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marvelwitchergilmore · 8 months ago

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Sleeping, Dancing and Mistletoe

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> Times when people found evidence that you and Logan were possibly a couple, and the one time you both finally confirmed it.

Disclaimer: Mostly fluff, mentions/illusions to sex, Logan checking you out. Couple of swear words here and there. This has been unfinished in my drafts for at least a week so...yeah. This is finished. little Christmas at the end. Not Proof Read.

For what felt like the thirtieth time in the hour, you turned over with a huff and pressed your pillow to your ears, trying to muffle the sounds coming from next door.

And just as it finally died down, you sighed and was just about to thank some ancient being for hearing your prayers when…it started again.

“That’s it.”

Changing out of your longer pyjama bottoms and into some sleep shorts, you made your way out of your room, keeping your footsteps as quiet as you could until the noises faded away and you started to reach your intended room.��

Opening up the door, you found exactly what you were looking for.

Shaking his shoulder as he lay on his stomach, you whispered his name, hoping he’d hear you.

“Logan.” You shook him for a third time. “Logan.”

Nothing.

With another sigh, you slapped his face gently and said his name once more, a little louder and firmer.

“Logan.”

Finally, he groaned. “What?”

His voice was muffled by his pillow but you could hear him just well enough. Or maybe you were just used to his grunts that they were starting to become their own language you could understand.

“Move over. I’m sleeping here tonight.”

“What’s wrong with your bed?”

“Nothing.”

“Then go and sleep there.” Logan turned his head away from you and scrunched up his pillow beneath his head.

“I can’t. My neighbours have decided tonight is Valentine’s Day 2.0.”

You pushed half of his body with your hands until he finally got the cue to turn over.

“Too much information.”

You shook your head, “Too much information is what I’ve been hearing for the last hour.”

Finally, Logan rolled onto his back, his covers covering his bottom half, and groaned. “Fine.”

“Thank you.”

Logan straightened himself in his bed, giving you room to get in beside him. And the minute you touched his covers, you were glad you had changed into shorts.

Logan was like a furnace. Just constant heat radiating from his body and for as much as it, at times, got too hot to stand near him, he was also, in your opinion, the best person to fall asleep beside.

“Just shut up and go to sleep.”

Laying on your side, it wasn’t long until you closed your eyes, thankful that you could hear nothing other than Logan’s steady breathing and the distant clock down the hall that was forever ticking.

However, just before you fully drifted off, you felt Logan’s hand take hold of yours and you smiled.

He could be gruff all he liked, but when it came to you, he could be a softie.

By the time morning rolled around, Storm was in search of both yourself and Logan. So, when she found your bed empty and cold, she figured Logan would know where you were.

But he was asleep.

Right beside you.

Storm leaned against the door frame for a while, taking in the picture in front of her.

Logan was fast asleep, something that was a miracle in itself, with you right beside him, your head turned towards the windows in his room, his own looking towards you, all the while, his arm slung over your midsection and one of your own hands, holding his.

“Storm- what are you- Oh.”

Jean looked inside.

“Looks like someone had a good night.” She smiled before looking back at Storm. “Do you think we can finally ask if they’re together?”

“I’d say this is confirmation enough.”

You shifted in your sleep as did Logan, and the two girls hid behind the corner for a moment.

You turned your head and the rest of your body towards Logan, all the while his arm held you in a stronger grip and pulled you towards him.

It took you a moment but you finally opened your eyes, adjusting to the light before your vision finally cleared on a sleeping Logan.

For a moment, you allowed the hand between you both to reach up and brush the stray hairs from his eyes. It was rare you ever got to see Logan this…calm.

Serene.

Rested.

Unknowingly, you started to run your left thumb over Logan’s arm that still held onto you.

Then his fingers twitched, running over the exposed skin at the bottom of your back.

“Are you watching me sleep?” His voice was rough, the first words in the morning.

“Not anymore,” you smiled, brushing the final parts of his hair out of his face.

“Thanks for letting me stay.”

Then a cough came from the door.

Logan groaned. “Is this a new hobby; watching people sleep?”

Jean and Storm laughed from the door. “You two look cosy.”

You lifted your head and glared at Jean. “There is one reason I’m here. Maybe I think it’s time you make an investment in soundproof walls.”

Jean turned a little red and Storm laughed.

“Look, we’ve got a busy day. You can kiss your boyfriend later.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you called out just as Logan called; “She’s not my girlfriend.”

Storm and Jean nodded and just as Jean snapped a picture, she sent it to both yourself and Logan as they walked away.

“Sure.”

Leaning up, Logan reached for his phone to see the notification pop up before he placed it back down and you climbed out of bed.

“They’re got a point.”

“About us being a couple?”

You threw a t-shirt at Logan. “Having a busy day.”

Logan laughed a little, scrubbing his face as he watched you leave his room before he reached behind him and took hold of his phone once more.

Jean and Storm were right.

From the picture…they did look like a couple.

A couple of days passed and you were sitting in the quiet living room, the fires on both sides roaring.

All classes had been finished for two days and some kids had returned home for the holidays, which meant you had some free time on your hands.

And for you, that meant finally reading.

Until you sensed someone stood behind you.

“If you want to know what happens, you could just ask me.”

Logan plucked the book from your hands and circled around the sofa before coming to sit down beside you.

“Logan! Give it back.”

“I want to see what it’s about.”

You sighed and sat up, “It’s a romance, Logan.”

“A romance?” Logan had a hint of a smirk on his face. “Like the…trashy kind?”

“Like the romantic kind.”

Logan looked at you and smiled. “The trashy kind.”

You rolled your eyes and took the book back from him, leaving him to fix the blanket so it rested over both of you. He placed his arm over the back of the sofa, allowing you to lean into him, whether you noticed you were doing so or not.

“Just because you might not believe in romance, doesn’t mean the rest of us are the same.”

“I believe in romance.”

“Yeah, right.”

Logan couldn’t help but smile. “What?”

“The Wolverine,” you said with a deep voice. “Believes in romance?”

Logan nodded. “Occasionally.”

“Occasionally?”

“Do you just like repeating everything I say?”

You nodded and smiled. “Occasionally.”

Logan rolled his eyes and took the book back from you and read a line out loud.

“People really talk like this?”

You leaned into Logan. “No, but in a book it’s not so bad. Go on, read some more.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

You nodded. “You’re like my own personal audiobook.”

Logan gave a short smile before getting a little cosier and continued reading out loud.

It wasn’t long before Logan found you asleep against him and he shifted in order to avoid you getting a crick in your neck.

“Keep reading.”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Now I’m awake.”

“Fine, just be quiet.”

You gave a fake salute. “Yes, sir.”

Holding his arm around your body that was pressed between himself and the sofa, Logan quickly kissed the top of your head and went back to reading.

And ten minutes later, you were asleep.

And so was he.

An hour passed before someone found either of you, but this time, it was Scott and Bobby.

“They might be in- oh. What do we have here?”

“Oh my god, Rouge has to see this. I told her they were together.”

Bobby rushed off and soon returned, pulling Rouge with him.

“What is it?” Then she gasped.

“Believe me now?”

And what Rouge saw made her smile.

On the slightly too small sofa for Logan, you lay both between him and the sofa, as well as partly on him with your hand a little over his heart. His head was turned towards you. The blanket had fallen a little, so she reached over and pulled it up both of you before turning around and throwing a log onto the fire.

“Come on, let's leave them.”

“But-”

“No, you are not going to disturb them. Come on.”

Rouge dragged the pair out and closed the door behind her.

The third time people suspected you and Logan were an item was one late evening in October.

Half of the kids were playing outside with all the freshly fallen leaves, whilst some of the older kids helped them find different critters and point them out, and build them habitats. The rest of the kids were either in their rooms or studying.

Save for two.

Bobby and Rouge were hiding outside of the kitchen watching yourself and Logan cook.

“I didn’t even know he knew how to…chop. Let alone cook.”

“You should have more faith in him.”

“Come on, Rouge. You can’t tell me you weren't thinking it, too.”

And she couldn’t. Because she was.

Meanwhile inside the kitchen, Logan was watching you from the kitchen island as he continued chopping the veg.

There was something different about you. From the way you practically danced around the kitchen finding the different items for the recipe, to just…you. Whilst he was (semi) shirtless, just having his zipper hoodie on, along with his jeans and socks. He would have been fully dressed, except you had come and ambushed him in his room – even though you denied the word “ambushed” – to get him to help.

And you were just simply in your pyjamas (of sorts) along with one of his zipper hoodies.

“Bub,”

Logan laid down his knife and walked over to you as you stood by the stove, standing a little higher to see how much water was left in the pot at the back.

You hummed a questioned response, but was met with a question…you didn’t expect.

“Dance with me?”

“What?”

Logan smiled lightly as he pulled the wooden spoon from your hand and pulled you closer to him, despite him walking backwards.

“Come on,” his voice in a light whisper. “Dance with me.”

“Didn’t take you for a dancer.”

Outside the door, Bobby and Rouge mouthed to each other; “They’re dancing.”

And you both were.

Gently swaying to the music for a while, you allowed Logan to lead you around a small space in the centre of the kitchen.

“We’re gonna burn the sauce.”

Logan gave a slight smile at you as he spun you out and back in, “We’re not gonna burn the sauce.”

“Logan.”

“Can’t you ever just enjoy a moment?”

“When that moment doesn’t include burning the house down, yes.”

“Bit of a jump, don’t you think, from burning the sauce.”

“Ha, so you agree. We’re gonna burn the sauce.”

Moving over, Logan turned down the heat on one of the pans before taking your hand back into his. “Now we won’t.”

Bobby and Rouge watched, in shock, the rest.

For one, Logan knew how to dance? Since when? And since when did he…cook and dance in the kitchen? Unless…

Then Logan did something even you didn’t expect.

He dipped you.

You hand tightened its grip on Logan’s arm as you let out a small, if a little nervous, laugh.

Logan had been full of surprises recently. From the impromptu audiobook session in which you woke up in his arms, to him not only dropping off a cup of coffee during your break from teaching but also a freshly baked muffin.

And now he was dancing with you in the kitchen.

And dipping you.

When you had rushed him out of his room to help you cook, you hadn’t expected him to know the recipe for the sauce from the top of his head. Something he just happened to rattle off whilst you were looking for the cooking notebook that should have been in the cupboard beside the oven. Let alone be the one to ask to dance in the kitchen, and dip you.

Bring you back up, both of you gave a slight chuckle as you turned around, the music slowly fading away in the background.

“Logan…”

Looking at him, you forgot what you were going to say.

Had his eyes always had so much green in them?

Logan’s palm became warm against your back as it pressed further into you. Or maybe you pressed further into him and he just held you tighter.

Slowly, your hand left his bicep and trailed towards his chest all the while your eyes studied his face. You’d known him for years and seen him a thousand times or more.

So why did now feel like you were seeing him for the first time? Noticing him? Noticing each particle he was made up of that allowed him to sway with you in the kitchen to the music that had changed on the radio?

