forward, the only way to keep the chaos from swallowing her whole.

and in the silence that followed, when the noise finally dimmed, there was only one thing left. a photograph resting untouched on y/n’s bedside table. a fragile, quiet trace of what had once been real.

eight months had passed. eight months of radio silence. eight months y/n spent staring down at karina’s contact, fingers itching to send a message or maybe even call, but she never did.

y/n stood on a bigger stage than she’d ever imagined, lights blinding, the roar of the crowd a steady pulse beneath her feet. the group had broken through, bigger names, bigger stages. the company still watched closely, but the tight leash had loosened just enough for y/n to breathe without suffocating.

she fought tooth and nail to stay in the group through the scandal, and slowly, the rumors faded, replaced by new headlines, new stories. but the feelings she carried for karina didn’t fade. they lingered, quiet and stubborn, beneath the gloss of the spotlight and the endless cycle of rehearsals and performances.

asa noticed, of course she did. they shared every moment on stage, every late night in the practice room. asa watched y/n carefully, her eyes sharp behind a calm smile, the kind that didn’t miss a thing. one night, after a long day, she finally asked.

asa sat beside y/n on the floor of the practice room, their backs leaning against the wall, legs stretched out in front of them. the hum of the overhead lights filled the quiet space, the only sound left after the others had trickled out hours ago. sweat clung to their skin, and the ache of the day settled deep in their bones, but neither of them moved to leave.

asa nudged a water bottle toward y/n with her foot. “you’ve been zoning out during cooldowns,” she said, not accusing, just stating. “your balance was off in the last run-through.”

y/n took the bottle, twisting the cap with tired fingers. “just tired,” she muttered.

asa nodded, letting the answer sit. she didn’t push. just drank her own water and rested her head back against the mirrored wall behind them. they sat like that for a minute, letting the silence stretch.

“this comeback’s going to be huge,” asa said eventually. “crazy to think about, huh? the venues, the collabs, the brand deals.”

“yeah,” y/n said softly. her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

asa glanced over, watching her carefully. “it’s everything we used to talk about back then. when we were stuck in those tiny green rooms and eating takeout at 3am.”

“everything we wanted,” y/n echoed.

asa was quiet for a moment. then, gently, she added, “but you haven’t really smiled since we got it.”

y/n’s breath caught, but she didn’t say anything right away. instead, she stared at the water bottle in her hands, fingers tightening around it.

asa didn’t push. she never did. she just waited, her presence steady and warm beside her.

“i never asked,” asa said quietly. “about… everything that happened. with her.”

y/n didn’t look up. her throat tightened. “there wasn’t anything to say.”

“maybe not then,” asa said. “but maybe now.”

y/n blinked slowly, eyes stinging for reasons she didn’t want to admit. the wall she’d built around those memories had held for eight long months, but asa’s voice chipped at it with every soft word.

asa reached over, placing a hand gently over y/n’s. “i’m not asking because i want the story. i’m asking because you look like you’re carrying something too heavy on your own.”

the quiet that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. it was the kind that made space. the kind that waited, patiently, for whatever came next.

and this time, y/n didn’t pull away. her grip loosened around the bottle. her shoulders, tense and drawn for what felt like forever, slumped the slightest bit.

“she saw me,” y/n said, voice so quiet asa had to lean in. “before all this. before the stages and the endorsements. she saw me.”

the words hung in the air between them, soft but heavy.

“i think that’s what scared me the most,” y/n continued, her gaze fixed on a smudge on the mirror across from them. “that someone could see me like that… and i let her go anyway.”

asa stayed quiet, giving her space. she didn’t press, didn’t try to offer empty comfort. just waited.

“everything’s gotten so big,” y/n murmured. “and i thought that was the point, right? to make it. to have people scream your name and sing your lyrics back to you. but somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like mine.”

asa finally moved, reaching out to gently nudge y/n’s knee with her own. “you’ve been carrying that by yourself for a long time.”

“yeah,” y/n whispered. “and i’m tired.”

asa exhaled softly. “she’s the reason we’re even here, you know. if she hadn’t believed in you back then...”

“i know.”

asa gave her a long look. “so let me ask you something. when was the last time you were happy? like really, genuinely happy?”

y/n didn’t answer at first. her throat felt too tight, her chest too full.

asa tilted her head, voice gentle but firm. “i think you know. and i think you’ve known this whole time. you’ve given everything to this dream, and you’re still standing, y/n. but maybe it’s okay to want something that doesn’t come with stage lights and fan chants. maybe it’s okay to want something just for you.”

y/n looked down at her hands. her voice barely made it out.

“i miss her.”

asa nodded. “then go.”

and that was it. just the quiet support of someone who understood. the next steps were y/n’s to take, but for the first time in months, the path forward didn’t feel so impossible.

asa didn’t stop there. quietly, she reached out to contacts. first it was aeri, an artist she found through a post karina tagged her in on instagram. karina had kept posting after the worst of it. the restaurant, the sunrises, the small joys she’d reclaimed for herself. she no longer took photos of idols. no one could match the beauty she’d found in y/n.

with aeri, minjeong, and ningning’s help, a plan took shape. one quiet night, far from the prying eyes that once haunted them, y/n found herself standing outside karina’s apartment above the restaurant. it was two in the morning, the streets hushed and safe.

y/n took a deep breath and knocked.

karina opened the door, blinking against the dim hallway light, still wrapped in the warmth of sleep and the softness of an old sweatshirt. her brows furrowed for half a second in confusion. until she saw who it was.

“y/n..? wha—”

but she didn’t get to finish.

y/n stepped forward without hesitation, the weight of months crashing into her all at once. she grabbed the front of karina’s coat, fingers curling tight like if she let go, she might lose her again. and then she kissed her.

not tentative, not gentle. it was aching and desperate, like a dam breaking, like all the silence between them finally gave way. y/n poured everything into it. every sleepless night, every unsent message, every whispered apology. karina froze for only a heartbeat before she melted into it, her hands rising instinctively to cradle y/n’s face, thumbs brushing damp cheeks she hadn’t realized were wet.

the kiss deepened slowly, softening. less desperation now, more familiarity. recognition. karina tasted salt and the faintest trace of mint lip balm, and something about it broke her open too.

when they finally pulled away, karina simply stood in shock. her offhand found y/n’s waist, holding her close. y/n stared back at her, eyes wide and sincere.

“thank you,” y/n whispered, voice thick with everything left unsaid. “for seeing me when no one else did.”

karina didn’t speak right away. her thumb brushed gently over the fabric at y/n’s side, grounding herself in the moment, in the weight and warmth of her. everything felt fragile. like if she moved too fast, it might vanish. but y/n was still there. standing in front of her. real. closer than she’d been in months.

karina’s voice came soft, caught somewhere between wonder and heartbreak.

“you think i could’ve looked at you and not seen you?”

y/n’s breath hitched, her eyes flickering down for a second before finding karina’s again.

“i lost so much of myself trying to hold on to the dream,” she said quietly. “but you… you made me feel like a person, not a product. like i mattered even when i didn’t know if i did.”

karina’s hand slid from her waist to her wrist, fingers curling around her gently. “you always mattered. i just didn’t know if you’d come back.”

“i didn’t either,” y/n admitted. “but somewhere between the stages and the silence, i realized… none of it feels like enough without you.”

the words hung in the air like something sacred.

karina’s eyes searched hers for a long moment, as if trying to find the truth beneath all the hurt, all the time they’d lost. what she found there must have been enough. because when she leaned in again, slower this time, more certain, it wasn’t a kiss born of urgency or ache.

in that moment, beneath the quiet hum of the city at night, y/n realized something that had been true all along. through every stage and every spotlight, through every dream she chased, it was karina who mattered more than anything. more than fame, more than success, more than the future she thought she wanted.

the future she truly wanted was here, in this small, fragile moment, with karina.

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starlostastronaut · 2 months ago

Text

NO TURNING BACK (ONCE WE'RE CONNECTED) | PART ONE

summary ─ you just needed a date to you aunt's birthday party, so your family would stop setting you up with random guys. asking your best friend to play your boyfriend for a few days can't do any harm, can it?

genre ─ bang chan x reader ; non idol au , fake dating, friends to lovers, fluff, only one bed

word count ─ 2k

links ─ masterlist ; taglist info

note ─ happy birthday to my baby, my mars ( @knowbites ) !! <33 this fic is for you. and as you can see it is part one because there's so much more i want to write but i wouldn't be able to finish it in time. i hope your day was the best and that you like this fic <33 and also a shout out to my lovely @catiuskaa who's been nothing but amazing as a beta and a consult! thank you sm!!

It's not a big deal. It's not.

You sighed, your attempts to convince yourself felt in vain, even after several tries. You took a deep breath, willing your brain to stop overthinking it. But how could you not? You were going to ask your best friend to pretend to be your boyfriend for the long weekend. Even the thought of that was so cliché, it made you cringe every time. Unfortunately, it was your only option.

Your lovely mother, as amazing as she was, had one flaw. She always tried to set you up with someone. Friend's son, the next door neighbour, the cashier who sold her groceries that one time. And after the last suitor showed up, a slightly creepy office worker pushing forty, you had enough. You told your mother you had a boyfriend, but it was very new, so that's why you hadn't mentioned it to her yet. She was delighted, and it brought you peace for a few weeks, almost making you forget about it. Until the invitation to your aunt's birthday weekend came. She was a wealthy woman who always went all out for her birthday, inviting all of her relatives for a weekend of vacation, great food, and of course, a party. Which brought a problem this time.

You were instructed to bring your boyfriend, so your family could finally meet him. Uh oh. You had several options. Tell them your boyfriend is busy, tell them you broke up, or convince your best friend to play your boyfriend for the two and a half days.

So there you were, in front of Chan's dorm, mentally preparing yourself to knock on his door for the past five minutes.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” Chan's voice came from the hallway, and he sped up his pace to meet you at his door. For a split second, your instinct screamed at you to run, that this was a bad idea, and you should back out when you still could.

“Hi,” you said, before your fight-or-flight response could kick in. “I was just uh… about to see you. Yeah, that.” You looked up into his eyes and then back down to the ground, knowing you can't do this if you have to look at him. The idea seemed good half an hour ago, but as you were getting closer to executing it, it was becoming more and more stressful.

Chan unlocks the door. “Sure, come in. Did you need anything?”

You follow him inside, sitting on the couch and squeezing your hands into fists. “Y/N? You look a little pale, are you sure-”

“Will you be my boyfriend?” you blurt out and immediately cover your mouth with your hand. Fuck. This had not gone according to the plan. At all. You see his ears go bright red, and before he can say anything, you continue. “Fake boyfriend! Fake! I just… I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend so my mom stops setting me up with old men.”

Chan looked at you, then blinked a few times in confusion. And then… he started laughing. “Fake boyfriend?”

“Channie, please?” You whipped out your best puppy eyes, knowing it was just a matter of time. He could never resist cute behavior. “It's just one weekend. I will do anything you ask of me, please.” You reached out to grab his hands. He was weak for that, you had proven it many times before

He sighed, and you smiled victoriously. “Fine,” Chan said. “I'll be your fake boyfriend.” He squeezed your hand and smiled at you. There was something in his eyes you couldn't decipher, but you were too overjoyed by your plan working to really care.

After few weeks and several practice dates with Chan, as he called them (“If we're pretending to be a couple for your family, we must get our act and backstory together,” he claimed), you were sitting in the passenger seat of Chan's car, driving up to the holiday resort you aunt booked for her party.

“Nervous?” he mused, turning down the volume of the radio. He couldn't really take his eyes off the road, but still his eyes found yours for a millisecond. You nodded and he smiled, placing his hand on your thigh. “Don't be. We planned everything. It will be okay.” His voice was warm and reassuring, just like his hand on your leg. You felt your heart rate speed up, despite feeling calmer by the second. Your nerves were really messing with you.

“We forgot one thing,” you said after a while. “How much physical contact is okay?”

“Well,” Chan shrugs. “I'm already pretty affectionate, you know that. Hugs, arm around shoulders… I guess just add hand holding and cheek kisses. I'm fine with anything but mouth kisses, I think. You?”

You thought about it for a moment. He was right, he was a physically affectionate person, so there wasn't much on the list he hadn't been doing. “Same, I think. No mouth kisses, but otherwise it's okay.”

“Don't worry, okay?” Chan repeated as the resort came into view in the distance. “It will be okay.” Looking outside from the window, you nodded. Chan was right. You planned, you practiced… what could possibly go wrong?

“Are they serious?”

“Well, we are a couple,” Chan pointed out, trying his best —and failing— to stifle the giggles coming out of his throat. He got held back with the bags, so when he arrived in the room, he was met with your shocked and angry face, staring at the bed in the center. A singular bed.

You shot him a glare sharper than a knife. That made the laughter die immediately.

“It's not that bad,” he said, setting down the bags and inspecting the bed closer. “I mean, look at this thing. It's huge. It could fit us both and Changbin with all his muscles in the middle, and we’d all be comfortable.”

You still didn't look happy, but you knew he was right. The bed was big enough, and it's not like you haven't slept close to each other before. It was just the context of the situation making you nervous, you decided. “I take the left side.”

“Oi, I wanted that one,” Chan complains, but goes to put his bag on the right side, beginning to unpack some essentials. He was organized like that, unpacking as soon as he could, putting all of his things in their meticulously chosen place. Unlike you, who just dumped your bag on your side and went to explore the room's adjacent bathroom.

After you freshened up a little, it was time to meet the parents. If this went smoothly, the rest of the weekend would too. So, you were pretty scared. Chan was loved by every parent, it was a fact. But what if they don't believe you?

“Stop overthinking it,” Chan murmured into your ear, his hand coming to wrap around your waist and pull you closer to him. “This was your plan. Stop doubting us so much. I'm a great actor, you know.”

You cracked a smile at that. “Sure,” you mused. But it was Chan, and everything about him felt calm and relaxing. You could do this.

With Chan's hand holding yours securely, tight but still gentle, you made your way down the stairs to the restaurant, where you were supposed to have dinner with your parents.

“Mom, Dad, this is Chan,” you said confidently, stealing a glance at him from the corner of your eye. He was smiling, and that alone made a smile spread on your face as well.

Chan offered his hand to shake with your dad. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“He's cute,” your mom leaned over to you to whisper into your ear. “Why haven't you brought him sooner?”

Your eyes flickered to Chan, who was being questioned by your dad. You could tell by your dad's expression that Chan was getting the 'hurt my daughter and you'll end up in a ditch in the woods’ speech.

“That, for example?” You pointed to the two men, and your mom rolled her eyes.

“He just wants to make sure this Chan is right for you,” she smiled. “But don't worry, I won't let him torture your boy for long. I can tell he's a good guy who cares about you. Mothers always know,” she smirked and patted your shoulder, before turning to the other side to rescue Chan from your dad.

The dinner then went on with everyone ordering food and chatting more. And as you predicted, your parents loved him immediately. Who wouldn't, right? Chan was kind, warm, caring, and there was an aura around him that made everyone feel safe and comfortable. He would be a good boyfriend, you thought as you watched him excitedly explain something to your dad.

What? Where did that thought come from? You shook your head. Chan was performing well. Objectively, he would be a good boyfriend. Attentive, gentle, and he was good with parents. You felt a sense of calmness, finally believing you might actually pull it off.

“So, day one done?” Chan asked, coming out of the shower in just shorts, drying his hair with a towel. You couldn't help the way your eyes skimmed over his upper body. Chan always walked around naked, and you made fun of him for it every time, but he was still hot, and you were just a girl.

“I hope you're wearing a shirt to bed,” you chuckled, picking up one of his shirts lying around and throwing it on him. Chan caught it, but he lost his balance and stumbled forward a little. You looked at each other and burst into laughter. Feeling all of today’s stress disappear, you felt like you could finally relax and laugh with Chan about something stupid, like you always did.

You never noticed how pretty his laugh sounded. Thousands of fairies must have been born from it because it was so pure, happy, and full of life. You slowly quieted down, watching how his eyes crinkled into crescents and his dimples proudly showed on his cheeks. Pretty.

“Y/N? You good there?”

“Yeah, yeah, just… tired, I guess,” you answered. “It's late and a lot has happened today,” you added, catching onto any excuse for your distracted mind. The events of today were to blame, definitely not Chan himself. Because that wouldn't make any sense. You just… You just needed to go to sleep and rest. That was it. These thoughts… it was a result of worrying about how you'd perform. Your brain was constantly evaluating how boyfriend-ish he was acting. And paired together with the exhaustion, it was rotting your brain.

Chan nods and gets into the bed, keeping his distance from you like he promised, but still staying close enough that if you just reached out, he would be there. “So what's the battle plan for tomorrow?”

You hummed, pulling the blanket over you as well. At least you were given two of those. “Well, the morning is pretty chill. You'll probably have to meet some cousins or other family, but no one should bother us much. Everyone does whatever they want, catching up, since there's some pretty distant family here. In the evening, there’s the party. That's the main event of the weekend. The next day is mostly to recover and pack to go back home.”

Chan whistled. “Damn, your aunt really takes this seriously.”

“Well, it is her 50th birthday,” you shrugged. “And she's always loved big, extravagant parties.” Looking over at Chan, you noticed a small smile on his face. There was something hiding behind it, you were sure, but you were unable to decipher it.

“We should rest well then, such an exhausting day ahead of us,” he said, and you nodded. He was right. “Good night, girlfriend.”

You chuckled, weakly throwing a pillow in his direction. “Good night, boyfriend,” you said, settling into the blankets with a fond smile on your lips mirroring Chan's own.

#( all works⎯ 🗃 )#neverendingdreams #bang chan x reader #bang chan fanfiction #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfiction #bang chan #stray kids x reader #bang chan imagines #fluff #fake dating #friends to lovers

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gigiszn · 5 months ago

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saw u asking for different shows to write abt and if you like squid games i’d love ANYTHING abt player 388🥰 kang dae-ho ml

FOREVER — kang dae ho x fem!reader.

tw: idk if there is any, mentions of debt, mentions of pregnancy, a kiss

FLUFF!

wc: 2.3k

ask and you shall receive! heres a fluff on kang dae-ho, a turn from what i usually write lol! request for any show and any character! i write fluff, smut, angst, etc. :)

۫ ꣑ৎ ｡°‧⭑.ᐟ

The moment you discovered her pregnancy after the first game, a primal instinct surged through you—sisterly protection, fierce and unwavering. She reminded you of your own sister back home—quiet, yet impulsive, and always acting without thinking. In that, you felt an overwhelming need to protect her the way you would your own blood.

But it was more than that. The man who had impregnated her, the crypto scammer, lingered in the back of your mind. You couldn’t forget that he, too, was in the game. The weight of your circumstances hit you all over again—the crushing debt, the loan sharks breathing down your neck, the money you borrowed to send your sister to school, to keep food on the table, all while you had no means of repayment. The reason you were in this game, a nightmare you hadn't asked for, was in part because of him.

And yet, as much as your mind raged, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him—not when you, too, were desperate. Not when you, too, were fighting just to survive.

So you stayed by Jun-hee’s side as she stubbornly refused to join Myung-gi’s team, even though his group was probably the safest option. Safety didn’t matter when it came to her. Not now.

You walked the room together, rejection after rejection from every team you approached. The ticking clock was an ever-present reminder of how little time you had. Doubt gnawed at you, an icy presence. Hope was slipping away, like water through your fingers.

Then, a voice broke through the haze of your thoughts.

“Do you... need a group?”

You turned, startled, and saw a group of three men standing just behind you. The one who had spoken seemed almost nervous, his voice shaking slightly, as if asking felt like an intrusion. But there was something in his eyes, something hesitant but sincere.

You glanced at his companions—two men who looked just as cautious. One of them, a wild-eyed figure, looked as if he might burst at any moment. He had the air of someone who had lived through madness before, someone whose grip on reality was tenuous at best. You, like everyone else, had assumed he was crazy, his mind lost in withdrawal from the lack of drugs in his system.

But in that instant, you didn’t have the luxury to second-guess. There was no time to analyze the situation or consider the risks. The clock was ticking down, the seconds slipping by like sand through an hourglass.

You bit your lip, your heart pounding in your chest. Then, with a tight breath, you nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

The two other men, though clearly wary, shared the same understanding. There was no choice. You had to make it through the next round, together.

The game blurred into a haze of frantic movements, strategy, and quick reflexes. You barely remembered the moments between each challenge, each game feeling like a blur of adrenaline and fear. For a brief moment, you stumbled in the jegi game, your foot missing the ball—but somehow, with a burst of luck and panic-fueled desperation, you made it through.

When dinner time arrived, the weight of exhaustion settled on you. You found a quiet corner with the rest of your group, trying to make yourself small and invisible as you huddled together with your new team. A man named Young-il joined you, his eyes fixed on Gi-hun with an almost religious intensity. You couldn’t quite understand the fascination, but there was something about Gi-hun—his calm demeanor, his quiet strength—that seemed to draw people in.

You handed Jun-hee your drink and half of your food, your heart heavy with concern.

“You’re eating for two,” you said, pressing the plate into her hands, despite the reluctant frown she gave. “You need a second meal.”

Her protest was immediate, but you only shook your head, ignoring her discomfort. You couldn't bear the thought of her going hungry—not now, not when she was carrying so much more than herself. Even if she resisted, you had made your choice. And if you had to fight the whole world to keep her safe, you would.

The others followed suit, and you couldn’t help but smile at their quiet initiative. Their willingness to stick together, despite the madness around them, felt like a small spark of hope in the midst of all the darkness.

But before you could indulge in the rare moment of peace, a tap on your shoulder broke the spell. You turned, and there was Dae-ho, his eyes carrying a weight of something you couldn’t quite name—longing, maybe? Admiration? He extended the last half of his food toward you, a silent offering.

"Oh, I couldn’t," you said, shaking your head and gently pushing the food back toward him, placing it in his lap.

"No man should ever let a woman go hungry," Dae-ho said firmly, his words simple yet filled with something tender that made your stomach twist uncomfortably. His voice was steady, but there was a softness there that made your heart beat a little faster.

You offered him a gentle smile, your fingers brushing the side of his hand as you took the half-split food. Without another word, you broke it into two pieces and handed him one. It was a small gesture, but it felt monumental in the suffocating silence that surrounded you.

You ate in quiet company, the weight of the game pressing down on each of you in different ways. As the minutes slipped by, you noticed how your body seemed to inch toward Dae-ho, as though the space between you two had silently shrunk. There was a warmth in his presence, something comforting amidst all the chaos.

The night was thick with silence, the occasional sound of heavy breaths or the muffled snores of the others filling the otherwise still air. Sleep was evasive. You lay awake, the anxiety of the next game gnawing at you, a constant buzz in your mind. It was like trying to guess the next wave of disaster, only to have it keep you from ever truly resting.

"Can’t sleep either?" A voice whispered from the bed to your left, low and soft.

You jumped, your heart racing as you instinctively slapped a hand to your chest. "Gosh, Dae-ho, don’t scare me like that," you sighed, the words half-teasing, half-serious.

He gave an apologetic grin, his eyes twinkling with amusement even in the dim light. Then, raising an eyebrow toward your bed, he gestured to the space next to you. You nodded, the corner of your lips curling into a small smile as you scooched over to make room. Without another word, he climbed down from his ladder, then up to yours, settling beside you with quiet grace.

You both sat in the dark, knees drawn to your chest, your backs leaning against the cold, unforgiving brick wall. You felt lucky to have a bed at the back of the bunks—it offered the illusion of safety, a small semblance of control in a world that had none.

“I have a sister,” you murmured, your voice softer than usual, almost as if you were telling a secret. "She’s 18."

Dae-ho nodded, his gaze drifting down to the worn-out uniform issued shoes he was still wearing. “I have sisters too. Four of them. All older than me. That’s why my dad made me join the Marines. Wanted me to... ‘toughen up,’ I suppose.”

You both fell into a comfortable silence, the kind where words weren’t always necessary. The sound of your breaths seemed to echo louder than usual, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was shared, almost intimate.

Slowly, your knee brushed against his. You paused, waiting for a shift, a moment of awkwardness. But it never came. Instead, his shoulder gently brushed yours, and the small, simple connection felt like a quiet promise. Your head tilted slightly, resting on his shoulder. You felt the tension leave his body, felt him relax just a fraction as his hand came to rest lightly on your knee.

"I... wish we could stay like this," he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You smiled, the softest of sounds escaping your lips as you nodded, your forehead resting against him for just a moment longer. “Forever.”

He repeated the word softly, a quiet reverence in his voice. “Forever.”

You noticed then, in the stillness, that his finger had started to tap gently against your knee, the rhythm slow but deliberate. A subtle pattern. You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. "Is that... morse code?"

His movements stilled instantly, and when he turned to look at you, there was a flicker of something you couldn’t place—a hint of nervousness, maybe even fear.

"Do... do you know morse code?" he asked, his voice suddenly smaller, like he was worried you might somehow decipher it.

You glanced at him, then back at his hand. The simple, almost childish rhythm of the taps seemed so out of place, yet so perfectly in sync with the quiet moments you shared.

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his words, before a teasing smile tugged at the corner of your lips. "No," you said, your voice soft but jovial. "Why?"

He looked down for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he were weighing his next words carefully. Then, with a soft exhale, he stared at your knee, his finger resuming its rhythm.

“I,” he began again, tapping the first letter with deliberate slowness, “love,” he continued, each tap resonating against your skin like a heartbeat.

You could feel the weight of each letter as it sank into you, each tap bringing you closer to an unspoken truth. He paused, his fingers lingering for a moment before finishing the final word, and you already knew—knew what he was saying before the last tap even landed.

In this place, bonds were formed quickly, forged under pressure, either becoming unbreakable or twisted into something dark and dangerous. But this... this bond, you could already sense, was different.

You took a deep breath and, with a steady hand, completed the final sequence of taps on his knee. The air around you seemed to hold its breath as you finished, your finger resting softly against his skin.

His gaze was fixed on you, his mouth slightly parted, waiting for your response. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you looked into his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, the world around you felt far away. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and despite everything, you allowed it to settle into place.

"You."

You move closer, each subtle shift in position drawing you nearer, the air between you thick with anticipation. Your eyes flicker down to his lips, then back to his gaze, the unspoken tension palpable as your breaths mingle in the silence.

With every inch you close, the world around you seems to fall away, leaving only the soft beat of your hearts, echoing the unacknowledged yearning between you. His lips brush lightly against yours, the contact so delicate it almost feels like a dream, a teasing promise that hangs just out of reach.

You hover there, the barest touch igniting a fire you didn’t expect, as if the very act of waiting, of drawing this moment out, makes it all the more meaningful. Finally, with a quiet exhale, you close the distance, your lips pressing against his in a slow, deliberate kiss. It isn’t rushed, but filled with intention—a tenderness that speaks of everything you’ve yet to say.

The kiss deepens, slow and unhurried, each movement charged with a quiet intensity, as if your souls are speaking through the press of your lips, exchanging words you don’t need to say aloud. In that kiss, time seems to stretch, each second more profound than the last, a connection that is as much about the pause as it is about the embrace.

You slowly pull away, the warmth of the moment still lingering on your lips, but the quiet space between you now feels just as intimate. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, as if he’s trying to hold onto the softness of what just passed, before you gently settle back, your head finding its place once more on his shoulder.

You can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek, the solid presence of him grounding you in a way nothing else can. The tension in your body begins to melt, replaced by a sense of calm you hadn’t realized you were missing. You let out a soft sigh, the weight of everything you’ve been holding onto slipping away.

“Yeah, forever,” you whisper, the words feeling like a promise, a quiet certainty that somehow fills all the empty spaces in between.

He chuckles softly, the sound like a soft breath of relief, and you can hear the smile in his voice as it washes over you. The sound pulls a faint smile from your own lips as you close your eyes, and for a moment, there’s nothing left to do but just be.

The world around you seems to fade, the worries, the fears, the uncertainties, all slipping away with each steady breath you take. You both close your eyes, drifting back into the comforting quiet of sleep, the closeness between you settling into something deeper than you can quite explain.

The unsureness that had clouded your mind before feels distant now, replaced by a quiet peace that only he could bring. As long as you have each other, nothing else matters. In the soft cocoon of his arms, you let yourself fall into the safety of the moment, the weight of the world no longer pressing down on you.

You fall asleep with a heart full of quiet certainty, knowing you’re not alone in this, that the world can wait, as long as you have him by your side.

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luveline · 11 months ago

Text

kbd —your youngest daughter’s second birthday is hectic but perfect. dad!steve x mom!reader, 1.7k

“It’s crazy that she won’t remember.”

“I know, but they remember all the love, right?” you say, stretching the neck of a balloon before attaching it to the hand-pump. “That’s what makes them happy kids. They were happy babies.”

Steve glances around the living room. There are shining cellophane banners on every wall, streamers in the eaves, bunting across the stairs and now balloons to be taped to the windows and hung from the ceiling. It’s five in the morning, and while you and Steve are both a tad slow with the clinging dregs of fatigue, neither of you are grumpy. It’s hardly much earlier than you wake up most days.

“I guess so,” Steve says, stretching his own balloon.

“Even if she doesn’t remember, we’ll still remember,” you say with a shrug. “Don’t you remember Avery’s second birthday?”

Steve remembers every birthday, and he gets your point. He wasn’t suggesting you make less effort and you know that, but it really freaks him out sometimes that the girls won’t remember their childhoods like he does. He’s telling you because he tells you everything.

“We got her a purple puppy teddy with those weird glass eyes and she accidentally hit you in the face really hard,” he says.

Steve remembers you pretending it didn’t hurt, and wiping the instinctive wetness from your eyes. You hadn’t been upset, but injuries near the sinuses make everybody cry. He’d wiped your tears away and he’d been deadly concerned; that was at a time where he was still marginally insecure about being a family, scared you’d one day realise you didn’t want it with him, that it was too hard and he was doing too little, every gentle caress of his thumb pleading with you not to hate him for it.