Only, before the space between yourself and Logan became any more closer, a noise came from outside the door.

A sneeze.

A sneeze that shocked you and Logan back into reality.

Still holding you, Logan looked towards the door and gave a hint of a smile when he saw the flash of white disappear behind the beam.

Realising what was happening, you lowered yourself back to the ground and slowly stepped out of Logan’s arms. “We should finish up.”

Logan nodded in agreement, however did look back at you when you got back to the stove, not noticing you do the same a few moments later, watching him pick up the rest of the veg and toss it into the collider to be washed.

Time passed and after more music, more conversation - including a burnt tongue from when you had shoved a wooden spoon with fresh sauce on, into Logan’s mouth for him to try - and a lot of scrubbing later, you found Logan sitting inside the library and collapsed next to him.

“Good news, the kids loved the food,” you told Logan. “Double good news; Jean and Scott are on cooking duty tomorrow.”

“Thank fuck.”

“Thank you for helping me.” Turning to look at Logan, you found him already looking.

“You did ambush me.”

“I didn’t ambush you.”

“I wasn’t dressed.” Logan examined himself. “Technically, I’m still not.”

You rolled your eyes with a slight smile. “Fine. Maybe it was a mini, tiny, miniscule ambush.”

You made a small space between your fingers. “Like this big of an ambush.”

Logan looked at you, at your fingers and then back to you in slight disgust before moving your fingers wider with his own.

“That big of an ambush.”

You rolled your eyes and dropped your hand. “And they say us women are dramatic.”

It was Logan’s turn to roll his eyes. However, as he did so, his arm wrapped around you, and pulled you back into him and the sofa.

“Just shut the fuck up for a minute and listen.”

You did so.

“I don’t hear anything.”

“That’s the point.” Logan’s eyes were shut as his head rested on the back of the sofa.

Eventually you gave a shrug and joined him.

An hour later, Storm found you both fast asleep beside one another so with a knowing smile, she found a blanket, covered you both up and closed the door behind her. But not before reminding herself she needed to get verbal confirmation from you both.

She wasn’t handing over any money to Jean and Xavier until she had verbal confirmation of what exactly was going on between you two.

And she didn’t have to wait long…at least in the long run, she didn’t have to wait long.

Until then, there were plenty more incidents of falling asleep next to each other, bringing each other coffee, dancing to music in the kitchen, smiling and laughing – all before she finally got verbal confirmation that the inevitable had finally happened.

Finally, it was acceptable to decorate for Christmas.

Two days prior, Rogue, Logan and Storm had been helping you find all the old decorations in the attic and bring them down. Storm did try then to bribe something out of Rogue, but she apparently was just in the dark as the rest of them.

But the smile she gave when she looked over at Logan, who was placing down another box from the back of the pile for you to take a look at, told Storm something different.

“I can’t believe you leave it this late to decorate.”

Logan looked at you. “We’re still in November.”

“So?”

Taking hold of the garland, you started to climb the ladder. Logan held onto the bottom just to be safe.

“If you had it your way, the decorations would be up all year round.”

“Hey, no.”

“Hey, yes.”

“I’d take them down for…” you tried to think. “Halloween. You’d have a little break.”

Logan didn’t look entirely thrilled. “Halloween is one day.”

“Technically, it’s a month.”

“To you, it’s a month. To the rest of us, it’s a day.”

You looked back at him. “To you it’s a day, to the rest of us it’s a month.”

Then you looked back at the garland. “How does that look?”

“Great from where I’m standing.”

You looked a little confused for a second before quickly looking over your shoulder, realising where Logan was, in fact, looking.

Not at the garland, but at your ass.

You smiled and started to step down the ladder, hitting his shoulder on the way down.

“I meant the garland.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Logan looked up. “Looks great.”

You laughed. “You didn’t even look.”

With a smile as you finally stepped back into his arm, he looked to the side and up. “It looks great.”

“Good. Now,” Logan turned back to look at you and you kissed him quickly. “We have to put up five more.”

“I get to watch you put up five more.”

You smiled. “This is why you’re my favourite person.”

Logan smiled. He could help you with everything else, but when it came to the garland, you had full control on where it went. Which, he didn’t mind. So long as he got to watch you put it up.

You quickly kissed him once more, only to be pulled back when you tried to walk away.

Then Logan gave you a real kiss.

A little dizzy, you smiled and placed a hand on his chest and closed your eyes. “Wow.”

He gave you a quicker, lighter kiss. “You better get going before Rogue comes back with another box of lights.”

“Light?” Then it hit you. “Oh, yeah.”

Logan smirked a little as he watched you walk away and down the hallway.

It was a couple of hours before everyone was in the same room, making the final touches all the while most of the other kids were either playing outside in the snow, were taking naps or decorating their own rooms.

And the others had been watching you and Logan all day.

The stolen glances, the stolen touches, the slightly knowing smiles from both Rogue and Bobby. And then, as Logan was helping you down from the ladder, his hand on your thigh, Bobby went to make the final hammer to hang up the mistletoe.

“Wait, no. Not there.”

“Where then?”

Storm looked around. “I know. Y/n, hang this just above there. We don’t need a remake of Mistletoe Central 1997.”

Logan looked at Storm. “Do I wanna know?”

Storm shook her head. “Here.”

She handed you the mistletoe before Logan passed you the hammer back from his belt.

Three knocks and the nail was set in and the mistletoe was above you on a corner beam, just a little to the side of the christmas tree.

At least this way, those looking for it, would find it.

"Oh, no, wait.” Jean said, looking at you. “Have to kiss someone. It’s tradition. You’re under the mistletoe.”

There was no one else apart from Logan.

Logan looked around at the others. He wondered how long it would take.

Coming up behind you on the ladder, you moved over for him to stand beside you. His palm on your back held you steady and, leaning his other arm on the ledge of the ladder, his hand cupped your face and he kissed you.

Lasting a little longer than the others had expected, you soon heard Rogue giving a little cheer, as well as a couple of whistles from the others.

“Okay, I think they get it.” You whispered to Logan as he finally pulled away, a smile very noticeable on both of your faces.

“Happy now?” Logan asked, turning towards where Jean and Scott were standing.

“That was some kiss.”

You felt yourself blush at the comment. As did Logan.

He helped you back down the ladder before you both turned and really saw the other's expression. As well as the exchanging of money between people.

“Sooo…how long has this been going on?”

You were leaning into Logan, his hand around your back and on your hip.

You looked at Logan, “A couple of months. We’re…what? November now so that would…”

“That would…” Logan counted back in his head. “May…June, July…six months.”

You looked back to the others. “Six months.”

A chorus of shocked faces and loud voices sounded out; “SIX MONTHS?!”

All before a small call from Rogue was made, which made both yourself and Logan smile.

“I knew it!”

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ferrstappen · 9 days ago

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all because i liked a boy l MV1

a/n: so... hey, its been SO LONG! this is a series i've been thinking about since like September last year?? and it's been sitting on my drafts forever and finally got the inspo and some help to finish it <3 i really hope you like the concept <3 i have the idea for a fourth song but i'll wait to see if you guys like it <3

pairing: Max Verstappen x female!singer!reader

word count: 5.3

summary: three songs summarize your relationship with Max.

first song: into you - ariana grande

There wasn’t a single person who didn’t wish to be a fly on the wall everytime Max Verstappen met his fellow Tag Heur sponsor, a true pop star, and the stuff of all his problems.

Max had never been too fond of all the publicity that came with his job, he mentioned it every time there was a chance to: “I’m only here to race”. His statement remained truthful, but he couldn’t deny he now looked forward some events, dressing up and showing up.

He met her the same week she was announced as a brand ambassador in the middle of her world tour. It had been during the Monaco Grand Prix weekend, thousands of cameras on them while posing. Max was never rude, but he noticed she looked almost nervous to meet him and anxious every time someone from her or the Red Bull PR team asked for some kind of contest, it all made sense when she apologized to him at the end.

“I know you’re not fond of these things so I hope you don’t hold it against me,” Those were the first words she said to him when there were no microphones on their clothes. Maybe someone was recording their interaction, but it wasn’t important.

“What? I know you don’t have anything to do with it, I’m sorry if I came across as if I was bothered or something, I promise you I wasn’t. Plus, you must be exhausted as well,” Max said earning a smile from her and it was beautiful, kind.

It made his own smile reach the crinkle by his blue eyes, lasting a bit longer than necessary for someone he just met, the taste of his champagne a little sweeter.

(Y/N) spent the night stalking him and his girlfriend, she was stunning and they even had a small family of sorts. She had to remind herself he was just being nice, maybe too nice, but the adoration came from her part after hearing his laugh and realizing the smile reached his eyes, and the way his tongue pressed against his lips when his smile got too big, or how he held his breath every time he said something funny, waiting for her laugh.

And she was so weak for it, for him. Even if she wasn’t supposed to, but the events kept coming, the silk dresses and bold lipstick every time they saw each other, posing together, feeling Max’s big, warm hand on her back, hiding from the world to see.

There was something quietly cinematic about hotel lobbies after midnight; the way the light softened, the silence pressed in, footsteps sounded hesitant, taxis coming and going every few minutes. Max wasn’t supposed to be there, not anymore at least. He’d said goodnight hours ago, disappeared into the elevator with a tired smile and the promise of an early flight.

But there he was.

Still in his suit, tie long forgotten, blond hair a little messier now, he sat at the far end of the bar with a half-finished gin and tonic and that unreadable look on his face, the one he always wore when his mind was loud but his words weren’t exactly ready.

(Y/N) hesitated in the entry to the lavish hotel bar, silk dress and Crocs, makeup a little smudged at the corners. She hadn’t expected anyone else to still be up, let alone him, but something about the way he looked at her: just once, then away, like it stung, made her cross the room anyway.

(Y/N) sat down two stools away, close enough to hear him breathe, far enough that they weren’t really next to each other, allowing to feel the space left between.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asked softly.

Max didn’t look at her at first. Just shook his head. “No. Happens after race weekends sometimes. My brain doesn’t shut off, it’s annoying”

She nodded like she understood. Because she did, but still needed to add something. “Maybe if you didn’t spend your free time sim racing…”

He glanced over at her, briefly before chuckling. “Your performance was great tonight, I meant to tell you earlier.”

Her laugh was soft, tired. “You looked miserable the entire event.”

He smiled at that. A real one. The kind that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I was,” Max admitted. “But that part? I liked that part.”

Silence wrapped around them again, not heavy, just full; full of things they’d never said out loud. Full of questions neither of them had the right to ask.

She traced the rim of her glass with one finger. “She seems really lovely.”

Max’s jaw twitched, dreading the subject. “She is.”

(Y/N) didn’t look at him. She just nodded.

“You two look like you’ve got it all figured out.”

There was a pause.

Max exhaled slowly. “Yeah.”

Another pause.

She turned her head slightly, finally meeting his eyes. “I hate how easy it is to talk to you.”

Something flickered in his expression. “I know,” he said quietly. “I hate it, too.”

That was it. That was everything.

No closeness. No touching. Just two people sitting in the space between what they wanted and what they’d already promised to other people. His fingers tapped against his glass. Her foot brushed the leg of the stool, never his.

They never touched.

“I should go,” she said eventually.

Max nodded, blue eyes unreadable again. “Yeah.”

But neither of them moved right away. It was always like that, every moment together stretching a little too long, never enough to say it out loud, just enough to feel it.

“Goodnight, Max.”

As he listened to those words he looked at her, really looked. Eyes searching, almost soft, like if he were someone else, or if this were some other life, he might have reached for her hand.

But this wasn’t that story.

“Goodnight,” he said, voice low. “Get some sleep.”

And she walked away, yearning and aching, while he sat there and tried not to watch her go, downing the gin and tonic.

It had been weeks since Monaco, since the late-night conversations, the unspoken things that lingered between them like ghosts. Weeks since they’d exchanged half-joking texts about everything, from memes about their awkward PR moments fans were always catching to random race weekend observations. She had a unique way of making him laugh, of sending him a meme at the perfect time, of pulling him out of the swirling thoughts in his head, the never-ending doubts.

They hadn’t met again. She’d been on tour, he’d been in the midst of a brutal racing schedule. Texting became their way of staying connected; casual, light, a little flirty at times, but never anything real. Max never tried to cross the line, he had a girlfriend after all. It wasn’t fair to her, to her daughter, maybe even the cats. And yet, a part of him couldn't shake the pull he felt toward (Y/N), the spark that crackled just beneath the surface of every message.

Tonight, though, something was different. He had his phone in his hand, staring at the screen, unable to stop scrolling through social media. Her new song had just dropped and everyone was talking about it.

Into You was everywhere. Fans were loving it, critics were praising her for its rawness, the production, the passion. But Max couldn’t ignore the comments, somewhere, buried among the endless comments of hearts, praise, flames and verified accounts, there was a new question being whispered in his direction.

Is this song about Max Verstappen?

At first, it was just one or two fans joking around in the comments, but the more he scrolled (something he wasn’t proud of), the more the question popped up. People started comparing lyrics, dissecting moments they’d shared, and the strange way they’d clicked, not the pairing people would expect.

Max’s thumb hovered over the screen and his heart kicked up a little. He couldn’t shake the idea from his mind.

Was it possible? Was the song about him?

It didn’t help that he hadn’t heard from (Y/N) in a few days. Maybe she was busy just like him, tour life and all that, but now the questions on his mind felt heavier. He clicked into their text thread, reading through the last few messages. She’d sent him a meme a couple of days ago, a funny one about him winning the race in Japan. He’d replied with a laughing emoji, as usual. It felt like the normal thing between them, but now everything felt loaded.

Max felt a sudden need to reach out, to ask her, but at the same time, he hesitated. What if he was just overthinking it? What if it was nothing? She was a pop star, a professional, she was just being friendly. He was that guy, the guy who made it awkward, not very expressive, with a girlfriend…

But then again... He had to know.

He tapped out a message, then deleted it, then tapped it again.

hey

I know you're busy, but are you okay? Haven't heard from you in a while.

A beat passed before he added another text, the words lingering like a weight on his fingers.

btw, i've been seeing a lot of stuff about your song.. people are asking if its about me.

Max thought his heart was going to explode, feeling the beating on his ears.

Is it?

He immediately regretted it, his fingers hovering over the screen as he debated whether to just delete it all and pretend he didn’t do it. But before he could second guess himself, the text was gone.

(Y/N) had just finished a soundcheck when she saw the notification.

A new text from Max.

Her heart had dropped when she saw his name on the screen. She had been trying to ignore the way people were talking about her song, trying to stay focused on the tour, but now? The thing with Max had been gnawing at her for weeks. They had their moments, maybe too many moments, and now the world was starting to ask if it was all more than just playful text exchanges and rare promo outings.

She took a deep breath and opened his message, quickly scanning the words. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the last question.

Is it?

She should’ve been surprised by the question, but she wasn’t, she’d been expecting it to come up at some point. People weren’t stupid, they saw the chemistry between them, the tension in the air that neither of them had really addressed. Not out loud at least.

But she hadn’t planned on answering this way. She’d wanted to pretend it was nothing. She wanted to deflect, to tell him it was just a song, a moment, nothing more. But that seemed... dishonest.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She should just say it was nothing. Keep it professional. But she couldn’t lie. Not to him. Not to herself.

I don’t know what people are picking up on, but I’ll be honest

i wrote it about someone who... made me feel things I didn’t expect??? Things I wasn’t sure I could handle

but it’s not just about one person, you know?

It’s about that feeling of wanting someone who feels just out of reach, even when they’re right in front of you. Yearning, you know??

She stared at the text, the words too real, too raw. She didn’t hit send immediately.

What if he thought she was talking in circles? What if this was just a terrible idea?

She hit send anyway.

Max read her reply, and for a moment, his heart stopped. He could feel the weight of her words even through the screen of his phone. There was no denying it now, she’d just put it all out there: the feeling, the pull, the tension. It was all there in the lines between the words. And in that moment, Max knew he wasn’t the only one who’d been holding on to something unsaid, that he tried to convince was only in his head.

His thumb hovered over his phone as he thought about his reply. Should he be honest? Should he ask if what they both felt was the same thing? Or should he leave it alone?

He texted her back quickly, without thinking. I’ve been feeling it too. More than I should, probably.

He sent it before he could stop himself.

The text was out there now, and there was no taking it back. He waited, heart in his throat, as the dots on her side of the conversation appeared and disappeared.

But this time, when her reply finally came, it wasn’t a meme. It wasn’t a joke.

It was the truth.

i know

and i think that's why we both keep avoiding it.

Max stared at the screen, his heart racing, the world outside disappearing as he thought about the next step. What would happen if they really admitted everything they’d been dancing around? Would they be able to keep pretending? Would the media and fans turn their attention into something they couldn’t control?

He didn’t know.

But for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure if he cared anymore.

second song: touch it - ariana grande

The weeks that followed were torturous.

Max couldn’t stop thinking about (Y/N), about their conversation, the way her words had lingered long after their texts had stopped. He couldn’t ignore whatever it was happening between them, the ache that grew every time he saw her name pop up on his phone, every time she sent him a meme or just a quick check-in. Their playful banter had always been a way to keep things light, but now it felt like they were walking a razor-thin line between friendship and something far more dangerous.

He’d tried to push it all away, focusing on the races, the endless press obligations, the girlfriend who had been by his side for years. He couldn’t just throw everything away, couldn’t tear apart the life he had, the one that made sense, the one that was steady, reliable. His girlfriend didn’t deserve to be hurt, he knew that.

But the more he tried to ignore it, the more impossible it became to escape.

And then, "Touch It" came out.

(Y/N)’s voice poured through his speakers one late night in a hotel room, and it hit him like a punch to the gut. The song wasn’t subtle. It was a breathless anthem of need, of longing, of reaching for something that was just out of grasp. She had written it, and he knew—he knew—it was about them. About him. About that feeling they couldn’t escape. The way she felt when they were together, the way they both held on to the tension between them like it was a lifeline.

It was a confession in a song, raw and unfiltered, and it echoed everything that had been simmering under the surface for weeks.

Max couldn’t stop listening to it. Couldn’t stop hitting replay as he drove through the city streets, as he sat in his hotel room preparing for the next race. Every time the chorus hit, he could feel the burn in his chest.

Cause every time I see you, I don’t wanna behave. I’m tired of being patient so let’s pick up the pace.

The words raked across his skin, and for the first time in a long time, the temptation felt overwhelming, his skin felt too warm, his hands aching.

He wanted it. Wanted her. Wanted to be close to her. He was drawn to her like he was drawn to the track, fast, reckless, and completely out of control.

But he had a girlfriend waiting at home.

And they both deserved better.

Max had tried. He really had, but every time (Y/N) popped up in his messages, it was harder to fight it. Texts were more frequent now, words lingered longer, carried more weight. The emojis felt heavier, the tone of the messages softer, more intimate.

They were dancing around it, playing with fire, and neither of them had the courage to admit what they both wanted.

It had been a long week of racing, and Max was exhausted when he arrived back at the hotel, the weight of the world on his shoulders. He stepped into his room, the familiar quiet pressing in around him. His girlfriend was waiting in the room next door. She was asleep when he checked in, and for the first time, the thought of being with her didn’t bring him comfort. Instead, he felt restless, empty in a way he couldn’t explain.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, and of course it was a text from her.

I know you’re tired but I miss you…

You ever feel like something’s just too hard to let go of, even if it’s the right thing?

The words hit him like a ton of bricks and suddenly the room felt too small. Too quiet. The space between was non-existent, and every message, every word they shared, felt like walking straight into a precipice, the bottom just waiting for what was inevitably going to happen.

His fingers hovered over the screen for a long moment. She was waiting for him to respond. But he knew if he answered this text, it would change everything.

Max ran a hand through his hair, staring at the text. The sound of the rain tapping against the window was the only thing filling the silence. He could hear his girlfriend moving in the other room, soft noises of her trying to sleep, but the distance between them felt miles wide.

Finally, he typed.

I can’t stop thinking about you

I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop.

He hit send, heart pounding in his chest.

(Y/N) didn’t reply immediately. The anticipation gnawed at him. Was she thinking the same thing? Was this going to go too far? Did she want the same thing he did?

Minutes passed, and just when he thought he’d made a mistake, his phone buzzed again.

Then don’t.

Come to me, come see me.

I’m not the one who’s going to stop you

The words burned like fire, sharp and undeniable. He couldn’t breathe.

He stared at the message, every part of him screaming to throw caution to the wind. To give in, just this once. To take what he wanted without thinking of the consequences. Without thinking of his girlfriend, of the other life he had built, the life he was supposed to protect.

Max stood up, pacing across the room, his mind whirling. The song, her words, her invitation. It all came rushing back, like a flood he couldn’t stop and temptation was too much, unbearable.

Without another thought, he grabbed his jacket, keys, and headed out the door.

She was waiting when he arrived. There was a calmness in her eyes when she opened the door, but Max was able to see through it, the way her lips parted when she saw him, the slight tremble in her breath, it was too much to ignore. She knew. They both knew what was about to happen.

“You came,” she whispered, stepping back to let him in.

Max didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. The words were lost to him as his body moved forward, drawn to her like a magnet, like he couldn’t stop himself anymore.

Because he couldn’t, he had crossed the line.

When their lips met, it was everything he had been denying. The kiss was slow, hungry, desperate. It was everything they had been holding back for weeks. Every unspoken word, every glance, every text, they were all there, alive in this single moment.

But as their hands roamed, and the world outside seemed to disappear, the weight of it all began to sink in. He was betraying everything. Everything.

It wasn’t just the physical act, it was the knowledge that he’d crossed a line, that the thing he’d feared, even if it was inevitable, was now real.