But that was dramatic, in hindsight. When Avery noticed you were upset and began to cry too, you’d ducked away from Steve’s touch to pick her up and soothe her. You love Steve like breathing and Avery ten times as much. Your tears really were because you couldn’t help them.

“Ouch,” you say, slipping the balloon from the pump to tie around your two fingers. “I’m glad they don’t like Beanie Babies. That puppy almost took my teeth out.”

He gives you a long look. “You’d still be cute without teeth, probably.”

“Thank you.”

You overestimate how much time you need to finish decorating. At 6AM you’re done, and at 7AM you’re napping, you and Steve with your heads pressed together on the couch, your snores blending into one sound.

It’s Beth who wakes first sometime around 7:30. She doesn’t disturb you, only laughs at all the balloons and your strange predicament as she drags herself up the leather couch. It’s cracking now, you’ve had the same couch since she was born, but her dad always raves about it because he can wipe it clean with a clorox wipe. She avoids the spiky skin of it and curls up gently against Steve’s chest. She sniffs his shirt, and usually he senses someone’s close by to wrap an arm around them, but it’s you who feels her and covers her tummy with your hand.

Upstairs, barely twenty minutes later, Dove wakes. She’s trapped in her cot and furious about it, whining behind a closed door, but luckily her best big sister Avery is waking up too.

“Hi, Dove,” she says, beaming at her frowny sister, “it’s your birthday, did you know? Happy birthday!” Avery reaches arms just long enough to help Dove over the crib and onto the floor. “Wanna hol’ my hand?”

“Okay.”

Happier to be released, Dove and Avery backtrack to your bedroom and find it empty. “They must be downstairs,” Avery assumes. “Do you want socks?”

Avery outfits them both in socks. You and Steve would be sorry you missed it if you knew it happened, Avery at her most gentle as she slips a pair of her socks over Dove’s tiny feet, and then her own. “Warm toes,” Avery says, “why does the floor get cold at night time?”

Dove doesn’t know. She holds her hands out and Avery shakes her head. “Dad said I can’t carry you on the stairs. Come on, let’s go see what’s for breakfast. It’s your birthday so you can probably get to pick.”

“Toast?” Dove asks.

“Sure, Dove, I like toast. French toast? With cinnamon sugar?”

They make it to the bottom of the stairs unharmed and find a hallway turned to a dreamscape. “Wow!” Avery says, pointing at the balloons. They’ve been taped into a rainbow arch around the door to the living room, and there are streamers hanging down as a curtain to walk through.

Dove is pleasantly startled, her giggle one of promised excitement. “Wow!” she says.

On the couch, Steve snorts awake.

He blinks dry eyes, arms instinctively squeezing the small mass at his chest, worried he’s grabbed a kid and forgotten and the poor girls about to fall. After a second he gets his wits back and realises it’s only a dozing Beth, your hand sandwiched under his arm.

He blows out a breath and finds the source of the commotion; Avery and Dove stands giggling in the doorway, the pink paper streamers kissing their faces as they look up at them.

“Good morning!” he says, giving you a little nudge. “Dove, baby, it’s your birthday! Happy birthday! Can you see, the decorating fairies came when you were sleeping.”

“Happy birthday!” you croak agreeably.

“Thanks,” Beth says, rubbing her nose against his chest.

“Not yours, sweetheart,” Steve says.

“Okay.” She settles with a good pat on the back.

For breakfast, Dove indeed wants French toast with ‘minnamin’, and you couldn’t be happier to make it. You sit her in her high chair with a pillow behind her back, you and Steve performing something of a dance as you rush to feed three hungry girls while satiating the birthday girl's demands. “You can have anything you want,” Steve promised. Why would he do that? Now Dove wants a kiss, and the bag of chocolate chips from the pantry, and another kiss, and Mommy, can we have cocoa?

It’s hectic, but it’s fine. If she wants some hot cocoa of course she can have it, it’s just a lot to happen all at once.

“Careful,” you say, lifting Steve’s arm away from the burner. He’s shifted the pan off of the heat and forgotten about it. “Ooh, saved your arm hair.”

“Jesus,” he says, yanking his arm out of your touch, but more importantly, away from the heat. “Shit, sorry.”

“Mom, can I have water please?” Beth asks.

You lean up into the big cabinet full of glasses for her favourite plastic cup and rinse it out. You fill it from the jug in the fridge and put it down in front of her with a big kiss pressed to the back of her head. “Okay?” you ask.

“Thank you.”

“Avery, what are you gonna have to drink?”

“Coffee.”

“I don’t think so, little miss. Coffee isn’t very good for you, and it tastes strong.”

Avery tries to stop you from walking away, so you stay, despite Steve’s scary-looking cooking. He’s dangerous about the heat.

“What?” you ask, looking down at her.

“Are you gonna give Dove the presents after breakfast?” she whispers.

“Yeh, bub. Don’t worry, I wrapped yours last night.”

She beams at you. She’d stuck up in bed like a dagger when she remembered she hadn’t wrapped it, but you promised to do it if only to get her to go to sleep.

She hums as you tip her head back and tap your noses together, upside down.

“And… ta da!” Steve puts a plate of chopped up French toast and sugar soaked fruits in front of the birthday girl. The toast is thick and browned, but cut into little squares so she can’t choke. “Birthday breakfast for my beautiful girl.” He kisses her chubby cheek.

“Who’s next?” he asks, pulling up. “Bethie, you want French toast too?”

“Yes, please.”

“You want to help me make it?”

“I can?” she asks, propping herself with two hands on the table.

“Steve, please be careful,” you beg.

“What, like I’m gonna let her get burned?”

He scoops Beth up. You wrap your arms in front of Avery with your chin atop her head, two girly shields to protect you from the oncoming argument.

In her high chair, Dove laughs around a mouthful of raspberries and bread. “Dad, stop frowning!” she demands. Frowning sounds like ‘fwoming’ and raspberry juice stains her chin, but it is her birthday, so you and Steve leave your playful arguing for another time.

“You’re on my list,” he whispers threateningly.

You pull up a seat between Dove and Avey to make sure Dove doesn’t hurt herself in her greed. “You’re on my list.”

Dove doesn’t need help eating anymore, but she seems to enjoy the attention, so you begin feeding her one forkful of yummy sugary breakfast at a time. “Want maple syrup?” you ask her.

Her eyes go wide as saucers. “Yes!”

“Okay, baby. Dad, can we get some syrup over here?”

“Lazy, awful woman. What happened to her legs?” he asks Beth, who giggles like she knows she shouldn’t laugh.

Dove smiles. She looks as happy as she ever has, with her slept-in pyjamas and her bed head, pink on her lips, brown sugar dusting the front of her nose. “I can’t believe you’re already two,” you say, wiping her nose gently. “Is that yummy?”

“Yummy,” she says agreeably, lips parting the second you raise her fork.

You got a present for each of the girls, though it isn’t their day, because you didn’t want them to feel left out, but honestly they don’t seem like they’ll need any extra spoiling. Bethie’s laughing sitting on the counter as Steve lets egg drip on her knee, squeamish giggling that in turn makes Avery laugh and attempt to join them. Steve grabs her under the arms and puts her right next to Beth.

“Two assistants!” he says. “I’m spoiled. Which one of you wants to find the maple syrup? It’s somewhere in all that mess.”

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httpvomitello · 26 days ago

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Hii could you do a peter parker x reader where the reader is like very touch starved but her finally feeling comfortable and safe with Peter?

I love ur peter fics so much btw

Helloooo, thank you for liking my fics! I hope you like this one too ~ ♡♡

(Andrew's version of Spider-Man is my favorite, so at any opportunity I will write about him, hehe.)

Safe Hands .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: You've always been touch-starved—flinching at handshakes, hesitating with hugs, avoiding vulnerability. But dating Peter Parker slowly begins to change that. His gentle presence, his patient hands, and the way he looks at you like you're the only person in the world… it breaks down walls you didn’t even know you’d built.

peter parker x f!reader

WARNINGS: a little NSFW if you almost squint your eyes to notice it.

It didn’t happen overnight.

Peter didn’t expect it to. He never rushed you, never questioned the way your hands would twitch slightly when someone reached out for you, or the way you’d stiffen for a second too long when he kissed your forehead. He noticed, but he never pushed. That was part of why you felt yourself falling for him.

That and the way he looked at you. Like you were sunlight.

You’d told him early on—voice shaky and eyes darting anywhere but his—that you weren’t the most affectionate person. You’d said it like an apology. But Peter just smiled, cupped your face gently and said, “That’s okay. I’ve got enough affection for both of us.”

And he meant it.

Still, you saw the flickers in his expression sometimes—hesitation when he reached for your hand, caution in the way he moved near you. He never wanted to make you uncomfortable. And that made you want to be close to him more than anything.

The first time you initiated a hug, Peter didn’t say a word. You had shown up at his apartment after a long, awful day. The kind of day that sat heavy on your chest and made your bones ache. And when he opened the door, tousled and in sweatpants, with a gentle smile already forming, you just stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

You felt him freeze for half a second, like he couldn’t believe it.

Then his arms came around you in the warmest, tightest way. He didn’t ask questions. He just held you. And you nearly cried because—God—you’d never felt safe like that before.

From then on, it got easier.

You’d curl against him on movie nights, your legs tangling with his. You’d reach out and thread your fingers through his while walking through the city. And sometimes, when the nightmares came, you’d climb into his lap, bury your face in his shoulder, and just breathe him in until the world felt quiet again.

Peter never said much during those moments. He’d kiss the top of your head and run his fingers through your hair. Whisper a soft, “I’ve got you, love.” And you knew he did.

It was late one night when something shifted.

You were curled on his bed, legs tangled under the covers, his arm draped across your waist. The lamp on the bedside table cast a soft glow, and the sound of rain pattered against the window. Peter was playing with your fingers—his favorite thing to do when you laid together like this.

“You okay?” he asked, voice a low murmur against your ear.

You nodded, eyes fluttering shut. “More than okay.”

There was a pause, long and thoughtful. Then you turned toward him, placing your hand on his cheek. He leaned into your touch like it was instinct, like he’d been waiting for it.

“I used to hate being touched,” you whispered.

Peter’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I didn’t know what safe touch felt like. I never really… trusted anyone with it. But with you…” You hesitated, your throat thick with emotion. “With you, I feel like I can finally breathe. Like I’m not broken for needing someone.”

Peter’s hand slid to your waist, holding you with that same gentle strength. “You’re not broken,” he whispered. “You’re human. And I’ll hold you as long as you want me to.”

You smiled softly, leaning in to kiss him.

It started slow, like always—your lips brushing his, soft and tender, breath mingling. But something buzzed under your skin. Not panic. Not fear. Just need.

You shifted closer, straddling his lap, and Peter’s hands immediately went to your hips, grounding you. His kisses deepened, growing hungrier, and the sound he made when you tugged gently at his shirt made your whole body light up.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his chest rising fast. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, lips slightly parted. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Peter guided you down gently, the reverence in his touch making your chest ache in the best way. He kissed every inch of skin he could reach, whispering soft praises—“You’re so beautiful… God, I love you.”—like you were something divine.

He didn’t rush a single second.

Every move was slow. Careful. Like he was learning you piece by piece, and you were doing the same with him.

You’d never felt so cherished.

So seen.

And when it was over, when you were curled into his chest, bodies warm and tangled beneath the covers, he whispered your name like it was something sacred.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

You pressed your lips to his collarbone. “I know.”

It had been a week since that night.

Since you'd finally let yourself fall into Peter’s arms without holding back. Since you'd let yourself be vulnerable—fully, completely—with someone who made you feel like you were worth it.

You still weren’t used to waking up wrapped in someone’s arms. But Peter made it easy. Waking up to his sleepy smile, messy hair, and the soft way he whispered “Good morning, beautiful” like it was a reflex... yeah, you were getting very used to it.

But today felt different.

It started off normal. You both grabbed coffee near ESU, where Parker had some lab work to finish and you had a few errands to run. You kissed his cheek and promised to meet up later. All good.

Until Peter stopped by the bookstore downtown to surprise you.

And found you laughing.

With him.

A guy you used to know from before Parker. Tall. Handsome enough. A little too confident. He was standing close—way too close for Peter’s liking—and you were smiling that soft smile Peter swore was reserved for him.

You hadn’t seen him walk in yet. He stayed quiet, watching for a second longer than he probably should’ve. Something twisted in his stomach, ugly and uncomfortable.

He didn’t doubt you. Not for a second.

But God, that didn’t stop the jealousy from curling in his chest.

When you spotted him, you immediately lit up.

“Hey, babe!” you waved, motioning him over, oblivious to the storm behind his eyes. “Didn’t know you’d be done so early.”

Peter plastered a smile on his face, walking over and sliding his arm—just a little tighter than usual—around your waist.

“Hey,” he said, kissing your cheek, eyes never leaving the guy in front of you.

“Oh! This is Josh—old friend from high school. Josh, this is Peter. My boyfriend.”

Josh gave a tight smile. “Lucky guy.”

Peter’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

There was tension in the air now. You could feel it.

Josh made some excuse and quickly took off. As soon as he left, you turned to Peter with a raised brow.

“Okay… what was that?”

Peter didn’t look at you at first. He stared at the door Josh walked out of, jaw tight. Then finally, he turned back, his voice low.

“He was flirting with you.”

You blinked. “What? No, he wasn’t.”

Peter gave you a look.

You sighed. “Okay, maybe. But it didn’t matter. I wasn’t flirting back.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know that. I trust you, I do. I just—” He ran a hand through his hair, voice quieter now. “I just don’t like people looking at you like that. Like they don’t know you’re already someone’s whole world.”

Your heart squeezed.

“You’re my whole world too, y’know,” you said softly, stepping closer.

Peter looked at you, all the tension in his shoulders slowly melting.

“I’m not used to… having something this good,” he admitted. “So when I see someone trying to sneak into that space, even just for a second, it drives me crazy.”

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands. “You don’t have to be jealous, Peter. I’m yours. Only yours.”

He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering shut. “Say that again.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered. “I chose you. I keep choosing you. No one else ever made me feel safe the way you do.”

Peter opened his eyes then, and the heat in them was something you felt down to your spine.

He kissed you right there—slow but deep, fingers gripping your waist like he needed you closer, like he needed to remind himself that you were real.

“Mine,” he murmured against your lips, just loud enough for you to hear.

You smiled, breathless. “Yours.”

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jade-jini · 2 years ago

Note

YOU BETTER WRITE VIRGIN LOSER G!P MINJEONG WHERE SHES LIKE

“y/n i have no idea where your clit is can you help me out :((??”

and then once she shoves her cock inside she’s like “damn its so… tight um nngh” and then she cums bc shes such a loser

OMG my first ask is one of my fave writers🙊 Imma flex yes bdjdndk 😎

OK BUT all this starting because I was bullying minjeong in the chat so you know I have to make it virgin loser g!p jeongie x bully (but not really) reader.