But in that moment, with (Y/N) on his arms, his blue eyes finding hers, he didn’t care.

The next morning, Max woke up to an empty room.

She was gone, all trace of her gone, leaving the Monte-Carlo hotel room empty.

The sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the bed, but everything felt wrong. The space next to him was cold.

His phone buzzed again, and for a brief moment, he hoped it was her. But it wasn’t. It was his girlfriend, asking if he was okay, asking why he hadn’t answered her texts.

Max swallowed hard, guilt and shame rising in his chest. The weight of what he’d done, the mess he’d created, crushed him in an instant.

And in the silence that followed, he realized: He couldn’t run from this anymore.

He was caught. And it was only a matter of time before the truth came crashing down.

The break-up wasn’t loud.

Max had expected yelling, accusations, maybe tears, but when he told her, when he finally looked her in the eyes and said he couldn’t keep pretending, she just sat there. Quiet. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest, like she already knew.

“Is it her?” she asked, not even needing to say the name.

Max looked down at his hands, jaw tight. “It’s... not just about her.”

But it was.

It always had been.

He didn’t say he cheated. He didn’t say what happened the night before, hours ago. But maybe he didn’t need to. Maybe she saw it in his face, in the guilt buried behind his eyes, in the way his voice cracked when he said, “I haven’t been fair to you.”

She didn’t cry. She just stood up, nodded once, and walked away. Max didn’t try to stop her.

After that, everything changed.

He stayed away from (Y/N).

No texts. No emojis. No late-night memes. Not even a “hey” when she posted behind-the-scenes shots from her tour.

He watched, though.

Watched her perform, watched her smile through interviews, watched the fans scream her lyrics back to her like they knew her pain, like they knew him. Every lyric felt like a reflection, like a memory wrapped in melody so beautifully created by her.

The rumors exploded overnight.

Max Verstappen and (Y/N): Something More Than Friends?

New Song “Touch It” Sparks More Speculation About F1 Star

Inside Their Secret Friendship—And What His Ex-Girlfriend Might Know

Social media ate it up. Paparazzi started showing up at both their events. Journalists tried to sneak questions into press conferences. He could hear it, feel it, the way people looked at him now.

Every time a camera flashed, every time someone said her name around him, his chest tightened.

Because what could he say?

Yes, I wanted her. Yes, I kissed her. Yes, I broke someone’s heart. Yes, I broke my own too.

But he kept quiet. Let the world build its version of the story.

And the worst part? She did too.

(Y/N) never spoke about him. Not in interviews, not in casual conversation, not online. She posted photos of her tour crew, messy dressing rooms, crowded arenas, sandy white beaches, but all trace of him was gone, the subtle ones only he knew existed, as if erasing him from the narrative could somehow erase the way he had touched her life and body and then left it in pieces, because she never thought leaving that morning meant leaving forever, that he would just disappear.

But Max missed her, constantly, and it wasn’t like the word let him forget either.

He missed the way she teased him in texts, the way her voice softened when she said his name. He missed how easy it had felt to just exist with her, no performance, no pressure. Just them, in the quiet in-between spaces.

He told himself staying away was the right thing. The honorable thing. That maybe it was better this way, if she hated him a little, if she moved on without him. Maybe she should hate him. He’d touched something sacred between them and let it fall apart.

But then he’d hear her songs about him on the radio, and it was like the ache rewrote itself all over again.

They saw each other once.

Weeks later.

By accident.

At a TAG Heuer event in Paris, neutral ground, surrounded by cameras and managers and fake laughter. She was dressed in a black suit, her hair slicked back, red lipstick like a warning sign. She looked stunning. Powerful. Untouchable.

Max didn’t know she would be there.

And she definitely hadn’t expected him.

Their eyes met across the room. Just for a second.

And everything came rushing back.

The tension. The pull. The memory of hands on skin and words they couldn’t take back.

But they didn’t speak.

Someone stepped between them, an assistant, a handler, and just like that, the moment passed.

She turned first. Walked away like he was nothing.

He didn’t follow.

Later that night, she posted a photo from the event. A carousel: behind-the-scenes snaps, her laughing with her stylist, a close-up of her heels, her red lips, her watch.

He wasn’t in any of them, not even his shadow.

Max saw it at 2 a.m., lying awake in his hotel bed, the room too quiet, too cold. Thinking that maybe they could be spending this time together, holding her in his arms.

He stared at the screen for a long time.

Then he put his phone down.

And didn’t text her.

Not this time.

third song: because i liked a boy - sabrina carpenter

It started with a post.

Black and white. A photo of her in the studio, headphones half-off, mascara smudged, eyeliner sharp. She wasn’t posing for the camera—just staring at the wall like she was somewhere else entirely.

The caption was short:

“they wrote the narrative. i just sang the truth.”

And then the song dropped.

Because I Liked a Boy wasn’t subtle. It was messy. Angry. Beautiful. A punch to the chest. She didn’t name names, but she didn’t need to.

“Now I’m a homewrecker, I’m a slut I got death threats fillin’ up semi-trucks Tell me who I am, guess I don’t have a choice All because I liked a boy…”

The internet exploded.

Max watched it all unfold from behind his screen. Headlines flared. Twitter caught fire. Her name was trending for days, right next to his. Theories. TikToks. Threads with screenshots, breakdowns of their eye contact, fans zooming in on the way his smile lingered in her direction.

His ex girlfriend didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. The silence said enough. The world filled in the blanks for her.

And (Y/N)?

She said only what mattered. Through the lyrics.

Max played the song again. And again. And again. He could barely breathe through it.

It was all there, how they’d stolen moments, how she’d been painted as the villain for something they both started. And he’d let her take the fall. He let the world chew her up while he stayed silent, tucked behind PR teams and blank expressions.

But he missed her. God, he missed her.

He hadn’t texted her. Not since that night were his body was faster than his brain.

But he started watching her again, quietly.

He liked one post. Then another. A photo of her in a studio. A video of her laughing backstage with her team. Then a blurry mirror selfie with no caption.

The fans noticed. Of course they did.

max verstappen liking y/n’s post after 84 years??

he’s lurking and she KNOWS.

just date already omg

But she didn’t follow him or whatever it was he was doing; didn’t like his photos, did her best to avoid all the edits and side-by-side comparisons of her lyrics and his interviews. She was silent. Untouchable.

And maybe she was done with him. Maybe he’d hurt her too much. Maybe her silence now was the same silence he gave her when she needed him most.

But Max couldn’t stop.

He typed out messages at night.

I miss you.

I was a coward.

I should’ve defended you.

I still think about you. All the time.

He deleted them all.

Until one night, after a difficult race in Brazil, in the middle of a triple header, exhausted, emotionally wrecked, sitting in a hotel room with rain sliding down the windows, he typed something different.

Simpler. Honest.

I listened to the song.

A minute passed.

Then five.

Then ten.

No reply.

He let the phone sit beside him, the silence deafening, preparing himself for nothing, trying to convince himself it was for the best.

But then, finally, it buzzed.

Of course you did, everyone did.

His heart clenched. The coolness in her message cut deeper than a scream would have. But he kept going.

I know I should’ve said something

I should’ve protected you

There was a pause.

He stared at the screen like it was going to fix everything, like honesty could undo what silence had cemented.

Finally, she replied.

You didn’t have to protect me, I never wanted that from you and you know it

I just didn’t want to be alone in it

That was it. The wound, wide open.

Max closed his eyes. He wanted to call her, to get on a plane, to show up at her door. But it wasn’t his timing anymore. It was hers.

So, he sent one last message.

I don’t want to be someone you used to write about

And this time… she didn’t reply.

But a week later, she posted a photo of her hand, a lyric scrawled across her palm in messy sharpie:

we don’t talk, but i still feel it.

And Max knew.

Maybe this wasn’t over. Not yet.

But they needed time, he needed to give her the time to heal, and come to terms with what happened.

It had been a year.

Twelve whole months since “Touch It.” Nine since “because i liked a boy.” Three since Max’s last like on her post.

No texts. No calls. Nothing that would hint to the world that they’d ever known each other beyond a photo op. But they had. They did.

And the thing about time? It doesn't always heal, but it softens.

It was late November in Amsterdam when it happened. Off-season for Max, cold air, breath in clouds, hands shoved deep in jacket pockets. The kind of day that begged for quiet.

(Y/N) was there for something private, a writing session tucked away in a borrowed flat, no press, no fans, no distractions. Just her and a piano and the kind of weather that made you remember things you’d spent months trying to forget.

She didn’t plan to run into him.

And Max definitely didn’t expect to see her when he walked into that café, hood up, head down, just trying to disappear for a few hours. But there she was, sitting in the back with her coffee half-finished and her fingers tucked into her sleeves, eyes locked on the window like she was waiting for something that would never come.

For a second, he froze.

He could walk out. Pretend he didn’t see her, save them both the awkwardness. But then she looked up, and those eyes, the ones that had haunted him in lyrics and dreams, locked on his blue ones.

Neither of them smiled. Not yet.

But she tilted her head. Gave him the smallest nod, maybe it was permission.

So he walked over.

They didn’t hug. Didn’t even shake hands. Just… sat across from each other in a corner booth, sharing a silence that didn’t ache the way it used to. Not angry. Not painful.

Just real.

“I didn’t know you were here,” she said after a minute, voice soft.

“I could say the same,” Max replied, tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie.

A pause.

Then she smiled, just barely. “Guess we were always good at showing up in the wrong place at the right time.”

He laughed. Quiet. Honest.

They talked.

About nothing, at first. Racing. Music. Amsterdam traffic. Coffee that tasted like burnt toast. It was easy, eventually, familiar. The kind of conversation that only happens when you’ve known someone without ever really knowing what to do about it.

And then, when the cups were empty and the daylight started to fade, he looked at her.

Really looked.

“I listened to the album,” he said. “All of it.”

She didn’t flinch. Just held his gaze, brave as ever. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “I think I needed to hear it.”

Silence. Then, gently: “I’m sorry I let the world chew you up.”

She took a breath. Slow. Careful.

“I was angry,” she said. “Not because of what happened. But because you left me standing in it alone.”

Max blinked: “You told me you didn’t need protecting.”

“I didn’t,” she said. “But I wanted to feel like I mattered. That what happened between us mattered.”

It hung in the air between them. Heavy. But not unbearable.

He nodded: “You did,” he said. “You still do.”

And this time, she smiled for real.

They left together, slipping out the back door like two people who weren’t famous. Just (Y/N) and Max. Just a girl and a boy walking side by side through cold streets, their hands brushing once, twice, then finally lacing together, without a word.

There were no cameras. No press releases. No grand declarations.

Just a quiet choice to try again.

Not the way they used to.

Not in stolen glances and broken promises.

But something slower. Softer.

Real.

And maybe this time?

They'd get it right.