Going from daily annoying her; taking her books and stretching so she won’t be able to reach for them, pushing her out of the way, stealing her dessert knowing damn well she was excited to eat it :( “Thank you Jeongie I was hungry byeee” and you would kiss her on the cheek, making her shy and buying you enough time to run away with the food “y/n wait! That’s unfair :(” like poor puppy 🥺

To constantly teasing her. Trapping her against her locker every morning, saying “good morning Jeongie” right on top of her lips making her sigh and completely blanks out, teasing her every time she talked with a girl and looked shy or nervous (minjeong didn’t know this was out of jealousy ‘cause why is anybody talking to YOUR loser?), calling her out and telling her she was such a virgin, Sitting on her lap before the class starts and she just gasps because you keep moving. Why are you doing this to her??? when you have a perfect chair right next to her (yes, she was your seat mate, how unlucky for her huh?) And she just doesn’t have the courage to tell you to move (plus even tho it was wrong it felt too good). You’re so busy saying how she’s such a nerd because of her little Pokemon stickers and plushies that mind you were a gift from her other nerdy friends (yes the other Aespa girlies), that you don’t notice how you’re affecting her 😭 until you feel something hard against your ass and when you instinctively were to get up she automatically grabs your hips to stop you fbdkdn

“Oh someone is enjoying herself a little too much huh little pervert? You’ve probably never had a girl on your lap before.” you whisper in her ear with such a mean smirk and she just whimpers because it’s so embarrassing that is true:((( she got hard in class and right in front of her crush bully. She was gonna panic and then you just “Don’t worry puppy, I’ll help you after class. Just behave until we’re out.”

AND MINJEONG IS ABOUT TO LOSE IT ‘CAUSE NOBODY HAS EVER SAID SOMETHING LIKE THAT TO HER???? but she’s an obedient puppy so she does as you say. She was trying to distract herself from the literal fear she was feeling thinking about what you were gonna do to her. She has never done shit with nobody so she was genuinely nervous 😭 until she felt your hand under her desk, teasing her over her pants. Minjeong looked at you almost begging you to stop because that poor creature felt like she could come right there in that classroom, but you simply told her to stay quiet with your finger, so she had to endure the rest of the lecture with her boxers wet with her precum 💀. After class she got up super fast, covering herself with her bag actually considering running away feeling too scared of pussy but you grabbed her arm firmly.

“Your car or mine?” You asked her. She gulped, catching herself unable to escape you. “wait you don’t have one I remember. You’re always walking home. Lame. C’mon.” Why are you so mean 😭

“A-are you sure that’s a good idea? I thought you were joking…” she said with her little shy voice 🥺 she’s so pathetic and cute. The reason you loved annoying the sht outta her was because of how endearing you found her! She was such a cute little loser who just needed to get ruined.

You rolled your eyes and simply dragged her to your car. Once you got to your place you lost no time and pushed her to your bed, straddling her and kissing her and when I tell you Minjeong can’t stay still 😭 she doesn’t know how to act or what to do she just knows 1. She needs to get her pants out of the way NOW and 2. You were the only one who could help her right now. “Y/n.. please” she’d moan, feeling you moving on top of her again, this time with much more intension. She kept pushing her hips up trying to get more friction. “God you’re so desperate, can’t even let me have my fun before we start” you’d scold but bro fvck you you were just as desperate, you just knew how to hide it better. But it became too hard to hide the way your mouth was almost drooling once you put minjeong’s pants and boxers down because this girl is BIG. And not only big but also idk her dick is just so.. pretty?! Knfkfj like it just looks so amazing, size aside Idk-

So you wasted no time and put her dick inside your mouth, as deep as possible and goshhh minjeong’s eyes went completely to the back of her head. She’s never felt such sensation. Getting deepthroated during your first blowjob is an experience not a lot of people get so she was lucky af “aghh.. y/n.. oh my..~” she’d moan your name so softly it was almost heart melting. That if it wasn’t ‘cause she was literally balls deep inside your throat- anyway. She did sound both so hot but so cute, moaning and whimpering and grabbing your hair a little bit with her shaky hands Aww. You thought she was just a sensitive one but oh stupid you how didn’t you notice it was more than just that??

Once you could feel her breathing a little too irregular, knowing she was close, you got up not wanting her to come yet. You heard her groaning and laughed at her. “Shut up, you’re not the only one who gets to feel good here are you?” You teased her while getting completely naked and Omg 😳 minjeong’s face got sooo red ‘cause she has never seen a girl naked before. So she quickly covered her eyes and you thought she was just a shy loser bsdjfn “I literally just had your cock in my mouth what are you so shy about” “y/n! Hmmm…”. But she said nothing else and once she took her hands off her face you were lying down right in front of her, looking like a goddess and Omg 😵‍💫 her brain stopped working. She’s trying to learn so the best next step would be to get closer and kiss you right? Yes. So that she does, getting in between your legs trying to do it as confident as possible. “Fuck me, jeongie~” you whispered in her ear and gosh she was so ready for it but also so naive about how that was gonna happen 😭 the few videos her useless pervert friends have shown her are those where you can’t see Wtf is going on between the couple’s legs. Her cock was right against your clit (but she didn’t know that lmao) so when she moved and you moaned ‘cause of the friction, she connected it with her doing something right, so she continued but since the contact was also making her feel good, she started moving faster and a little.. abrupt 😭

her cock moved up a little too much. She was too shy to look so the tip literally ended up resting on your bellybutton BSKSNSKS. Minjeong didn’t notice it but you did. She rubbed it against your body a little bit and for the first couple seconds you thought she was just trying to tease you in her own weird nerd way but you grew both tired of that and desperate to feel her deep inside you already so you told her to stop playing and fuck you already. Poor thing panicked again 😭 she grabbed her cock and stared at it and then at your pussy, not knowing how was she supposed to do this 💀but you were always teasing her about being a virgin so at least you knew and it wouldn’t be so weird if she asked for help right? Right?

“Umm.. y/n?” She’d start, clearly confused and nervous. Which made YOU confused ‘cause why the fuck wasn’t she inside you yet?? “It’s just I’m not sure how.. you know.” And Omg that’s when it hit you. “I don’t wanna do something wrong or hurt you or-”

“Hold on. Minjeong.. have you done this before??”

“Hmm? No? I-I thought you knew. You’re always calling me a virgin!” She answered in a defensive tone lol but that’s ‘cause wdym you didn’t know 😨 now she was even more nervous and embarrassed!

“It was just to tease you! How would I know that? But gosh you are pathetic.”

“And you’re so mean :(” Dbdkfn Aww leave her aloneee🥺🥺 “could you ugh.. help me out please? I wanna make you feel good :(” and Aww how could you be mean to her when she was saying those things and asking for help with such a cute face 🥺 you just sighed and rolled your eyes before smiling at her softly.

“Here.” You started, grabbing her cock, making her groan and bite her lip (that woman is hot 🫵🏼). “So right here is the clit, pay attention to this ‘cause the more you stimulate it the better I’ll feel.” You explained to her, teasing yourself with the tip of her cock. And she just went ohhh :o with those puppy eyes she has dndnfk fvckin loser melts my heart istg. You started guiding her a little lower, so she could finally get inside your hole. You decided to move and get the tip inside yourself which with how big she was, was already your own little challenge “g-god.. now you just push it more.. a-and fuck me already.” You told her, already needing more of her. And so she slowly started pushing her cock deeper and deeper inside your pussy, mumbling about how good you felt, her head already in the clouds. Once she was fully in, you let out a big trembling sigh trying to get used to such a big thing inside you. Minjeong was trying her best to stay in a slow tempo at first, worried she might hurt you because you had a painful expression 🥺 but baby didn’t know that it was both hurting but feeling so fucking good. Until you basically ordered her to go faster, while your nails went to her back.

So she started fucking you deep and fast, making you moan so loud which only motivated her to go faster and faster “God you’re so tight.. so warm… hmmgn feels too good y/n… y/n!” She’d cry with a string of voice. She was pounding you so good, grabbing your legs and sucking on your nipple like a fucking baby. It was all way too good. Before you were even closer to your own climax tho she was already coming inside you 💀 poor loser barely lasted but cmon cut her some slack she is a virgin anyway. Plus you can always train her so she’ll get better with time 😌(and when I add cockwarming her in the future then what). She came so much inside you it was dripping down your thighs once she pulled out and it looked so fucking hot… but poor baby felt embarrassed :c

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to finish so fast, you just feel too good..” she said out of breath with a pout :( Aww she thought y’all were done silly puppy.

“It’s ok, it’s not like we’re done anyway” you told her and she just tilted her head looking at you, until you turned her around and started riding her 😭 you hadn’t come yet >:( you didn’t care if it was her first time or not, you were gonna teach her how to make you come with her cock from day one. And that’s how you spent the whole night milking that girl until she actually passed out ‘cause of the overstimulation bdidnds. Needless to say her cock was still inside you as you both fell asleep <3

Y’all’s morning routine barely changes dnndkf. Just that now you drive her to school whenever you spend the night together and take her home after class. You keep teasing her every morning against her locker, but now before saying good morning (like you didn’t see her literally the moment you woke up) you actually kiss her, always pulling her lip making her lose her train of thought and she just sighs and follows you to the classroom with the silliest dreamy expression in her face 😭 she’s such a cutie.

(puppy! minjeong agenda preacher here as you noticed)

#kim minjeong #minjeong x reader #aespa minjeong #winter #g!p winter #kpop gg #kpop scenarios #aespa x reader #aespa smut #winter smut #loser winter #kpop smut #winter x reader #loser minjeong x reader #aespa imagines #aespa scenarios #kpop imagines

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kathlare · 2 months ago

Text

coincidence

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Tensions rise as Lando finds himself consumed by frustration after discovering that Amelie gave VIP tickets to her ex, Rodrigo, without telling him.

Wordcount: 5.0 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

March 23rd, 2025 - Belgium, Brussels

The energy backstage after Brussels was warm and buzzing—Amelie had just come off stage, glowing, still high on adrenaline, her cheeks flushed from the lights, her curls damp with sweat. Her team was celebrating softly with drinks and hugs, her makeup artist passing her a towel while one of the dancers handed her a bottle of water.

She was pulling her sweatshirt over her tiny stage top when she caught a familiar voice among the noise.

—Amelita,— Rodrigo said, a lazy smile on his face as he approached, flanked by two of his friends.

Amelie froze for half a second, blinking like she hadn’t just heard that voice. But there he was—Rodrigo Riquelme, standing like he hadn’t just randomly reappeared in her life after months of silence. His hair was slightly longer than the last time she saw him, and he was wearing that same smug smile that used to be charming when she was twenty and stupid.

—Hey,— she said, forcing a polite smile as she slipped her water bottle into her bag. —Didn’t think you’d actually use the tickets.—

—You gave them to me,— he shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. —And you were incredible. Really. Like, fuck, Amelie, you’ve never looked better.—

His two friends snickered behind him, one of them elbowing the other. Amelie felt her skin crawl just a little.

—Thanks,— she said, still polite, still guarded. She could feel her team giving her looks from the side, but they knew better than to interrupt.

Rodrigo’s eyes trailed down her body with no shame, making Amelie shift uncomfortably in her sneakers. She crossed her arms over her chest, the warm rush from the show quickly cooling.

—It was really good to see you again,— he added, stepping just a little closer than necessary. —It’s been… what? Almost a year?—

—Something like that,— she muttered, not really looking at him. Her heart was still pounding from the stage, but now for all the wrong reasons.

—You look happy.—

—I am happy,— she said simply, her voice firmer now.

He raised a brow, lips curling into a smirk. —With him? What’s his name again? Formula One boy?— he said it like it was a joke.

She narrowed her eyes, jaw tightening. —Lando. You know his name, Rodrigo.—

—Right. Lando.— He chuckled like it was some kind of punchline. —Didn’t expect that one to stick around so long. Honestly figured it was a rebound thing.—

Amelie gave a forced smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. —You shouldn’t talk about things you don’t understand.—

Rodrigo raised his hands in mock surrender. —Hey, no judgment. You know I just… I always thought it’d be us in the end. You and me.—

Amelie blinked slowly, the weight of his words hanging in the space between them like cigarette smoke—thick and suffocating. Her arms stayed crossed, her body instinctively angling away from him. She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

Rodrigo leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice. —Come on, Amelie… don’t act like you’ve never thought about it. About us. I know you.—

She laughed softly, almost in disbelief. —You really don’t, Rodrigo. Not anymore.—

—Then help me remember,— he said, and before she could react, he leaned in fast.

His hand barely grazed her arm, and his face was too close—his lips trying to find hers. Amelie jolted back immediately, her eyes going wide with shock.

—What the fuck are you doing?!— she snapped, voice low but sharp like a slap. She stepped back, bumping into one of the makeup trunks behind her.

Rodrigo blinked, caught off guard for a moment. —Relax, I just thought—

—No. You didn’t think. I’m with someone. I love him.—

Rodrigo’s mouth twisted, like the words left a sour taste. —Do you, though? Or are you just saying that because it’s easy? Because he’s nice to you? He’s not one of us, Amelie. He doesn’t get it. You need someone who actually understands you. Who knows you.—

—You don’t know me.— Her voice was steel now. She could feel the sting of betrayal crawling up her spine, cold and hot all at once. —Not anymore. You haven’t for a long time.—

Rodrigo scoffed, trying to cover his bruised ego with a smirk. —I bet he doesn’t even talk about the future, does he? Does he even see one with you? Or are you just his flavor of the moment? Come on, Amelie, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. That maybe he’s not serious.—

The words hit deeper than she wanted them to. Not because they were true—but because for a second, they tapped into a fear she hadn’t let herself name yet. Lando loved her—she knew that. She felt that. Every kiss, every touch, every little nickname he called her, all of it was so real. But they hadn’t really talked about what came next. Not seriously. Not yet.

And she hated that Rodrigo’s stupid little dig had cracked open a thought she didn’t want to deal with.

Still, she straightened her back and looked him in the eye. —You don’t get to ask me that. And you sure as hell don’t get to try to kiss me and then lecture me about who I should be with.—

Rodrigo's jaw clenched. —You really think he’s the one? That this guy from Monaco who spends half his life on a racetrack is gonna build something real with you? Be serious, Amelie. You’re not a pitstop.—

Her hand twitched at her side. God, she wanted to slap him. But instead, she breathed deep, letting the fire settle in her chest.

—Yeah. I do think he’s the one,— she said, voice low and deadly calm. —Actually, I know he is. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.—

Rodrigo flinched, just slightly, like the truth had slapped him instead.

—And just so we’re crystal fucking clear, you don’t ever get to speak to me like this again. Don’t call me, don’t message me, don’t show up with your smug little entourage trying to impress me like we’re still twenty.—

She stepped forward, closing the gap just enough so he couldn’t mistake her tone for anything but finality.

—We’re done. Whatever we had? That’s long dead. Buried. Ashes.—

Rodrigo didn’t respond. He stood there, frozen, his pride shrinking by the second while his friends looked away awkwardly, suddenly more interested in the floor than the confrontation unfolding in front of them.

Amelie adjusted the hem of her sweatshirt like the conversation had merely been a wrinkle she needed to smooth out. She didn’t give him another glance before walking away.

She made it halfway down the corridor before the emotions started to actually hit her. Not about Rodrigo—fuck him—but about what he’d said. About Lando. About the future.

Because the thing was… Rodrigo was wrong about almost everything. But he’d touched a nerve with that one question. Not because Lando didn’t love her. But because maybe they’d both been avoiding the “what comes next” talk. They were still young, still flying between countries and hotel rooms and racetracks and sold-out stadiums, clinging to each other in every in-between moment like it was the only constant they had.

They hadn’t talked about years from now. About houses. Kids. Marriage.

Not seriously.

Her chest tightened.

Fuck.

-------------

liked by barcawags, f1gossippage, and others

ameliedaymanupdates: 🚨👀 Something's got people talking... Rodrigo Riquelme just posted a story at the Short n Sweet Tour in Brussels tonight! 😳 Fans are speculating that he was in a VIP suite with some of Amelie's loved ones… but the big question is... has Amelie and Lando broken up?! 🤔💔

View all 281,321 comments

f1fanatics_24: Wait, does this mean Amelie and Lando aren’t together anymore?? I thought they were so cute 😭 → ameliedaymanupdates: @f1fanatics_24 Nah, don’t jump to conclusions yet, fam. It could be nothing. But the timing is a bit… suspicious 🤔

f1lovers21: I don't know, guys, this is weird... Rodrigo is her EX and he's still hanging around her tour?? What’s going on?? 😳

ameliessweetheart: This is just so wrong… why would Amelie hang out with Rodrigo when Lando is busy in China?? → ameliedaymanupdates: @ameliessweetheart They’re still friends tho, it’s not that deep. Lando’s in China, so yeah, she’s just hanging with her people. Chill out 💅

carloss_lover_2025: We all know Amelie and Lando are OBSESSED with each other. Ain't no way they're breaking up... → f1teaguide: @carlos_lover_2025 they better not break up! We need them back together ASAP 💔😤

lanzo_fan16: Literally no way Amelie and Lando broke up, stop spreading rumors 😒

lilyy_f1: I feel like if they broke up, we'd know. Lando and Amelie are not subtle about their relationship 😏

ijustwantmylanmielie:I can’t even... Amelie and Lando are meant to be together, so why is Rodrigo popping up at her show now? 🤦‍♀️ → formulalovers: @ijustwantmylanmelie Y’all are wild. Rodrigo and Amelie are on good terms. It’s not a breakup drama, promise. Let them vibe! 😌

f1gurlfan: Ok but Lando and Amelie were inseparable all last winter, now Rodrigo’s back in the picture? Someone tell me I’m trippin’ 😵

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Lando exhaled sharply as he stepped out of the team briefing room, the buzz of anticipation in the air thick around the paddock. The Shanghai Grand Prix was about to begin, and his mind should’ve been focused solely on the track. But instead, there was a gnawing feeling in his stomach. Something that had been bothering him all morning. He’d been getting a ridiculous amount of notifications, but he’d kept his phone on silent during the briefing.

His fingers fumbled for the device in his pocket, and once he unlocked it, the screen lit up with an endless stream of messages, notifications, and mentions. His stomach twisted as he scrolled through the tags, and then he saw it.

Lando's eyes narrowed as he stared at the post that had everyone buzzing. It was a story from Rodrigo Riquelme’s Instagram. The image was a grainy shot of the stage in Brussels, from the concert the night before. And in the background—Amelie. He could barely make out her figure, but it was unmistakable. She was performing, front and center, with her unmistakable energy radiating from the stage. What the hell?

The caption from Rodrigo’s story was minimal, just a simple tag with "What a show." But Lando didn’t need much more than that. He knew exactly what that meant.

Rodrigo was at the fucking VIP section. The one that Amelie had been saving her tickets for. The one she had made sure he got into. Lando’s grip on his phone tightened, his knuckles white. He felt a heat rise in his chest, starting at the pit of his stomach and expanding outward until his entire body was buzzing with irritation.

Lando’s jaw clenched as he scrolled through the post again, his mind running a mile a minute. The only reason Rodrigo was even there—at her show, in the VIP section—was because Amelie had sent him the fucking tickets. There was no other explanation. Lando could already feel the rage building in his chest, bubbling to the surface. He had been dealing with this fucking mess since they got back together, and now it felt like it was all coming crashing down on him.

Rodrigo Riquelme.

The same guy who, nearly a year ago, had made his intentions perfectly clear when he told Lando he wanted Amelie back. The same guy who had almost destroyed everything between them before it even started. Lando didn’t forget that shit, and he didn’t forgive it either.

His fingers hovered over his phone screen, and with a seething breath, he shot a text to Amelie. The words spilled out quickly, his irritation overriding his usual careful approach.

Lan🧡: Why the fuck am I being tagged in this shit?

He attached the screenshot of Rodrigo’s Instagram story, his frustration evident in every word.

He stared at the message, the intensity of his anger making his heart race. It wasn’t just that Rodrigo was there—it was the fact that Amelie had let him into that space. She’d given him VIP tickets. She hadn’t told him about it, and now this—this was the last straw. Lando gritted his teeth, unable to hold back his next message.

Lan🧡: And why did you give him fucking tickets and didn’t tell me about it?

He hit send before he could second guess himself, pacing now outside the garage, his race suit half-zipped, hands twitching with adrenaline—but none of it from racing. It was personal now. His head was spinning, fury flooding his chest in waves. The worst part? No answer.

The little "Delivered" sat there beneath his messages like a fucking taunt.

He checked the time. Brussels was eight hours behind. She was probably still asleep—or worse, ignoring him. And that thought made his stomach drop. He felt stupid, blindsided, standing in the middle of the paddock like an idiot while the world watched him, while her ex paraded online that he’d been there—at her show. VIP. Like it meant something. Like it still meant something.

Lando shoved the phone into his pocket and ran a hand through his curls, tugging at the roots in frustration. His mind was a blur, caught between heartbreak and pure fury. It wasn’t even about Rodrigo. It was about trust. About communication. About not feeling like a fucking side character in his own relationship.

He tried to calm himself down, tried to breathe, but it was like every second that passed without a reply made the ache worse. He didn't want to believe Amelie would hide something like this from him. Not her. Not his Ames.

But she had.

Or at least, she hadn’t told him. And right now, the omission felt a hell of a lot like a betrayal.

—Lando, we’re heading to the grid in ten.—

He didn’t even look up when one of the McLaren engineers tapped his shoulder. He just nodded sharply and muttered, —Yeah, I’m coming.—

The walk to the car felt longer than usual, his boots heavy against the asphalt. His heart was pounding, but it wasn’t nerves. Not about the race, anyway. It was all her. Always her.

He climbed into the car, let the crew buckle him in, let the radio crackle with final instructions—but he barely heard a thing. He couldn’t stop picturing that fucking Instagram story. Rodrigo standing somewhere in that crowd, smug as hell, watching his girlfriend perform. Like he had a right to be there. Like Lando didn’t exist.

He blinked hard, trying to reset his focus. He was about to drive 300 kilometers an hour, and he needed to clear his head—but all he could think about was Amelie. Her smile. Her voice. Her fucking silence.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and closed his eyes for a second beneath the helmet, pressing his head back against the rest.

Fuck this, he thought.

The engine roared to life beneath him. And for the first time in months, it didn’t feel like a comfort.

It felt like escape.

-------------

liked by mclarenfan25, ameliedayman, and others

lando: p1p2 for us, 50th for mclaren. nice nice.

View all 21,482 comments

mclarenupdates: THE FACETIME PHOTO 😭😭 this trio is too cute → f1memehub: @mclarenupdates bro got P2 and still found a way to show Amelie again 💀

ameliedaydreams: they really said long distance? not a problem. love wins. 🫶

oscarpiastri: dynamic duo, huh 😏 → lando: @oscarpiastri we’re coming for a 1-2 next time 😤

bitchylando: Lando being in his simp era while literally on the podium is so real of him → queenmillie: @bitchylando honestly obsessed with this behavior. he deserves WDC just for being this whipped

ihatethiscouple: idc how fast he is, he’s cringe. why do we need to see his gf every time he races?

jadenisfunny: bro’s got his girl in one hand and a trophy in the other. peak balance. → alexwolfflegend: @jadenisfunny I’d make fun of him but he’s winning on and off the track, so… go off ig

ameliefanpage: the way she still shows up in race content without even being there physically is WILD

lanmelieluvs: Amelie liked the post but didn’t comment… yeah the Rodrigo in Brussels thing really shook the timeline 😬 → lanmeliesmutacc: @lanmelieluvs bro she was literally on the FaceTime call in the pic… y’all need to breathe

maxfewtrell: what’s in the polaroid bro 👀 → lando: @maxfewtrell chill.

wifeyamelie: imagine being Oscar on that call while those two are just giggling and being obsessed with each other… man’s third wheeling over WiFi → paddockbabes: @wifeyamelie no wonder he looks so done in the second pic 💀

-------------

The post-race chaos was finally dying down. The champagne had been sprayed, the anthems had been played, and Lando stood on the second step of the podium with a hollow smile, clapping as Oscar lifted the trophy above his head. Cameras flashed. Fans screamed. But it all felt far away.

His heart was still somewhere else—stuck in Brussels, stuck in her fucking silence.

The cooldown room was bustling with energy as the drivers chatted, sweat dripping down their faces from the intensity of the race. Lando pulled his helmet off and wiped his face with a towel, his mind still racing. It felt like everything was moving in slow motion as the energy from the podium ceremony began to fade.

Oscar and George were talking about the race, both animated with excitement about the result. Oscar had taken the win, George was third, and Lando was… well, still second. But his mind was nowhere near the race results anymore. He needed something, anything to distract him from the frustration eating him up inside.

Lando quickly pulled his phone from his bag, unlocking it without a second thought. There was still no response from Amelie, nothing. His gut churned as he saw the "Delivered" status of his last texts to her. His fingers hovered over the screen, but before he could do anything, he heard George’s voice cutting through the air.

—Mate, are you good?— George asked, glancing at him with a raised brow, his tone light, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes. —You’re looking like you lost a race, not came second.—

Lando gave him a tight smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. —Just tired,— he muttered, not wanting to go into it. It wasn’t that he didn't trust George, but this? This was personal. This was Amelie.

Oscar, overhearing the exchange, tossed him a mischievous grin. —You sure about that? You looked pretty pissed up there on the podium.— His eyebrows arched, the playful look in his eyes suggesting he was trying to figure out if it was something more than just the race.

—Fuck off, Oscar,— Lando grumbled, his fingers tapping anxiously against his phone.

Oscar threw his hands up in mock surrender, but Lando could tell he wasn’t convinced. The tension was so thick in the room, even George, who was usually the one to keep things light, couldn’t help but sense it.

Lando’s phone buzzed suddenly in his hand, snapping him out of the spiraling thoughts. His heart leapt in his chest as he saw the name on the screen.

Ames💛

For a second, he hesitated. Should he answer? What the hell would he even say after everything? But before he could overthink it any longer, he accepted the call, and her face filled the screen, her bright smile lighting up her features.

Amelie’s eyes flickered with a warmth that Lando usually found comforting. But right now, it only made the knot in his stomach twist tighter.

—Hey, Lan!— She greeted, her voice chipper, but there was something about it that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Lando’s gaze narrowed slightly. She looked beautiful as always, sitting in what appeared to be a hotel room or maybe a dressing room. Benny was sprawled out across her lap, looking unbothered by the entire situation, but Lando’s mind was far from focused on the cute sight of her cat. He didn’t feel like playing nice. Not right now.

—Hey, Ames,— Lando replied, his tone clipped, his fingers tapping against the edge of his phone.

Oscar leaned in, glancing at the screen, and offered a thumbs-up toward Amelie, his smile wide and friendly. —Hey, Amelie! How’s it going?—

—Oh, hey, Oscar!— she responded brightly, offering him a smile as she waved at the camera. —I’m good, just chilling after the show last night.—

Lando’s jaw clenched at her words, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking toward George, who had noticed the sudden tension between them. George shot him a knowing glance before stepping back a little, nudging Oscar.

—Right, so, uh, we’ll leave you two to catch up,— George said casually, putting his hand on Oscar’s back and guiding him out of the frame. Oscar gave Lando a questioning look, but George just gave him a quiet nod, knowing the situation was a bit more delicate than they probably realized.

The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Lando and Amelie alone in the small, virtual space.

Lando’s stomach flipped, and he didn’t waste any more time with pleasantries.

—So… you wanna explain what the hell that was about?— Lando’s voice was tight, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

Amelie’s smile faltered for a second, and her eyes flickered to Benny, who lazily rolled over onto his back, seemingly unaware of the tension building in the room. She bit her lip, clearly trying to gauge his mood.

—Lan, what are you talking about?— she asked, her voice softer than usual, but Lando could hear the wariness in her tone.

Lando’s hands tightened around his phone, fighting the urge to throw it against the wall. —Don’t play fucking dumb, Ames,— he snapped, voice low but laced with anger. —You didn’t think I’d see it?—

Amelie’s face paled slightly, her eyes widening as she quickly understood what he was referring to. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it again, a small sigh escaping her lips. Lando’s gaze was intense, demanding an answer, and it only made her feel more cornered.

—You saw it, huh?— she muttered, her voice barely audible.

Lando’s hands balled into fists, his frustration evident as he leaned into the phone screen. —Of course, I fucking saw it. Rodrigo. At your show. VIP section. You think I’m blind? You think I wouldn’t notice that shit?— His words were coming faster now, each sentence dripping with raw emotion.

Amelie shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her fingers absentmindedly stroking Benny’s fur, but it wasn’t helping. The weight of Lando’s words hit her like a ton of bricks. She had no idea how to explain herself without making things worse, but she couldn’t just let him stew in this anger without saying something.

—I... I didn’t think you’d care this much, Lando.— She spoke softly, her voice shaking, even as she tried to keep it steady. She bit her lip nervously, avoiding his gaze for a moment, not sure if she could look him in the eye.

Lando’s face tightened at her words. His heart hammered in his chest, and the frustration he’d been holding in for what felt like days finally came pouring out.

—You didn’t think I’d care?— His voice was cold, the hurt laced in every syllable. —Are you fucking serious right now, Ames? You know how much I care about you. But seeing you with him, after everything? It just… it fucks with me, okay? It fucks with everything I thought we had.—

Amelie swallowed hard, her throat tight as she listened to the words falling from his lips. Her stomach churned with guilt, but the panic in her chest kept her from articulating the thoughts racing through her mind. The last thing she wanted was to hurt him, yet here they were. And every word Lando spoke felt like it was cutting her deeper, but she couldn’t find the right words to explain herself.

—Lando, please— she started, but her voice cracked, and she quickly tried to compose herself. —It wasn’t like that. You’re overthinking it. It’s not what you think.—

He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. —You don’t get it, do you? I’ve been fighting for us, Ames. Fighting for something that felt real, something that felt right. But every time we get close, every time things start to feel okay, some shit like this happens. Some fucking shit that makes me question everything.—

Amelie’s chest tightened at his words, her mind swirling with guilt. She wanted to apologize, to explain that it wasn’t how it looked, that there was nothing between her and Rodrigo. But the fear in her chest kept her silent. She didn’t know how to make him understand, didn’t know how to fix this, and it made her feel even worse.