#max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x female oc #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fic #max verstappen angst

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meleeyz · 5 months ago

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┈﹒ ꒰ 𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗨𝗡𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗘!𝗘𝗞𝗞𝗢 𝗪𝗘𝗗𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡𝗦 ꒱

ekko 𝒙 fem!reader

୨୧ English is not my first language, so I regret in advance if something reads weird or is misspelled

୨୧ These are headcanons of the other Ekko, before the canon Ekko from the show "takes" his place… I hope you understand...

୨୧ I'm still writing for the fic, but the last chapters is taking longer than I thought, I hope you understand, in the meantime I have some things in drafts that I will publish so you don't run out of content.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

another universe!ekko who was really nervous about proposing to you knowing how big of a step that is...

Ekko had always been a confident guy. He was innovator, someone who could fix almost anything. But when it came to you, he found himself feeling like a bumbling preteenager all over again. He wanted everything to be perfect—down to the handmade ring he was crafting for the proposal. Using scraps of precious metals and stones he collected over the years, he poured hours of focus into shaping it into something that represented your story together. Benzo would catch him hunched over his workstation at odd hours, muttering about the alignment or polish. "You know, kid, it’s not like she’s gonna turn you down if it’s a millimeter off," Benzo teased, ruffling Ekko’s hair. Ekko would just grin sheepishly but double his efforts anyway.

another universe!ekko who practiced his proposal speech a dozen times, only to get caught mid-rehearsal...

He was standing in the middle of The Last Drop, the roof their unofficial safe haven for years. “So, um, I’ve been thinking…” he started, pacing back and forth. “No, no, that sounds dumb. Okay—‘you’re the light of my life, and I can’t imagine—’ ugh, that’s so cheesy.” Behind him, Powder crept up the stairs, barely containing her giggles. “Keep going,” she whispered, trying not to laugh. Ekko whipped around, his face flaming red. “How long have you been there?!” “Long enough to know you’re terrible at this,” she teased, doubling over with laughter. “You’re lucky she already loves you.”

another universe!ekko who had no idea you were planning your own big announcement...

While Ekko was caught up in his grand proposal plans, you were busy with plans of your own. The test results sat folded in your pocket for days, and your hands hovered over them more times than you could count. You were going to be a mother. It was Powder who figured it out first, being too observant for her own good. “You’ve been glowing,” she said one afternoon while helping you sort supplies at the community center. “Also, you cried over Mylo spilling coffee, so I kinda put two and two together.” You blinked at her, stunned. “Powder, you cannot tell anyone yet!” She held up her hands. “Cross my heart! But seriously, I’m gonna be the best godmother ever!” You couldn’t help but laugh, though your nerves stayed. You wondered how Ekko would react, if he’d be overwhelmed or excited—or both.

another universe!ekko who proposed on the roof of the last drop, the place where your story began...

Ekko had chosen the roof where he had first kissed you as the spot to ask you to be his forever. He had strung up soft, glowing lights and set up a little table with flowers and your favorite dessert. When you stepped onto the roof and saw him standing there, his hands fidgeting nervously as he smiled at you, your heart swelled with affection. He cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice. "So, uh… I’ve been thinking about this moment for a long time." You stepped closer, your smile encouraging him to continue. "Being with you has been the greatest adventure of my life," he said, his voice gaining confidence. "And I can’t imagine spending another day without knowing that you’ll always be by my side. So..." He dropped to one knee and pulled out the handmade ring, holding it up with a hopeful look. "Will you marry me?" Tears filled your eyes as you nodded, unable to find your voice at first. "Yes, Ekko. Of course, I’ll marry you." The joy on his face was priceless as he slipped the ring onto your finger, pulling you into a tight embrace.

another universe!ekko who fainted when you told him you were pregnant moments later...

But before he could say another word, you decided it was time to share your own surprise. “I have something to tell you too,” you said, your hand trembling as you guided his to your stomach. “You’re going to be a dad.” His grin froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Wait, what—?” And then he hit the floor. Powder’s shriek of laughter carried from the rooftop stairs. "I knew he’d do that!"

another universe!ekko who woke up to find you fanning him, looking both amused and concerned...

"You okay?" you asked, trying not to laugh. He blinked up at you, groaning. "Wait… did you just say…?" "Yes, Ekko," you said softly. "You’re going to be a dad." For a moment, he was silent, then a wide grin broke across his face. "I’m gonna be a dad," he repeated, awe in his voice.

another universe!everyone who was overjoyed by the double news…

Vander insisted on hosting an engagement party at The Last Drop, which quickly turned into a celebration for the baby too. Silco was the first to congratulate you both, "You’ll be a wonderful mother," he said quietly. Claggor and Mylo, meanwhile, started a heated argument over who would be the better uncle. "I’m obviously the fun uncle," Mylo declared, crossing his arms. Claggor rolled his eyes. "The kid needs someone responsible. That’s me." Powder, sitting nearby, added fuel to the fire. "Don’t worry, guys. The baby’s gonna love me more anyway. I’m the godmother!" Benzo couldn’t resist teasing Ekko. "Didn’t want to wait, huh?" he joked, clapping him on the back. Ekko just laughed, unashamed. "When you know, you know."

another universe!ekko who became the most attentive fiancé and father-to-be anyone had ever seen…

Ekko went into full-on protective mode. He insisted on carrying anything remotely heavy for you, making sure you got enough rest, and preparing meals that he claimed were "good for the baby." "Ekko, it’s just a broom," you said one afternoon, trying to sweep the living room. "Doesn’t matter," he replied, gently taking it from your hands. "You’re not lifting a finger while I’m around."

another universe!ekko who is absolutely excited about his baby

Ekko transformed into the ultimate caretaker. He made sure you were comfortable at all times, fussing over pillows, blankets, and cravings. He’d often disappear for errands and come back with baby clothes, stuffed animals, or tiny shoes. "You know it’s too early to shop, right?" you teased one evening. "Yeah, but look at these little boots!" he said, holding them up proudly.

another universe!ekko who spent hours talking to your belly...

He would lean close, resting his head against you as he spoke softly. “Hey, little one. It’s your dad. I just wanted to say I love you already—whether you’re a boy or a girl, doesn’t matter.” Your laughter filled the room. “You’re gonna spoil them before they’re even born.” “Damn right,” he said, grinning.

another universe!silco who became unexpectedly protective of you during your pregnancy…

"Must I remind you," Silco said one day, his piercing gaze locking onto yours, "that you’re carrying a very important member of this family?" "I was just reaching for a book," you replied, amused. "It starts with books, and ends with unnecessary strain."

another universe!powder who was the maid of honor and made sure your dress was perfect...

Powder was practically vibrating with excitement as she helped you into your gown. “You look like a queen,” she declared, fluffing the skirt. “No, a goddess. Ekko’s gonna cry when he sees you.” “Let’s hope he doesn’t faint again,” you teased, earning a snort of laughter.

another universe!benzo who secretly cried at ekko’s wedding...

As you walked down the aisle, arm in arm with Vander, Benzo dabbed at his eyes. When Ekko teased him later, he grumbled, “Shut it, kid. It’s allergies.”

another universe!ekko whose wedding was the event of the year...

The Last Drop was transformed into a breathtaking venue, with twinkling lights and decorations. Vander had insisted on non-alcoholic cocktails, much to the delight of you and the other guests. Ekko couldn’t take his eyes off you as you exchanged vows, his voice steady despite the overwhelming emotions. “You’re my everything,” he said, slipping the ring onto your finger. "I promise to love you, protect you, and be the best partner and dad I can be—for you and for our family."

another universe!ekko who ended the night on the roof where it all began...

After the reception, Ekko led you back to the roof where it all began. The city lights shimmered below, the quiet hum of Zaun wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Ekko knelt in front of you, resting his head gently against your rounded belly. "I’ll be the best dad," he murmured, his hands cradling your bump. "You already are," you assured him, running your fingers through his hair. He looked up at you, his brown eyes shining with love. "And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it."

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

#ekko fluff #arcane season two #arcane x reader #ekko x reader #dad!ekko #ekko imagines #arcane ekko x reader

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plasticflowersinahistorycemetery · 24 days ago

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malevolence

part I

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Bobby's!Niece!Reader

Summary: You've had a crush on Dean for longer than you even remember, but Uncle Bobby told you not to play with fire. When Dean returns home from a hunt, you knew something was off... you just didn't expect it to be this.

Warnings: 18+!, language, violence, manipulation, gaslighting, corruption, pining, smut (kissing, spitting, marking, fingering, oral/cunnilingus, p in v, implied breeding kink, rough sex, dirty talk, mildly dubious consent, cum-play), I may have missed some.

Word Count: 5,887

A/N: Oh my god. This has been in my drafts forever and I'm so happy I've finally put it out. I'm thinking... three parts? If I get all of the story down as it is in my head, then for sure... should be about three parts. It's set not long after John's death, so Dean is still a baby boy. <3 I found these gifs ages ago and I was like, "oh, I need to do a Demon!Dean fic where he's early seasons Dean." because ugh, the potential. You know the drill. If all the warnings listed above aren't evident yet? They will be. Oh, boy, will they be. I hope y'all like this. All the love.

You didn’t remember when it started. Maybe it had always been there, tucked beneath your ribs like a secret. Something soft and patient, biding its time in the dark. A seed waiting for heat and blood and something wicked to make it bloom.

Dean Winchester had been in your life for as long as you’d had a life worth remembering.

Not family, not really. But close. Tangled up in the same blood-and-oil world that raised you. The golden boy in your uncle’s long, strange shadow. Loud, sharp, sunburnt around the edges—he came and went like a storm, shaking dust off his boots and filling every room he entered with too much heat.

He was six years older, which had once felt like a canyon.

When you were ten and he was sixteen, he may as well have been a movie star. Too cool. Too fast. All swagger and sarcasm and smudged knuckles from a fight he didn’t bother to explain. You remembered the first time he called you sweetheart—just a tossed-off thing, barely looking at you as he handed you an ice pop in the middle of a sweltering July.

“Here ya go, sweetheart.”

And you remembered the way it made you freeze. How the word hung in the air like cigarette smoke, thick and confusing and too warm. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know why it mattered. You just knew that your name had never sounded like that before.

He’d swung you up onto his shoulders that same day—hands sure, grip steady, like he didn’t mind your weight. Like you belonged there. You’d clutched fistfuls of his hair and shrieked with laughter while Bobby hollered from the porch to “cut that damn foolin’ around before someone breaks a bone.” Dean had just grinned and jogged faster.

You were twelve when he taught you how to throw a punch. Fourteen when he handed you your first switchblade, silver and wicked and gleaming like a promise in your palm.

“Keep it in your back pocket. If a guy gets too close, don’t hesitate.”

He said it like it meant nothing. Like he hadn’t just handed you the sharpest thing you'd ever owned and trusted you not to flinch.

He always trusted you not to flinch.

That was the difference.