—You think I wanted this?— Lando’s voice was low, dangerous, and Amelie flinched slightly, her eyes welling up. —You think I wanted to feel like this, like I’m the one who always has to hold everything together? Fuck, Ames.—

Her heart broke at the harshness in his words, but she knew she deserved it. He had every right to be angry. She had lied to him, avoided the truth, and now it was blowing up in her face.

The tears she’d been holding back finally started to fall, and she cursed herself for it. She didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to make him feel like he had to comfort her when this mess was all her fault. But the weight of it all was too much to carry alone.

Lando’s expression faltered when he saw her tears. His anger shifted into something else—pain, hurt, and something like regret. He sighed, raking a hand through his hair as he leaned back slightly, trying to calm himself down. But his eyes never left her face.

—Don’t cry, Ames,— Lando muttered, his voice quieter now, but still filled with frustration. —You’re just making this harder, okay? I don’t want to feel weak, but seeing you cry… It just… makes everything ten times worse.—

Amelie’s throat tightened as she wiped at her tears, trying to hold herself together. She didn’t know how to explain that she wasn’t crying to manipulate him or to make him feel guilty. She just couldn’t keep it in anymore. The guilt, the fear, the heartbreak—it all hit her at once.

—Lando, I’m sorry. I swear, it wasn’t what you think. I didn’t want this to happen. I didn’t want to hurt you, ever,— she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando’s jaw clenched, and he shook his head, the frustration still etched in his features. He didn’t know how to fix this, how to make sense of it. His heart ached in a way he couldn’t articulate, and every time he tried to talk to her, it felt like the words just came out wrong.

—You shouldn’t have kept this from me, Ames. We promised we’d be honest with each other, no matter what,— he said, his voice low but filled with hurt. —But this? This feels like you were hiding shit from me. Like I’m not worth the truth.—

Her chest constricted at his words, and she felt herself breaking a little more. She knew he was right, but she was terrified of what would happen if she had told him. The truth might’ve made things worse, and she didn’t want to risk it. She didn’t want to lose him.

—I was trying to protect us,— she admitted, her voice barely audible. —I didn’t want to cause another fight. I thought maybe if I kept it to myself… things wouldn’t get complicated.—

Lando’s expression softened, but the hurt still lingered in his eyes. —You should’ve trusted me, Ames. I’d rather fight with you about the truth than sit here wondering if you’re lying to me. I thought we were past all that shit.—

She nodded slowly, her tears streaming down her face now. The weight of it all felt unbearable. She hated seeing him like this, hated the distance between them. She just wanted to fix it, but she didn’t know how.

Lando exhaled sharply, his eyes still locked on her face. —I need some time, Ames. I can’t do this right now.— His voice was distant, almost like he was shutting himself off from her, and it hit her harder than anything else he’d said.

Amelie’s heart sank at the finality in his words. The pain in her chest intensified, and she felt her throat close up as she tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. She had messed up. She had hurt him. And now… she didn’t know how to make it right.

—Okay,— she whispered, her voice shaky. —I understand. I’ll give you time.—

Lando didn’t say anything else. He just looked at her for a moment, the silence between them louder than anything they’d said. Then, finally, he spoke her name.

—Amelie.—

The way he said it, so cold, so distant, made her blood run cold. It was the first time he hadn’t called her some pet name, some sweet nickname. It was just her name, and it felt like a punch in the gut.

—Don’t… please,— she pleaded softly, her voice cracking.

But Lando didn’t respond. He just stared at her, the weight of everything between them too heavy for either of them to bear.

—Just… take the time, Ames,— he said, his voice hard, shutting the door on any further conversation. Then, without another word, he ended the call.

Amelie stared at the screen, her heart pounding in her chest as the call ended, leaving her in the silence of the room. The tears continued to fall, but she couldn’t stop them. The ache in her chest was unbearable, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she had just ruined everything.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, staring at her phone, her tears soaking into her shirt. She couldn’t go back to the way things were. Not after this. She had fucked up, and now she had to face the consequences.

The only thing she knew for sure was that she didn’t want to lose Lando. But it was out of her hands now.

100 notes · View notes

lenaswritingandstuff · 8 months ago

Text

Meant to be mine - Regulus Black x f!reader

Pairing: Regulus Black x f!reader; Evan Rosier x f!reader

Summary: When you start thinking Regulus only sees you as his best friend, you date someone else. However, Regulus' reaction to your new relationship is not what you expected.

Word Count: 8.8K

Warnings: Angst; English is not my first language!

A/N: Loosely based on the dating Headcanons I posted. I had to make up two Slytherin students because well, apparently we don't know any Slytherin girl from Regulus' era - feel free to correct me if you do know one. It was supposed to be Barty instead of Evan but I want him to get the girl lol so I'll write something for him in the future. Comments and feedback are always appreciated. Enjoy!

Tag list: @helendeath @im-jesus

Tag list for this story: @pompeygirl89 @angemyrtille

Regulus and you had clicked immediately on your first day at Hogwarts several years ago, and he was the best friend you ever had. You essentially spent most of your time together, sitting next to each other in class, doing homework and studying together, and spent your free time reading, watching movies or simply talking and laughing, incredibly comfortable with each other. Sure, you had made other friends, and also spent time with them, but it couldn’t compare to what you felt when you were with Regulus, for the simple reason that, during your third year in school, you fell hard in love with your best friend.

But much to your chagrin, Regulus never hinted at sharing your feelings. You had noticed how he looked disappointed when you told him you were spending time with Emmeline and the others, but you thought he just felt that way because, well, you were the only friend he had - for some reason, he had never managed to create a friendship with any other boys from your house, despite a lot of them also coming from a pure-blood family. You never told anyone about your feelings for the sweet, caring boy with dark curls, and, too shy and scared to tell him how you felt, you buried your feelings for him, secretly - and shamefully - thankful that while your love wasn’t shared, he didn’t seem interested in any other girl, and instead, continued spending all your time with him like everything was fine.

But pretending became harder and harder with time, and summer break almost came as a relief. You were spending it debating over confessing your feelings and risking destroying your friendship or keeping on slowly breaking your heart -, you decided to move on. However, it turned out to be even harder than to love someone who didn’t love you back, especially since Regulus kept writing to you about how bored he was in his family’s house despite his parents’ affection, and how much he missed you. Your first instinct was to not answer his letters, but you eventually did write a polite yet very short letter where you told him you missed him too. He didn’t seem to notice how cold your letters were, and kept writing to you, asking about what you were doing and talking about the books he was reading. But several days before going back to Hogwarts, you finally made up your mind, and decided to move on from Regulus.

After saying goodbye to your parents on Platform 9 3/4, you waited for the train next to your bags, feeling a bit anxious at the thought of seeing Regulus again, when you suddenly felt a hand on your shoulder. It made you jump, and when you turned around, you felt your heart miss a beat when you saw Regulus’ sweet eyes and smile.

“Sorry, y/n,” he said gently, “I didn’t want to startle you.”

“It’s fine, hum,” you said. “How…How are you, Reggie?”

“Very well,” he said. “It’s nice to come back to school and to see you again. Oh, I almost forgot.”

You frowned as he turned around for a second, only to turn around with a gorgeous bouquet of flowers in his hands.

“There for you.”

“Oh, Reggie,” you said, hiding your annoyance when you felt your heart beating faster, “they’re beautiful, thank you.”

You reached a hand and took them, but froze when your fingers touched Regulus’. Your eyes met his, but after a few seconds, he didn’t move his fingers. You only dared to move when the train’s departure was announced as imminent, and you took the bouquet, trying but struggling to grab all your bags in one hand and the bouquet in the other. Regulus immediately saw your struggle and reached out a hand.

“Please let me help, I’ll put your bags on the train.”

“I’m fine, Reggie,” you said without looking at him, walking to the train’s door.

“Come on, y/n, let me…”

Not waiting for an answer, he grabbed all your bags and, acting like a gentleman as he always did, he opened the door and let you get on the train first. He then followed you in, and you started walking quickly to put some distance between the two of you while you were looking for a compartment. You eventually found an empty one, put the bouquet on the seat next to you and went back to Reggie, who was about to enter the compartment, and took your bags from his hands.

“Thank you, Reggie,” you said, still not looking at him.

You put your bags where they were supposed to go, over your head, and sat close to the window, and looked at the other students saying goodbye to their relatives. Regulus did the same with his bags before sitting on the opposite seat.

“How did your summer go?” he asked.

“Good,” you said, still looking through the window. “Yours?”

“Good.”

Soon, there were only families or relatives on the platform, and the train started moving minutes after. Regulus tried to make conversation during the whole journey, asking you about your activities during the summer or your family, but you only gave him short answers while avoiding looking at him, which he didn’t seem to notice. He never notices anything. Regulus later tried to buy something from the trolley for you, but you politely refused despite his insistence. You knew you were acting like a child, and knew it would be simple to take risk to face rejection but you couldn’t help it. You felt as if the only way you could get over him was to put distance between the two of you - maybe if you saw him less and talked less with him, your feelings would go away, and you could try to find interest in other boys. But as the train got closer to Hogwarts, you realized seeing Regulus less was going to be harder, considering you shared all your classes. I’ll just sit next to Emma, you thought. And I’ll just have to find excuses to not spend as much time with him. The rest of the journey was spent in silence. You looked at the landscape in front of you, and while Regulus remained silent, you sometimes felt his eyes on you. Two hours later, the sun was starting to set, which meant the journey would be over soon. You rose from your seat, and, for the first time in hours, looked at your best friend.

“We should put our robes on.”

Regulus looked at you before slightly nodding.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The next few weeks in Hogwarts went on quickly, and you managed to avoid Regulus outside of class - and managed to ignore the ache his sudden “absence” caused in your heart. As you had decided on the train, you now sat next to Emmeline or Mary in class - neither of them thankfully asking you why you no longer sat next to Regulus. Regulus himself didn’t ask any questions either, and every time he tried to talk to you outside of class, you found an excuse to leave. He never insisted, however you would sometimes catch him looking at you in class, which secretly kept you awake at night, wondering if after all, Regulus might like you. Spending time with Emmeline, and Mary was nice, as they were funny, nice, and always made sure to include you, but deep down you were missing Regulus, his voice, his presence and your conversations more and more with each day passing.

One day, you were on your way back to your dorm after a study session in the library when you heard laughs in the next corridor. As you got closer, you recognized the voices, and you were eventually proven right in your guessing when you walked past Sirius, Regulus’ brother, and his friend James Potter. The latter didn’t see you, too busy laughing at some joke, but Sirius noticed you.

“Hi, y/n,” he said, walking to you. “You all right?”

“Yes.”

You knew Regulus didn’t like you speaking to Sirius, but deep down you always thought he wasn’t as bad as Regulus thought of him and you actually respected his courage to stand up to his family. Plus, in the few interactions you guys had, he had been nothing but polite and kind to you, so you didn’t have any reason to hate him.

“Cool. Had a good summer?”

“Yes, thank you. Yours?”

You knew through Regulus that Sirius had left the family’s house and thought it would be inappropriate to mention that you knew, as it wasn’t really any of your business.

“Great. And how is school so far?”

You were about to answer when another voice was heard in the corridor.

“y/n!”

Your heart almost sank as you heard Regulus quickly walking up to you, and you finally dared to look at him, you saw he was angry.

“What’s going on?” he asked you before turning to his elder brother. “Why are you talking to her?”

Far from being intimidated, Sirius raised his shoulders and frowned, while his friend James slowly got closer to him.

“And why not? Plus, I don’t really see why she would need your permission,” he answered before giving you a reassuring wink.

Regulus gave him a death stare before he suddenly grabbed your arm.

“Come, y/n.”

Sirius opened his mouth to protest, but you slightly shook your head, meaning it was okay. You knew Regulus better than everyone else, and knew he would never hurt you in any way - well, other than the fact he didn’t love you back, that was. You followed Regulus into several corridors before he stopped walking and turned to you.

“What was that?” he asked as if he was both shocked and confused.

“Your brother and I were just talking,” you said calmly.

“Oh, so you speak to him, but you won’t speak to me?”

“Well,” you said, trying to act detached, “we are talking now, aren’t we?”

Regulus had a false amused small laugh, “You know very well what I meant. Ever since we’ve gotten here, no, ever since we got into the train, you won’t speak to me or even look at me. Do not think I didn’t notice how you always sit next to your friends in class, and that when we aren’t in class, I don’t know where you are most of the time.”

You couldn’t help but feel joy knowing Regulus did notice the distance between you two,

“I’ve just been busy,” you lied. “Is that a crime?”

“No, but I’d like to know which crime I did for you to ignore and avoid me in such manner.”

“You didn’t do anything,” you said in a reassuring tone. “I’ve just thought that… I should spend more time with the girls. That’s all.”

Regulus stared at you, and you feared for a second that he didn’t believe you.

“Then, can we go back to how things were before? You…Is there any way you could spend time with the girls and me?”

He sounded so sad, hurt even, that you felt your heart break and felt immensely guilty for how you treated him and how alone he must have been - even more considering you did that only to get over him and it didn’t work at all. In that moment, the only thing you wanted was to be in his arms.

“Of course. I’m sorry, Reggie,” you said with a small, sad smile. “Truly.”

You didn’t know if it was going to be easy to be around Regulus again, but maybe it was time to think about another solution. Maybe I could give him hints? Or maybe just try to make him jealous? Or maybe I could simply not care anymore and just tell him how I…

“It’s okay, y/n. I’m glad to have my best friend back.”

You froze, and so did your heart.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“Girls, you won’t believe who asked me on a date today!”

You and Mary were in the common room after a long day of class - which you spent next to Regulus - sitting on one of the sofas and Emmeline was now coming back from giving back a book to the library, with pink cheeks and a great smile on her face.

“Who?” you asked with curiosity.

“Marius!” she said excitedly.

“No way!” Mary said, putting her books down.

“Yes!” Emmeline said, both hands on her heart. “We’re going to Hogsmeade tomorrow afternoon.”

“We’re happy for you,” you smiled.

“You two should find boyfriends too, you know,” Emmeline said, sitting between you and Mary. “Not anybody, of course. You deserve the best. He obviously needs to come from a good and respectable family.”

Emmeline was a Rowle, and while she had a kind heart, she had been raised to believe she should marry a man from a wealthy Pure-Blood family - a belief your family and Mary’s didn’t share - and Marius Avery, from your class, while being an overall polite and quiet student, just also happened to fit that criterion. However, you always had a bad feeling about him, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it.

“As long as he’s a good man himself,” you said, going back to reading your book, “his family doesn’t matter to me.”

“y/n is right,” Mary said. “Wealth and blood doesn’t matter.”

“As you wish, ladies. Still, we need to find you boyfriends. y/n, what do you think about dear Evan?”

You turned your head to look at the light-haired boy from your class, chatting with one of his friends on the other side of the room. You didn’t look at him for long, but still enough for him to notice, look back at you and give you a smile.