You knew what adoration felt like long before you understood it. You knew you liked his voice, liked his hands, liked the way he’d lean against the hood of the Impala and call you trouble when Bobby wasn’t looking. You hated the way your stomach twisted when he brought girls around. Hated the way you’d listen for laughter through the thin walls of Bobby’s house and feel sick when you heard it.

You were seventeen when it changed. When it stopped being something soft.

You’d grown into yourself by then. Still not tall, still not loud, but sharper in the eyes. More aware. And Dean—he’d started looking at you like he wasn’t supposed to.

It was in the way his gaze lingered a beat too long when you passed him in the hallway. The way his voice dropped when he asked you how your day had been. The way he smirked when you snapped back at him, low and dark, like he liked it. Like he was daring you to try again.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t push. But you started wearing tank tops when he was home. You started sitting a little closer on the couch. You let your fingers brush his when you passed him a drink.

You told yourself it was nothing.

Bobby, of course, saw it all.

“That boy’s got too much fire in him. You don’t go pokin’ it just to see if it burns.”

But by then, it already had.

You were twenty-one now. The canyon had closed.

That afternoon, like so many before it, you sat curled in your usual spot on the porch swing, the cushion beneath you faded from years of sun, the book in your lap more of a habit than a distraction. Your bare legs were pulled up under you, one foot tucked beside the other, your back pressed to the peeling white wood of the armrest. The breeze was warm, sticky with late-summer heaviness, and the cicadas sang like they didn’t know how to stop.

Out in the yard, Bobby cursed low under his breath as he wrestled with the rusted insides of a pickup that hadn’t run since the Reagan administration. His ball cap was pushed up on his forehead, sweat darkening the brim, grease streaking his arms all the way to the elbows. There was a glass of sweet tea beside you, sweating rings into the wood, forgotten in the quiet rhythm of turning pages.

The world hadn’t shifted yet. Not that you could tell. Everything was still where it belonged.

You’d been half-asleep in the sun, lulled by the rhythm of cicadas and the creak of the porch swing, when Bobby’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

“Son of a bitch!”

You blinked, looked up from your book. A moment later—

“Goddamn bastard bolt won’t budge—get in there, ya stubborn piece of shit—”

Yep. Classic Bobby.

You closed your book around one finger to mark your page and leaned forward, peering past the porch railing toward the truck hood and your uncle’s hunched figure.

“You need a hand, Uncle Bobby?” You called, voice lazy with the warmth of the afternoon. “Or want some tea?”

There was a pause. A soft clank of metal against metal. Then, gruff:

“Tea, girl. And ice this time—I ain’t drinkin’ lukewarm leaf water in this heat.”

You huffed a laugh and stood, arms stretching up overhead as your back arched, joints crackling from the hours spent curled on the swing. The hem of your tank top slid up your stomach, bare skin catching the last of the sun as you padded barefoot across the porch.

Your cutoffs were frayed at the bottom, threadbare in the way only your favourite ones could be. Your legs had picked up freckles over the summer. You felt them heat now under the open air as you reached for the screen door.

Inside, the house was cooler, dim and familiar. You moved on autopilot, pulling a glass from the cupboard, grabbing the pitcher from the fridge. The ice clinked softly as you poured. You lifted it, turned—

And froze.

That sound. That rumble. Low. Hungry. Home.

The Impala.

You nearly dropped the glass right there on the kitchen tile.

You turned so fast your bare feet squeaked against the floor. The screen door banged open behind you as you stepped out onto the porch, tea sloshing over the rim, eyes locked on the long black shape pulling into the drive like it owned the world.

She slid to a stop in a slow growl of gravel. The driver’s door creaked open.

And then—there he was.

Dean climbed out like a scene from a movie. One hand on the roof, the other shoving the door closed. His boots hit the dirt and your heart tripped over itself. He looked broader than you remembered. Taller somehow. His hair was longer than it had been last time—curling just slightly at the nape of his neck, damp with sweat. His jacket was slung over one shoulder, and he moved like he hadn’t just been on the road for hours. Like his body didn’t get tired the way other people’s did.

Bobby looked up from under the hood.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he said, already wiping his hands on a rag. “Where the hell’s your brother?”

Dean just smiled, that lazy half-smirk you knew too well.

And then you called his name.

“Dean!”

His head snapped toward the porch so fast it almost startled you.

And when his eyes landed on you—barefoot, flushed from the sun, standing under the porch roof with your tank top clinging to your ribs and the glass of sweet tea still trembling faintly in your hand—he grinned.

Not like he used to. Not like the soft smirks he’d given you when you were younger, teasing and warm and safe.

No. This one was sharp. Wolfish. Like he’d been starving and just spotted his first meal in days.

“Well hey there, sweetheart.”

You didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.

The second his voice hit your ears, smooth and warm and laced with something low and dangerous, your body moved before your brain caught up.

The glass of tea hit the porch rail with a clatter, sloshing again, forgotten as your bare feet left the wood and hit the gravel, sharp stones biting into your soles. You winced but didn’t slow, teeth catching your lip, eyes locked on him like nothing else in the world mattered.

“Girl!” Bobby hollered from the front of the truck, voice sharp as a whip. “You’re out here barefoot on the goddamn gravel again—what’re you, feral?”

You didn’t answer. Just ran faster.

Dean was already grinning by the time you reached him. One brow quirked, his whole face lit with smug delight like he’d known you’d come running. Like he wanted it.

You could see it in the way he stood, relaxed and ready, arms just starting to open. Like he was expecting to catch you.

And God help you, he did.

You threw yourself into him without grace—without shame—legs wrapping around his waist, arms around his neck, breath catching somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. His hands caught you under your thighs, rough palms settling against bare skin, fingers pressing. Harder than they needed to.

He smelled like heat. Like leather and road salt and motel soap and something darker curling beneath it. Something you couldn’t name.

Your voice came out soft, pressed close to his ear as you held onto him tighter than you meant to.

“We missed you.”

His hands flexed where they held you—gripping tight. You felt it. The possessiveness in his touch. The way his thumbs slid just slightly against the crease where your thighs met the curve of your ass. The quiet exhale that ghosted down your neck.

“Speak for yourself,” Bobby grunted from behind, but even that sounded weaker than usual. More bark than bite.

There was a pause. Then:

“Dean,” he said flatly. “Put my niece down. Don’t think I ain’t seen where your hands are, boy.”

Dean turned his head just slightly, that grin never leaving his face. Still holding you.

“Just catchin’ her, Bobby. Can’t help it if she’s a little…” His gaze dragged back to you. Slow. Heavy. “Squishy.”

Your breath hitched. You felt heat rise all the way up your neck.

Dean’s fingers squeezed again. Barely perceptible. Just enough for you to feel it. For Bobby to notice.

“Dean,” Bobby snapped, and this time there was steel under it.

With infuriating ease, Dean let you down. Gently. Like he didn’t want to. His hands slid down the backs of your thighs as he lowered you, only releasing when your feet touched dirt and your balance returned.

You took a half-step back, suddenly too aware of the heat between your legs. Of the gravel under your soles. Of the way he looked at you like you were his to pick up again whenever he pleased.

Bobby was already walking past, muttering to himself and wiping his hands again.

“Damn fool boy…”

Dean just chuckled, low and satisfied. His eyes never left you.

“Miss me, sweetheart?”

The house smelled like garlic and onions and whatever Bobby had pulled from the freezer that morning and declared dinner. The table was set with mismatched plates, forks with dull edges, and two sweating bottles of beer you’d pulled from the fridge yourself. One slid in front of your uncle with a thunk, the other nudged across the table toward Dean with just enough force to draw his eyes back to you.

He caught it easily, grinned like he knew the touch of your fingers on the bottle had been deliberate, and then tipped it in a mock toast before popping the cap with the edge of the table. You pretended not to watch the way his throat moved when he took the first sip.

You took your usual seat to Bobby’s left, legs tucked beneath you, sipping your water slow and quiet. The table was warm and familiar. A little too small for three grown bodies. A little too crowded in the heat.

Dean and Bobby talked like no time had passed at all.

“So where’s your brother?” Bobby asked around a mouthful of food, squinting at Dean like he expected bad news.

“Chasin’ some lead out in Idaho,” Dean replied, casual. “He’ll meet me back on the road. Said somethin’ about needing space.”

“From you or the case?”

Dean just smirked. Shrugged. “Probably both.”

You didn’t join in. Just twirled your fork in your noodles, dragging them across the plate like you were thinking hard about something. You weren’t. You were trying not to look at Dean. You were failing.

He looked good. Too good. Tanned and broad and infuriatingly comfortable, leaning back in his chair like it was his own damn kitchen. Like he belonged there. Like he always had.

You caught yourself staring and dropped your eyes back to your food.

Then something brushed your foot. Just a light nudge. The kind that might’ve been an accident. The kind that would’ve been nothing, if you weren’t barefoot and hyper-aware of every single thing about him.

You froze. Fork paused mid-twirl. Eyes still on your plate. The nudge came again—more deliberate this time. A soft push against your arch.

You looked up. Dean was still talking to Bobby. Still sipping his beer, leaning back in his chair like he didn’t have a care in the world.

But his eyes cut to you. And he grinned. Slow. Shit-eating. Wolfish.

Your stomach dropped straight to your knees. You cleared your throat and took a sip of water, suddenly warm all over. Bobby was still muttering about Sam, something about demon omens in Ohio, and you tried to focus. You really did.

Dean’s foot slid along the curve of your ankle. A slow, lazy stroke like he was petting a dog. You flinched. He didn’t.

You jabbed him back without looking, your toes kicking out under the table—more annoyed than anything else. But all it earned you was a harder nudge, right against your calf this time, like a shove disguised as affection.

You looked at him again. He didn’t break eye contact. He arched one brow, lips twitching around the mouth of his beer bottle.

What’re you gonna do about it, sweetheart?

You wanted to kick him. You wanted to crawl into his lap. You wanted to do something reckless. But you just stabbed a piece of meat with your fork and tried not to choke on your own pulse.

Bobby looked up, finally catching the flush on your cheeks.

“You alright there, girl?”

You smiled too quickly. “Just hot.”

Dean chuckled. Low and full of teeth. His foot bumped yours again under the table. You didn’t look at him this time. But you could still feel him.

You barely touched your dinner after that. Every bite tasted like heat. Every sip of water failed to cool you. You could still feel the press of his boot against your ankle long after he’d stopped. Like his touch had sunk straight through your skin.

You were the first one to stand when the plates were empty, scraping your chair back with a little too much force.

“I’ll get this cleaned up,” you said quickly, already stacking yours and Bobby's plates, trying to busy your hands so they didn’t shake.

Bobby looked up with a lazy arch of his brow.

“Someone’s in a damn hurry all of a sudden.”

You forced a small laugh, ducking your head. “Just trying to be useful.”

“Mhm.”

You were already halfway to the sink, rinsing plates under warm water, grateful for the hiss of the faucet and the hum of muscle memory. Plate, rinse, stack. Forks, soak, scrub. Your feet shifted over the cool tile, and for a moment, the tension in your shoulders started to melt.

Behind you, a chair scraped back.

“I’ll help.”

Dean.

Bobby snorted from the table.

“You? Since when do you ever lift a damn finger after supper?”

“Feelin’ generous,” Dean said, all smooth edges. You could hear the grin in his voice. “Must be the company.”

Bobby huffed and pushed to his feet with a grunt, grabbing the last beer and heading toward the living room.

“Well, bless your heart. I’ll be in my chair, pretendin' not to hear whatever dumb shit you’re about to break in my kitchen.”

And just like that, you were alone.

You didn’t turn around. Just kept scrubbing the last plate, shoulders a little too stiff, breath caught somewhere too high in your chest. You heard him behind you—soft bootfalls, the clink of glass against glass as he gathered the empty bottles and his dish.

Then—

Heat. He was behind you. Close. Then closer.

The heat of his chest pressed flush to your back, hard muscle and worn cotton, and you froze. Completely. Your breath caught in your throat. The plate in your hand nearly slipped from your fingers.

Dean reached around you, casually, his forearm brushing the side of your breast as he slid his plate into the sink with a quiet clink.

He didn’t move. He lingered, then stepped back a beat too slow.

“Oops.”

Your whole body burned.

You turned your head, wide-eyed, and found him just watching you. That smile on his face wasn’t sheepish. It was smug. Knowing. Unholy.

You tried to say something—tried to form any kind of reply—but your tongue felt thick and your heart was pounding in your throat.

Dean leaned one arm against the counter beside you, his body angled lazily toward yours. He was close enough that you could see the faint pink line of a healing cut along his collarbone. Close enough that his scent wrapped around you again—leather, motel soap, motor oil, and something else. Something you couldn’t name. Something dark.

“You always clean up this fast, sweetheart? Or just when I’m watching?”

Your mouth parted. Nothing came out.

He tilted his head, eyes dragging slow across your face, then down your neck, then back up.

“You've never been shy.”

You tried to laugh. It came out breathless.

“You’re messin' with me.”

Dean’s smile widened, teeth flashing.

“Am I?”

You shook your head—barely. “You don’t… You don’t look at me like that.”

“Don’t I?”

His voice was low. Deliberate.

You turned back to the sink, trying to hide your face, the blush crawling down your throat. Your hands moved automatically, scrubbing at a plate that was already clean.

Dean didn’t leave.

“Been gone a while,” he said, voice softer now. “Did you miss me?”

Your hand paused on the dish. Your voice was almost a whisper.

“Of course I did.”

He leaned in closer again, heat at your back, breath on your neck.

“Yeah?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

And behind you, he chuckled. Low and dark and pleased.

“Good.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Dean was still behind you, heat pressed too close, breath ghosting somewhere near your ear—and for a second, it felt like he might lean in further. Might say something else. Might do something else.

But before anything could shatter, Bobby’s voice cut through the house like a crack of thunder:

“You two done makin’ out in there or can I start the damn show?”

You practically jumped.

Dean chuckled—soft, smug, low in his throat like he was deeply entertained by your reaction—and stepped back just far enough to let the heat leave your skin.

You scrambled into the living room a little too fast, like Bobby’s voice had tugged you from the edge of something you couldn’t name. Your skin was still warm, your breath still not quite steady, but you dropped down onto the couch with a half-hearted exhale, like you could shake it off with the right posture. You curled your legs up beside you, pulled a throw pillow into your lap, and clutched your glass of water like it was going to save you.

“Eastwood or MASH*?” You asked, too quick, too light.

Bobby looked up from the remote, squinting at the ancient television like it had personally offended him.

“Whichever channel works. If I get static again, I’m throwin’ the damn thing out the window.”

You smiled, even if it didn’t quite reach your eyes. The house had settled into its familiar hum—floorboards creaking under the weight of time, cicadas still buzzing low through the open windows, the faint clatter of Dean moving around in the kitchen.

You heard him before you saw him.

He entered the room like a slow-moving shadow—easy, casual, like he belonged there more than the furniture. Your stomach twisted.

He didn’t say a word. Just met your gaze for a moment—sharp, amused—and then reached down, hooked his hands under your ankles, and lifted your legs without asking. You startled slightly, not because it hurt, but because it didn’t. Because it felt so easy for him.

Then, with a slow exhale, he dropped onto the couch beside you, your legs falling across his lap like he’d planned it that way all along. One of his arms rested along the back of the couch, close enough for you to feel the heat of it at your shoulders. The other—casual, lazy—settled over your shin, fingers tracing an idle path along your skin.

You tried not to tense. You tried not to breathe. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t need to.

And Bobby noticed. He turned his head slowly, one eye narrowing as it moved from the screen to your legs across Dean’s lap, then up to the hand that hadn’t stopped moving. His jaw clenched. His beer bottle landed on the side table with a quiet clunk.

“Touch her like that again,” he said, voice low and dry, “and I’ll break your fuckin’ hand.”

Dean didn’t flinch. He didn’t even stop. Just kept rubbing slow, maddening circles along your shin with the pad of his thumb. He still hadn’t looked at you.

“Aw, c’mon, Bobby,” he drawled, the smile curling across his lips like smoke. “Ain’t like I’m doin’ anything wrong.”

Bobby didn’t laugh. Didn’t even blink.

“You think I don’t see it?” He asked, and his voice was sharper now, honed to an edge. “The way you been lookin’ at her since you pulled up? I ain’t blind, Dean. And I sure as hell ain’t stupid.”

There was a pause, a hitch you felt more than heard. Dean’s smile wavered for the barest second. Just long enough for you to wonder if Bobby had struck a nerve.

Then it returned, just as cocky, just as easy.

“She’s not a kid anymore,” he said, casual, like that settled something.

Bobby leaned forward in his chair. His eyes were cold. Steady.

“No, she ain't. Which is exactly why I’ll put you in the goddamn ground if you so much as look at her like she ain’t got a choice.”

Something shifted.

You didn’t understand it, not fully. But you felt it. Something sharp beneath the surface. Something not quite right. Like there was more to what Bobby said than what he said.

Dean’s silence stretched long enough to be dangerous. Then he tilted his head, eyes still on Bobby, and smiled.

“She looks like she can make her own choices to me.”

You tried to move your legs. Tried to pull away, just a little. Dean’s hand pressed down. Not painfully. Just firmly. Deliberately. Bobby was still watching. And so was Dean.

“You touch her like that again,” Bobby said, lower this time, the threat coiled beneath each syllable, “and I’ll remind you who the hell you’re talkin’ to.”

Dean didn’t answer.

The television filled the silence, tinny dialogue from a rerun you couldn’t focus on. And under the hum of it all, Dean’s thumb resumed its lazy stroke against your skin, like nothing had happened at all.

The house was silent, save for the low creak of floorboards beneath your bare feet.

The kind of silence that came only after the heat of the day had broken—after the static between bodies had faded into cool sheets and shallow sleep. Bobby had gone to bed not long before you had, muttering something about his bad knee and early mornings, casting one last look between you and Dean like he was waiting for something to ignite.

But nothing had.

Not then.

Now, it was past midnight. Maybe closer to two. You didn’t check the clock—just blinked awake with your throat dry and your skin too warm beneath the sheets. The house had cooled but your body hadn’t. Something restless sat in your chest like a live wire humming under your ribs.

The floor was cold beneath your feet, quiet in the way old houses only were when everyone else had gone to bed and the world had softened into stillness.

The air felt different after midnight—cooler, heavier somehow. The way it settled in your lungs felt like a warning, though you couldn’t say why. You moved without thinking, sleepy and restless, fingers trailing along the hallway walls as you padded toward the kitchen, drawn by nothing more than the dryness in your throat and the weight of something unnamed sitting beneath your skin.

Bobby’s old shirt hung off one shoulder, worn soft with age, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs as you walked. No panties. No bra. Just that and bare skin and the ghost of sleep still clinging to the corners of your vision.

The fridge opened with a low hum. You filled your glass slowly, letting the cool water slide over the ice and kiss the rim, the glow of the open door painting your skin in pale blue light. You lifted the glass to your lips and drank.

And that’s when you heard it.

The creak.

Not the house settling. Not the wind. Not the sound of an old man in the hallway. Boots. Slow, deliberate.

You turned just as the light from the fridge caught the edge of his silhouette, cutting him out from the dark like something carved from smoke and heat and half-formed sin.

Dean.

Leaning in the doorway like he hadn’t been asleep at all. Like he was waiting. He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at you. And when he did? Something in his expression made your stomach twist—not with fear, not yet, but something so thick and dark and electric it almost knocked the air out of you.

That grin.

It was the same one he’d worn when you were sixteen and he caught you staring at his mouth. The same one he used when he fixed cars with the sleeves of his flannel rolled high and the cigarette tucked behind his ear. Familiar. Easy. Pure Dean.

But something about it wasn’t right anymore. It was too still. Too slow. Too hungry.

“Well,” he said, and his voice was rough in that way it always got when it was late and he hadn’t talked in hours. “Aren’t you a sight.”

You swallowed hard. “Couldn’t sleep.”

His eyes dropped down your body. Then rose again. Like he had every right.

You didn’t move. Didn’t cover yourself. You should have.

“You always walk around like that?” He asked, stepping into the room. “Wearing nothin’ but some old shirt and a smile?”

You didn’t answer. The question didn’t feel like a question.

Dean smiled again, slower this time, head cocked to the side as he watched you over the rim of the glass in your hand.

“Bobby know his niece’s struttin’ around like a damn centrefold at two in the morning?”

You flushed hot. “It’s just a shirt.”

“Mm.” He nodded slowly, stepping closer. “Yeah. I can see that.”

He was close now. Close enough to smell—leather and heat and that undertone you still couldn’t quite place. Something wrong. Something sour-sweet and unplaceable. It made your knees feel unsteady.

His hand lifted—not fast, just steady—and pushed the fridge door shut behind you. The kitchen plunged into shadows again, save for the faint light of the oven clock. He was still grinning.

“Didn’t think you’d grown up this much.”

You laughed, shaky and quiet, trying to ease the weight of his stare. “Been a year.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s showin’.”

Your breath caught.

He took another step. Close enough now that the fabric of his shirt brushed your arm. He tilted his head down, voice dropping just slightly.

“You used to look at me funny,” he said. “Back when you were younger. Always staring. Thought I was imaginin’ it.”

You blinked, pulse pounding. “You weren’t.”

“No,” he murmured, and his eyes flicked to your mouth. “Guess I wasn’t.”

You could feel his breath on your skin. The heat of him. His fingers brushed the side of your thigh—light, just once, and then gone. It burned like fire anyway.

“You’ve really come into yourself, sweetheart.”

He said it like a confession. Like a revelation. Like it was all finally clicking into place.

And you couldn’t breathe.

His voice went softer. Meaner.

“You want me to look at you like this, don’t you?”

You didn’t speak. He didn’t need you to. Because he already knew.