You smiled back at him and felt your cheeks becoming hotter. While ignoring and avoiding Regulus, you had been exploring other options, and Evan had definitely one of them. You admit he was rather cute, with his green eyes, great smile and sand hair, and you only had warm conversations with him through the years - your feelings to Regulus not allowing you to feel anything else but fondness for Evan or any other boy in school.

“He’s nice.”

“And?” Emmeline insisted, raising an eyebrow.

“‘And’ nothing else,” you retorted patiently.

“Marius and he are best friends,” Emmeline continued, apparently not caring about your non-interest, “I could ask him tomorrow about it.”

“Emmeline, please,” you sighed.

“What? Do you have someone in mind?” Emmeline asked. “Is it Regulus?”

“What?! No!” you immediately protested, trying to keep your normal voice. “Reggie and I…are just friends.”

Emmeline shrugged and turned to Mary.

“What about you, Mary? Any boy you like?”

You went back to reading your books about magical creatures, grateful Emmeline was now playing matchmaker for somebody else. Regulus arrived in the common room at that moment, and you two went to the Great Hall for dinner while Emmeline and Mary stayed in the common room. A few days had passed since your conversation with him, and everything seemed to be back to normal, except he was now spending time with other boys from your class while you were with the girls and you were know sure Regulus only saw you as his best friend - because if he felt anything else for you, he would have told you after seeing you with Sirius, wouldn’t he? It had made you cry at night, and also made you want to avoid Regulus again, especially since you now felt uncomfortable around him - and basically had lost your appetite. The only option was now to move on, as you were now too scared that trying to make him jealous would fail and were sure you couldn’t endure the heartbreak and it would mean the end of your friendship with Regulus.

Maybe Emmeline is right, you thought in your bed that night, making sure she was asleep before allowing yourself to cry. Maybe I should get to know Evan better.

The next morning, you would have stayed the whole day in bed feeling sorry for yourself. But knowing the girls would come looking for you at some point, you decided to go to the Great Hall for breakfast, and as it was still early, there were only a few students there. You sat down on the table, looking down on your empty plate.

“Hi, y/n”

Lost in your thoughts - who were mainly about a dark-haired boy with green eyes - you didn’t hear Evan coming.

“Oh, hi, Evan. How are you?”

“Good, thank you. Do you mind if I sit?”

“Not at all, please do.”

He gave you a smile and sat on the opposite bench. He served himself some breakfast, and you imitated him, even though the usual tasty food tasted like ash in your mouth and you felt your stomach closing itself.

“So, any plans for this weekend?” he asked, serving you both pumpkin juice.

“Thank you. Well, no, I don’t really have plans. You?” you answered.

“Same.”

He seemed to hesitate a bit before clearing his throat and running a hand through his hair.

“Well, I…Maybe we could go for a drink in Hogsmeade?” he asked with a nervous voice. “I mean, I think it’s a shame that we’ve been classmates for years and don’t know each other much.”

Speechless, you stared at him, and soon his cheeks became pink in embarrassment.

“Hum, just forget it,” he mumbled, lowering his head, “I understand if you don’t want to go…”

“No!” you said a bit too loudly, and his eyes were immediately filled with hope. “I mean, of course I’d love to go to Hogsmeade with you! I’m sorry, I was just surprised.”

“Great. Actually, do you have anything to do right now?” he suddenly asked. “‘Cause why wait? We could go right now.”

Surprised again, it took you a few seconds to answer, “Hum, yeah! Absolutely,” you nodded. “I’ll just grab a jacket and my purse in my dorm and we meet in the common room?”

“Perfect,” Evan smiled again.

You both had finished eating, so you went directly to the common room, which was empty. Barty went to his dorm and you went to yours, and after brushing your teeth and grabbing what you needed, you went back to the common room, but this time, Regulus was here, sitting on a sofa and apparently waiting for someone. You approached him, thinking you could at least tell him you wouldn’t be free today.

“Hi, Reggie.”

He raised his eyes and gave you a smile.

“Hi, you. Already had breakfast?”

“Yes. You?”

“Not yet,” he shook his head, “I’m waiting for Alexander and Dorius, then I’m gonna help them do the homework for Slughorn. You know, what we did on Thursday. Ah, here they are.”

You nodded, and suddenly heard two people coming from the dorms. It was indeed Alexander and Dorius, who were like Regulus from the Sacred Twenty-Eight - respectively from the Avery the Mulciber family.

“Wanna come with us?” Regulus asked, standing up.

“Um, I’m sorry, I have things to do.”

“You sure?” he asked.

You nodded with the most confident smile you could force your mouth to make.

“Alright. I’ll see you later, then,” he smiled, and squeezed your shoulder as he brushed past you to leave the common room. Seconds later, Evan arrived with quick steps.

“I’m so sorry for making you wait,” he said. “I couldn’t find my jacket.”

“It’s okay,” you smiled.

“Should we?”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Spending time with Evan was surprisingly very enjoyable, as you found him to be kinder and warmer than you already thought he was. He also acted like a true gentleman, offering you flowers from the village’s flower shop, and his conversation was always funny or interesting - and sometimes both. You also could feel he was a bit shy, which made him adorable.

“Wanna go to the Three Broomsticks?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said.

He smiled at you, and opened the door for you.

“Madam.”

“Thank you, good sir.”

You both had a small laugh before he followed you in, and you sat at a free table near a corner of the room for a bit more privacy, but you could still see the door from where you were sitting.

“Thanks again for the flowers,” you said with genuine thankfulness, “they’re beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you, but you’re more than welcome.”

Mrs. Rosmerta took your order and gave you a wink, probably thinking you and Evan were on a date.

“What do you want to do next?” he asked. “We could go see the Shrieking Shack, unless you want to go back to the castle?”

“Your pick,” you said.

Evan laughed, and you were surprised to find that his laugh was as cute as he was.

The conversation continued, and you were focused on what he was saying when the door of the pub opened, and you almost choked on your drink when you saw Regulus coming in, followed by Alexander and Dorius.

“You okay?” Evan asked, frowning.

“Yes, yes. Sorry.”

You tried to put yourself against the wall so Regulus couldn’t see you, but as his friends went to the bar, he looked around the room and froze when he saw you - and from where he was, there was no chance he didn’t see Barty as well. Feeling panic rushing over you, you tried to act as if you didn’t see him and instead looked at Barty’s glass, was thankful when you saw it was empty.

“Should we go? A new restaurant opened at the end of the street, maybe we could have lunch there?”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard about it. Let me go pay for the drinks.”

Usually you would propose to pay, but going to the bar would mean the impossibility of avoiding Regulus and an uncomfortable conversation. You rose from your chair and went outside despite the cold wind, but only a few seconds later, the pub’s door opened and Reggie was now standing in front of you.

“What are you doing here with him?” he asked..

His tone was barely a bit more confused than usual, but words still had a hard time coming out.

“I…We…We’re just hanging out.”

“Is this a date?”

“I…I don’t know if he sees it…”

“I don’t care about what he thinks,” Regulus cut you off harshly, “do you see it as a date?”

“I don’t know!” you answered in the same tone. “What does it matter to you anyway? Shouldn't you be helping your friends with their homework?”

“Alexander didn’t feel like doing it,” Regulus spoke quickly, “but don’t try to change the subject, this is about you and Evan, since when do you hang out with him?”

“Since I’ve wanted to! Regulus, I do not need your permission to talk to Sirius or to hang out with any boy I want!”

Regulus opened his mouth to answer, but no word came out. He looked at the ground for a second, his face and eyes hardening, before staring at you with angry eyes.

“Very well.”

Before you could answer, Regulus turned heels and went back inside the pub, slamming the door behind him. Not even a minute later, Evan came out, frowning.

“Is everything all right? Did Regulus talk to you?”

You nodded, “Yes. He just had a…question.”

Evan looked unsure, but didn’t say anything.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The next day, you were getting ready in your dorm when someone knocked at your door. Expecting Emmeline coming to ask you questions about your day with Evan, you opened the door, but it wasn’t her. Instead stood Regulus, with flowers in one hand.

“Reggie?”

“y/n. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“No, no, come in.”

Regulus gave you a small smile and entered your room, and you saw his expression change when his eyes met your desk and the bouquet Evan gave you yesterday.

“These are for you,” he said, handing you the flowers.

“Thank you so much, Reggie,” you smiled. “You shouldn’t have, they’re beautiful.”

“I was really surprised to see you with Evan,” he continues as you put the flowers in a vase. “I’ve never seen you hang out with him.”

“He’s nice,” you shrugged.

Regulus gave you a nod, “And…Do you want to see him again?”

The question took you off guard. “Well, I…I don’t know, I…I mean, even if I see Evan again, it doesn’t have to mean anything. Him and I could just remain friends.”

I should really talk to him to see how he sees it. Regulus remained silent, only staring at you.

“Well, I have Quidditch practice,” he said. “Can we have lunch together after?”

“I’d love to,” you nodded with a smile.

Regulus smiled back at you, and left. You could feel something was off with him, but maybe it was just because he felt guilty for the argument you had yesterday? You tried not to think much of it, as you didn’t want to get your hopes up. A few minutes later, Emmeline and Mary came to your door, asking you if you wanted to do your homework together - however, while it was not the first time the three of you did that, you knew very well Emmeline would take that opportunity to ask you about your time spent with Evan.

“Sooo, y/n,” Emmeline said with an amused and curious tone, “a little bird told me you spent the day with a certain blond boy from our class.”

“How was it?” Mary asked kindly.

“It was nice,” you shrugged. “Evan is very kind, and we had a good time.”

“Did he kiss you?” Emmeline asked abruptly.

“Emmeline!” Mary protested.

“What? I’m just asking,” she raised her shoulders before turning back to you, “you better be prepared for it, girl, because I heard Evan and Marius last night, and he really liked your time together, so much so that he plans on courting you and asking you to be his girlfriend.”

“What?” you said in a whisper.

“It’s a bit early, isn’t it?” Mary frowned.

“Yes!” you said with panic in your voice. “Of course it is! We’ve spent barely a day with each other and it’s not like we talked that much before that!”

“Calm down, y/n,” Emmeline said, a bit confused by your reaction, “if you think things are going too fast, just tell him. He seems to really like you, so he probably won’t mind.”

You sighed and did your homework in silence, and the subject quickly shifted to something else. Once you were done, you noticed Regulus would soon be back from practice, so you put back your things in your dorm before going to the Great Hall to wait for him. Next time, I’ll go watch the practice like I used to. But, on your way, you heard someone calling for you.

“y/n!”

You froze, and turned to see Evan almost running towards you.

“What’s up, Evan?”

“I just wanted to say I really had a good time yesterday.”

“Me too,” you smiled.

“And I was wondering if we could hang out again sometime? We could, I don’t know, have a picnic near the Black Lake or go to Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop? Or do anything you want, really.”

You were about to politely refuse, or at least tell him that it would only be as friends, but suddenly Regulus’ “I’m glad to have my best friend back.” came back to your mind.

“Actually, I’d really love that,” you answered with a genuine smile.

“Brilliant. I’ll see you later, then.”

You nodded vividly, and without thinking, got on your toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. His blue gaze shifted, and he turned around and left after giving you a smile. Why not? Maybe it’s worth giving it a shot. A half-smile on your lips, you turned heels to enter the Great Hall but your heart skipped a beat when you saw Regulus standing in the corridor.

“Hi, Reggie.”

Why did your voice have to be shaking?

He only greeted you with his head, not speaking a word, and you two went to sit at the Slytherin table.

“How was practice?”

“Good.”

He usually would give you details or just tell you how he did, but apparently he didn’t feel like it today.

“Did something happen?” you asked.

“No,” he said coldly, only looking at his plate.

His sudden cold behaviour made you too nervous to insist or ask other questions, and you also didn’t want to make him angrier than he already seemed to be, so you kept silent. You guys were almost done eating when he spoke again.

“What did Evan want?”

“Um, he wanted to ask if we could hang out again sometime.”

Regulus nodded, “That’s nice. Did you accept?”

“Yes.”

He nodded again, and his mouth turned an unusual smile.

“I’m happy for you, y/n.”

And with that, he got up and left, leaving you more confused than ever.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The week that followed was normal, spent between classes, homework, Emmeline’s constant and annoying teasing and questions and Regulus acting strangely. While you guys spend time together, he always seemed elsewhere and somehow full of melancholy. You had asked him if something was wrong, but he had said no. Evan, who now would sometimes smile at you in class, had also asked you to go to Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop on Saturday, and here you were, sitting among other couples. The place was nice, and Evan was still as kind as ever - even showing up with flowers again. You had done your best to focus and enjoy your time with him through the whole afternoon, but your mind kept coming back to Regulus and his attitude.

“I didn’t think this place would be that nice,” Evan said. “I had never come here before.”

“Me neither,” you said.

He gave you a smile, and soon after proposed to go to Honeydukes, as he had promised one of his friends to buy some sweets for him. You went in too, and bought Regulus’ favorite sweets with the hope that it would cheer him up - or that you two could at least share a moment of closeness and laughs with your stomachs full of sugar.

You then both decided to go back to the warmness of the castle, and were mostly alone on your way back.

“I had a great time today, y/n,” he spoke, suddenly stopping.

“Me too,” you assured him.

He looked at you, and before you had time to take another breath, he got closer, bent over and pressed his lips on yours. Your first instinct was to protect yourself, but after you realized what happened, the kiss started to feel a bit nice and you even kissed Evan back before he pulled away. You were now breathless and still processing the fact that you had your first kiss.

“I’m so sorry,” Evan said. “I know I should have asked, but…I couldn’t help it. I really like you, y/n. Actually, I…I’ve liked you since last year.”

Your eyebrows rose in surprise, “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, running his hand through his light hair in embarrassment, “I never asked you out because I thought you and Regulus were dating or something.”

You felt your heart sink and gulped.

“No, we…There was nothing between us.”

“Can’t say I’m not glad of it,” Evan had a half-smile. “Shall we?”

You both went back to the castle, hand in hand, and sat in the common room. You somehow felt a bit overwhelmed with both Evan’s kiss and confession, and also by the fact that you were starting to think that things were going a little bit too fast. Maybe I should tell him? I can’t date him if I’m not fully over Reggie yet. You took a deep silent breath and turned to him.

“Evan? Can I tell you something?”

“Of course, beautiful.”

“I’m really enjoying our time together,” you started, “and I’m glad you told me about your feelings, but…”

“We’re going too fast,” he completed.

You nodded, and he had a small smile.

“I understand, don’t worry. It’s true this whole thing is really recent, so if you want us to take our time, I’m totally fine with it.”

You felt relieved, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you, Evan.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

A few weeks later, it felt like, except classes, everything else had changed. You now spent a lot of your time with Evan, who was still as sweet as ever, while the rest was spent between Emmeline and Mary. As for Regulus, you had noticed that as time passed, he had become more and more distant. While you didn’t think much of it - after all, he also disliked when you spent time with Emmeline and Mary back then - but it still made you sad and ashamed - sad, because you disliked the distance between the two of you, and ashamed, because you were more or less officially dating Evan now, but didn’t tell Regulus, and kept saying you were just “friends” instead. You tried your best to spend time with him, or just ask him how he was doing, but it was now his turn to avoid you, always finding an excuse to spend as little time with you as possible. And the few times he couldn’t leave, he was polite but cold, only answering your questions with short answers and focusing on something else. It started to annoy you a lot, and you planned on getting him somewhere he couldn’t escape from to finally get him to tell you what was wrong with him.

But you also felt scared, because the more time you spent with Evan, the more your feelings for him started to grow. He now had the habit of coming to your dorm to kiss you goodnight every night, and you had even taken the initiative to kiss him a few times when you two were alone, and he was more than delighted. He didn’t seem to mind that you guys weren’t official yet, and for that you were thankful. But you also felt guilty to think and worry about Regulus - and having the kind of thought someone with a boyfriend shouldn’t have - and not be able to focus solely on Evan and your relationship.

That said, Evan was so sweet and patient, and it made you want to make some effort too, and you were starting to think that maybe, going public wasn’t that bad. After all, you were not ashamed of Evan or your relationship. So, why not? A little voice inside your head was telling you only did that because of your guilt, but you ignored it, and one day after classes, you asked for Evan’s attention by touching his arm, and when he turned his head to you, you gestured for him to go into an empty corridor. He seemed pleasantly surprised, and had the usual small, serine smile he always gave you. You put your arms around his neck, and he soon wrapped his arms around your waist.

“I’ve had an idea,” you said with a smile.

“Oh, really?” he said. “Should I be worried?”

“No. Actually, I…I thought it was maybe time to…not hide anymore?”

Evan’s eyebrows raised and his blue eyes started glowing. “Really?”

You nodded, and Evan’s hands left your waist to cup your cheeks and pull you into a deep kiss. You kissed him back, and after a few seconds, you heard footsteps. You instinctively pulled away from Evan, and when you turned your head, you felt your stomach drop when you saw a boy with familiar black curls and green eyes - green eyes that were now looking at you with confusion, anger and sadness at the same time. Without realizing it, your hands left Evan’s neck, and you stepped away from him.

“Reggie, I-”

But before you could continue, Regulus turned around and left.

“Reggie!”

You turned to Evan, suddenly feeling guilty.

“I’m sorry, I…I’ll see you later, okay?”

You didn’t give him time to answer, and went after your best friend. As you started catching up with him, you realized - or decided - that it was time to confront him and finally have a proper discussion.

“Reggie, wait!”

You both were now in the common room, but thankfully there were only a few people at the moment. He finally stopped walking, and turned to you. You almost took a step back, as you had never seen him with such a closed, angry face.

“Can we talk?”

He looked at you, and took a look around. “Not here. In your dorm.”

He started walking again, but this time it was easier for you to follow him. He walked through the common room and climbed the stairs that led to the dorms. He entered your dorm first, his back turned to you, and after coming in, you closed the door behind you.

“Reggie,” you started, “I-”

“Was that your first kiss?” he cut you off.

It was now your turn to be confused. “What?”

He turned to you, and your heart started beating faster.

“Was that the first time you’ve kissed someone?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

“Tell me!” Regulus demanded in a louder voice.

“No!” you answered in the same tone. “No, it wasn’t! Why?! I don’t understand why you’re so angry. Why does that concern you all of a sudden?”

Regulus closed his eyes, had a small sigh, and ran both his hands through his face.

“It should have been me,” he muttered for himself.

At first, you thought you heard him wrong, and frowned in disbelief.

“What?”

What in Merlin’s name is happening now? Regulus looked at you, sighing again, but this time it seemed as if he had lost all his anger, and now looked at you with broken eyes.

“It should have been me,” Regulus repeated. “Me. Your first kiss. Your first love. Me, y/n. Not him.”

All the annoyance his reaction had provoked inside you suddenly left your body, leaving only confusion.

“But, Reggie…You see me as your best friend. Nothing else,” you said as if it was obvious.

“My best friend?” Regulus’ eyes widened. “My best…”

He had a laugh - and you would have been angry again if you had been capable of it - and he shook his head.

“y/n,” he said patiently. “I’ve been madly, desperately in love with you since our third year.”

Your heart almost stopped, and your knees suddenly felt weak. For a second you were scared to lose balance and fall, but you managed to keep your body standing. Your eyes went on the ground, taking in what Regulus just said, and you shook your head.

“No. No, you…You never showed any…Never said…”

“I know. I was scared you didn’t feel the same way, scared it would ruin our friendship. I’m sorry, y/n. I didn’t want to lose you, y/n, the mere thought broke me. You’re what I cherish the most in this life. Without you, I’d be lost.”

You felt tears burn in your eyes, and as you tried to take long breaths, you felt anger rise inside of you.

“I understand if it’s too late now,” Regulus continued.

“You…You’re unbelievable.”

Regulus looked at you in confusion. “What-”

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me since I’ve started seeing Evan?”

“Yes. I- I had this feeling you were starting to fall in love with him, and it was tearing me inside. I know it’s childish, and I also hated not seeing you, but it was too hard, y/n.”

“And how do you think I felt all these years, thinking you only saw me as your friend and thinking I wasn’t good enough?” you snapped. “Thinking nothing could ever happen between us because you didn’t share my feelings? Do you have any idea how hard it is to get over you, how scary to think I might watch you fall in love with another girl one day, and also how scary it is to think I could probably meet the best man on Earth and still think I would rather be with you? How guilty I felt that, despite being with a great man who admitted he loved me, my heart was also still somewhere else?”

“You wanted to get over me?” Regulus asked in a low, almost broken voice.

“At first it was impossible, no matter how hard I tried. But, after you asked me why I had been avoiding you and called me your best friend, I thought you didn’t share my feelings and started moving on with Evan, because he was sweet and had a good heart. We started going out in secret, but despite how much I wanted it to work you were always in the back of my mind, especially since you’ve been avoiding me. It made me sad, and I was so worried about you that I couldn’t focus on my relationship.”

There was a moment of heavy, almost sad silence, before Regulus spoke again.

“Do you love Evan?”

You sighed, “He’s a sweet boy, and I guess you two are alike in some ways. In other circumstances, he might have been the kind of boy I would have fallen for, and I admit I like him.”

Regulus had no reaction at first. You thought he was going to give up, tell you to be happy, but after a minute you noticed his body stiffening.

“I’ll fight for you.”

“What?”

He stepped closer to you. “I’ll fight for you. Now that I know you feel the same as I do, I won’t let you go. Ever. I’ll do what it takes for you to love me again. There is no way I’ll let us be apart. I love you, y/n. More than life.”

“Reggie-”

But his warm, soft hands suddenly cupped your face, making your heart beat faster, and put his forehead against yours.”

“Please, y/n. I can’t stand the distance between us anymore, and I can’t stand thinking that you’re not mine. Please, I’ll beg you if I must, but give me a chance. A chance to prove that I can be the man you both need and deserve.”

“Reggie, Evan…”

Reggie pulled his head away, though keeping it a few inches from yours, and slightly shook his head.

“Stay with him if you feel that you must, but know I will not ever give up on you. Be it ten days, ten months or ten years, I’ll still be here, waiting for you to realize that you were destined to be mine, and I yours.”

“Reggie, it’s not that easy-”

“Yes, it is! Don’t you see it?!”

And before you could say anything or take another breath, his hands were on both sides of your neck, his grip tight yet still gentle, and his lips crashed on yours. His kiss was desperate and starving, and awoke sensations you had never felt in your body. You soon kissed him back, suddenly also hungry for more, and Regulus immediately deepened the kiss, bringing your body close to his as much as possible. You didn’t have any idea how long the kiss lasted, but after a while, your lips and his parted, and you were both breathless.

“You can’t imagine how many nights I’ve spent imaging kissing you,” he whispered. “How your lips would taste, how it would feel…How it would feel to feel you love me back…”

You sighed, realizing you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore.

“I do love you, Reggie.”

It seemed almost stupid now that you thought you could love another. You were doomed to love this kind, sweet, quiet boy for the rest of your life, whether you wanted it or not.

“Then allow us to be together.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

You came back to your dorm feeling better than when you left it. Fortunately, Evan had taken the breakup very well, but seeing him clearly upset hurt you more than you thought it would. Regulus had asked to come with you, but you knew Evan wouldn’t hurt you, and you felt like you had to finally take responsibility. Reggie was sitting on your bed and his eyes were curious when you walked in.

“How did it go?”

“As good as it could,” you sighed. “But it was necessary. I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror if I lied to him. He deserves better.”

Regulus nodded, and feeling you still felt guilty about Evan, he reached out his hands, and when you took them, he made you sat on his lap, wrapping his hands around you.

“You’re right. I’m sure he’ll get over it quickly, he’s not as emotional as he may seem.”

“What do you mean?” you frowned.

“Well, I’ve heard several times that he doesn’t seem to be affected by things. For not long, at least. But it’s just what people say, it might not be true after all.”

You gave him a nod but remained silent.

“I know it was hard,” he said gently. “And I know how much you hate hurting other people. But now, we can focus on what really matters.”

“Us.”

“Yes. I know things have been tense between us these past few weeks, and I hated every second of it. But it’s in the past now. Now that we’ve been true with each other, it will be better. Better than they ever had been.”

You nodded in approval, and he gave you a kiss on the cheek. You started better under his touch, and suddenly had an idea.

“Reggie?”

“Love?”

“Can we…” you hesitated, but he encouraged you to continue, “Can we cuddle?”

Reggie’s mouth parted in the cutest, happiest smile. “Of course.”

You got up, allowing him to take off his shoes and robe, leaving him in his white buttoned shirt and green and silver tie. He then laid on your bed, and after doing the same as him, you put your head on his chest and put your hand on one side of his neck. One of his hands was on your lower back and the other around your shoulder, with both his thumbs gently stroking you. Once you were fully comfortable and stopped moving, you felt him sigh in contentment, and he put his cheek against your hair.

“Every time I came here,” he said in a lower voice, “I would imagine what it would be like to just lay there and hold you in my arms like that.”

“I imagined it too,” you whispered, and you felt him holding you tighter. “I never thought it would actually happen.”

“I’m sorry, my love. Truly.”

“Don’t apologize.”

You raised your head to give him a gentle yet loving kiss, before putting it back on his chest. Despite not feeling tired, you closed your eyes, feeling more at peace and happy than you ever did. After a few hours of just staying here, happily holding each other, you went down to dinner, and thankfully didn’t run into Evan - Reggie and you had agreed to wait a few days before making your relationship known out of respect for him. Dinner was spent talking and laughing like you had done all these years, and you could have almost cried of how it felt to have things really go back to normal. Once you were both finished, you guys immediately went back to your dorm, and spent the rest of the night cuddling, kissing, whispering sweet things to each other while eating sweets. You eventually started falling asleep with Reggie’s body pressed against yours, his arms wrapped around your waist and his head in your hair.

You woke up the next morning in the exact same position, except that Reggie’s leg was now over yours, as if to stop you from leaving the bed. Still half asleep, you managed to turn around to face him, and saw how adorable he looked when he slept. You resisted the urge to caress his face and his soft dark curls, too scared to awake him. But after a short moment, Reggie started moving, and his eyes slowly opened. He immediately smiled when he saw you, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Morning, handsome,” you whispered, kissing his nose.

“Morning, love,” he yawned. “Slept well?”

“Perfectly. You?”

“Perfectly as well. We should go for breakfast, it’s probably like 10 am,” you added with a laugh.

“Want to have it here instead?” he asked, suddenly completely awake. “I could go in the kitchens and bring some food here.”

“It’s okay, Reggie,” you smiled, “we can just down there with the others.

“But I wanna stay here with you,” he pouted, and his adorable child-like expression made you laugh. “Alright, we’ll go down for breakfast, but today is free, and I want us to have a special lunch.”

“Of course,” you assured him.

He kissed you before allowing you to leave bed, and after you both showered and got ready, you went down to the Great Hall. After breakfast, you spent the rest of the morning in your dorm, quickly finishing the homework you both hadn’t done yet and cuddled again before Reggie left, giving you a kiss and telling you to meet him fifteen minutes later by the entrance’s hall.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“y/n!”

You turned to see Emmeline and Mary walking towards you, dressed in their winter clothes.

“We’re going to go shopping at Hogsmeade, wanna join us?” Emmeline said.

“Oh, hum,” you said, “no, sorry, I’m waiting for Reggie, we’re gonna have lunch by ourselves.”

“Like a date?” Mary asked with a kind smile.

“What?” Emmeline retorted. “But I thought you and Evan were this close to be dating. What happened?”

“Evan was nice, but I don’t think it would have worked between us,” you shook your head. “Also, I haven’t spent time with Reggie in weeks, and I want to change that.”

As you said that, you saw Reggie coming, with a basket in his hand. You smiled goodbye to the girls, and followed Reggie near the stairs, resisting the urge to hold his hand. You followed him to the third floor of the castle, and you wondered what he had in mind until a large door appeared in front of him, and you finally realized this was the Room of Requirement. He opened the door, and invited you inside.

“Madam.”

You smiled at him before coming in, and gasped. The room was decorated with candles, flowers and Christmas decorations all around and, in the middle of the room, a large picnic blanket with several large pillows. On the opposite wall, a fire was burning in a marble chimney.

“Reggie! It’s so beautiful.”

“Well, thank you, sweetheart, but I didn’t do anything. Though I have to say, I exactly had that in mind.

You sat down on the picnic blanket, and when you opened the basket and saw all that Reggie had taken - sandwiches, cheese, some fruits, different kinds of small cakes, pumpkin juice, hot chocolate, Christmas biscuits - you couldn’t help but give him a thankful kiss.

“It looks good, Reggie.”

“Help yourself, love.”

You both started eating while chatting and laughing, and you didn’t know how much you had missed laughing and talking with him until that moment. Once the basket was empty - because apparently being happy and in love made you hungrier - you got closer to Reggie, putting your head on his shoulder. He immediately kissed your forehead, gently putting you between his legs, with your back against his chest and his hands around you. You immediately felt your body relax and your heart beat faster.

“I could stay here all day,” you said.

“It’s Saturday, love. We absolutely could. And, to be honest, spending the day here with you in my arms sounds like the perfect day.”

He nuzzled your nose, which made you giggle. However, as you looked at the Christmas decorations around the room, it reminded you that Christmas break was soon, and that both Reggie and you would have to go back to your respective homes. You knew your parents would love Reggie if they ever met him, but you couldn’t say the same for his own parents. You must have been lost in your thoughts longer than you thought, as Reggie gave you a quick kiss on the temple.

“What are you thinking about, beautiful?”

“Do you think your parents would love me?”

“Oh.”

You shook your head, “Yeah, I know, it’s probably too soon to think about that. I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re right,” Reggie answered. “You’re gonna have to meet them one day if we’re gonna get married.”

“Reggie!” you turned to him, chuckling and turning to face him.

“What? I was serious, y/n. I’m never gonna you let you go. You’re the only person I will ever be with. You were meant to be mine, and I was meant to be yours.”

He leant to kiss you, and you realise that he was right. You and Reggie were meant to be together no matter what.

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