You didn’t know who moved first. Didn’t know if it was his hand on your hip or the tilt of your chin or the way the space between your bodies seemed to vanish all at once—like the air itself had given up pretending there was still a line that shouldn’t be crossed.

All you knew was that you were suddenly there. Back pressed to the counter. Dean’s body crowding yours like gravity had finally remembered what it owed you.

And then he kissed you.

Not softly. Not hesitantly. Not like a maybe. No, Dean Winchester kissed you like he was claiming you.

His hand came up to your jaw, thumb pressed against your cheek, fingers curling behind your neck as he pulled you in and kissed you like it was the only thing that had ever mattered. Like he’d been waiting too. Starving for it. For you.

You gasped into it, lips parting without thought, and he groaned—"fuckin’ finally"—and kissed you deeper, tongue slipping past your lips like he knew exactly how to take what he wanted. And he did.

You were drowning in him. Pressed between cool counter and burning heat, chest heaving, hands fisting into the hem of his t-shirt just to keep from sliding down the cabinets. Your knees had gone weak. Your body was molten.

When he pulled back, it was barely an inch. His breath hit your lips. His grin carved into you like a knife.

“Goddamn,” he whispered, voice thick and low and already wrecked. “I always knew you’d taste this fucking sweet.”

You didn’t get a chance to reply.

His hand was already moving. Down your side. Over your hip. Between your thighs.

You gasped.

He grinned harder.

“No panties,” he murmured, dragging the hem of the shirt up your thigh with his knuckles. “You really were asking for it, huh?”

You opened your mouth—to protest, to deny, to confess every filthy thought you’d ever had about him—but then two of his fingers slid between your legs and found you already wet, and the words died on your tongue.

��Fuck,” he breathed, eyes dark and hungry, lashes low. “You’re soaked for me. All this time, and you’ve been walking around just beggin’ for me to get my hands on you.”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate.

He slipped one thick finger inside you, slow and deliberate, watching your face as your jaw dropped open around a gasp. Then another, stretching you perfectly. You choked on a sound, back arching, thighs trembling.

“Shhh,” he crooned, lips at your temple now, the hand at your jaw moving to cover your mouth. “Gotta keep it down, sweetheart. Bobby hears you moaning like a whore in his kitchen, he’s gonna come down here and shoot me.”

His fingers curled.

Your eyes rolled back.

You moaned—muffled, desperate—against his palm as he started to fuck you with those fingers like he meant it. Like he’d been thinking about it for years.

And maybe he had.

His hips were pressed against yours, his breath against your cheek, his mouth dragging along your jaw as he fucked you slow and filthy and completely possessed.

“You ever think about me, baby?” He whispered. “Late at night, all alone in your bed? Bet you used these pretty fingers trying to imagine mine, didn’t you?”

You whimpered under his hand, your body jerking with every pump of his fingers, slick and obscene.

“Bet you used to fuck that little pillow, huh? Crying into it thinkin’ about me pinning you down, stretching you open…”

You were going to come.

It was embarrassing how fast it was happening—how quick he’d found every nerve, every want, every buried need you’d never let yourself speak out loud. But now it was all on the surface, raw and exposed, dripping down his wrist.

He growled in your ear, soft and dark and lethal:

“Come for me, sweetheart. C’mon. Be a good girl and come all over my fuckin’ fingers.”

You did.

You shattered—silently, somehow—body writhing against his hand, nails digging into his shoulders, whole frame trembling with the force of it. His fingers didn’t stop, fucking you through it, dragging every last wave from your body until you were limp in his grip, gasping into his palm.

He finally pulled his hand from your mouth, cupping your jaw again, kissing you slow and deep, like the filth he’d just whispered into your skin meant nothing. Like it meant everything.

He pulled his hand away, brought it up to his lips, and licked his fingers. Then smiled.

“Told you,” he said. “Sweet as goddamn honey.”

Then his lips were back on your neck.

You were still trembling, thighs slick and trembling where he held you, one hand gripping the back of your thigh, the other back between your legs, slick with everything he’d pulled from you. You were floating, dizzy, pressed between the cool of the counter and the heat of his body, his mouth trailing kisses up your throat like he was about to say something—

And then the kitchen door slammed open. You barely had time to register the heavy feet pounding across the floor before—

Splash.

Dean staggered back with a sharp, visceral hiss, smoke curling from his shoulder where the water hit, his skin bubbling in a flash of red.

You gasped, shoved back into the counter, heart leaping into your throat.

“What the fuck—!”

Dean growled—growled—low and guttural, his spine arching with the burn, lips curling back to reveal teeth that didn’t quite look like his own.

And Bobby was standing there. In boxers and a flannel and socks. Holding an empty mason jar in one hand and a shotgun in the other. Breathing hard. Rage in every line of his face.

“Get. The fuck. Outta my house,” Bobby said, each word like a shotgun blast. “Now.”

Dean turned his head slowly. Eyes flashing black for a moment before shifting back to the green you'd always known.

“Well, shit,” he rasped, voice raw. “Knew you were smart, old man. Didn’t think you’d catch on so fast.”

“Yeah, well,” Bobby snarled, stepping forward, “I’ve seen a lot of demons pretend to be worse things. You just happen to be wearin’ a face I liked.”

Dean smiled—teeth too sharp, too wide.

“I’ll be seeing her again.”

Bobby raised the shotgun in his hands.

“Not if I have anythin' to say about it.”

Dean looked at you once. Only once. That same smirk, but now you saw it—really saw it—for what it was. Too smooth. Too slow. Something evil wearing something you used to love. And then he vanished. Not in smoke, not in fire. Just… gone. The air thinned out. The heat left the room. And the absence of him was a screaming thing.

You were still shaking. Still pressed to the counter, shirt rumpled, legs slick, skin flushed. The high hadn’t even left your blood yet. You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

Bobby lowered the shotgun, then turned to you.

“It ain’t safe anymore.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

He crossed to you slowly. Gently. Like approaching a spooked animal.

“That thing,” he said, voice quieter now. “That thing wearin’ Dean’s face? That’s a demon. And he’s been here all day.”

You stared at him. Everything in you recoiled. Denied. And yet—you knew.

Bobby exhaled hard. His hand came up to your arm, grounding you. Steady.

“I’m sendin’ you somewhere safe.”

You blinked. “What—?”

“Somewhere he don’t know. Somewhere he can’t get to you. You’re leavin’ in the mornin’. No arguments.”

You were still in Bobby’s shirt. Still barefoot. Still breathless. And now the world had cracked open beneath you. You nodded. Because what else could you do?

@mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @0ccvltism @lyarr24 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @cevansbaby-dove @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l <3

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l1tw1ck · 1 year ago

Note

dean winchester consumes my mind LAWDDD I beg for anything with that man, surviving off of scraps looking for more top male reader x dean 🤕

- 🛸

No Longer a Mentor

Sub!Bottom Dean Winchester x Top!Male Reader

☆ Word Count: 1,512 ☆

After spending his young adult years with you, his mentor, more than his father, Dean found himself falling for you. He eventually made a move and forever changed the dynamic of your relationship

🕯️: well luckily for u, i just finished this draft :3

CW: Age Gap, First Time Bottoming, Blowjob, Fingering, Frottage (Sort Of), Creampie

Dean’s known you for a couple years, you're a friend of his dad’s and a fellow hunter. You became his mentor in place of his father, who often hunted on his own and left Dean in your care. You liked to stay in your state since the area was basically a supernatural magnet while his father preferred to travel the country so he chose you to finally allow Dean to stay in one place for more than a week. If you were anybody else, Dean would've been annoyed that his dad didn't take him along despite his age and experience. Instead of going to college, Dean spent those years learning to hunt with his father and mostly you. Thanks to all the time you spend with each other, his allegiance to you is almost stronger than his allegiance to his father. He hangs on your every word and treats you like a god. It's thanks to you that he finally accepted his bisexuality. But he doesn't want to tell you that.

He first started feeling differently towards you when you started to become more physical with him. You often hold onto his shoulder with your strong hand or pull him out of the way by his waist and it drives him crazy. He so desperately wants to feel your hands on other parts of his body and vice versa. Your voice makes him weak in the knees and you sound especially attractive when you've found your prey. You're much older than him but he can't get rid of his feelings for you. He tries his best to be content with just having a crush.

After you two had dinner, you decided to drink with him. The two of you laughed and talked over a few cans of beer and deepened your relationship further.

“You ever been in a relationship, [Name]?” Dean asks, slightly tipsy.

“A few. I mostly slept around in my college years and experimented a bit with other hunters but in the end I decided to marry my job instead.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to marry someone I could tell everything to so I tried dating within my circle but none of the hunters seemed to click with me in the ways that really matter.”

“That makes sense…then you probably haven't…” He trails off.

“I probably haven't what?”

“Had sex…lately……”

You laugh. “No, I haven't. Honestly, I think getting laid would really help me. It's been a rough couple weeks.”

“I…” Dean gulps. “I could help with that….if you don't mind…….being with a guy..”

You look at him in surprise. “You're drunk.”

“I’ve only had two cans and a half…You know I don't get drunk that fast.”

You look at him differently, no longer with the eyes of a mentor. “You’ll bottom?”

Dean nods.

You smile in amusement. “I might be a little rough, can you handle that?”

He nods again, more enthusiastically this time.

“Come here.” You motion for him to come over to your side of the table. He stands in front of you. “Kneel.” You order. Dean immediately kneels, his cock steadily growing in size. You unbuckle your belt and pull down your underwear. Dean stares at your cock in awe, body heating up as he watches you jerk it to its true size.

“Fuck. You’re big.” He breathes out.

“Too big?”

“I can handle it.” He says, licking his lips.

“Attaboy.” You run your hands through his hair. Dean blushes. “Ever done this before?”

“Never..” His eyes are trained on your length.

“Is this your first time with a man?”

“Yeah…”

Your gaze changes. Dean shivers in arousal. “How long have you wanted this?”

“A long time…I’ve been…fingering myself, in case we….” He looks away.

You grin, turned on by the thought of that. “You'll have to show me that some day.”

Dean’s face gets redder.

“Now, let me see how you suck cock.”

He's so hard right now. He opens his mouth and slowly swallows your length. He makes a dragged out moan in pleasure as he feels your thickness enter him. Pre cum leaks out of his cock as he imagines how it’ll feel in his ass. He bobs his head up and down enthusiastically, mimicking his past girlfriends by simultaneously swirling his tongue around your shaft.

“Fuck–” You moan. “That's it– good boy.”

Words can't express how happy Dean gets when you praise him.

“You're better at this than I expected, baby.” You smile at his cuteness. He can't hide how pleased he is. “You like sucking dick, don't you? I never thought you’d be a cock slut, Dean.”

He moans. He’ll happily be your cock slut. He pulls away and licks your length in a very sexy way, gaining more confidence thanks to his elevated horniess. “I love your cock, sir.”

“Of course, you’re my cock slut.” You press your hand against his cheek. “Stand up and take your clothes off, I wanna use your other hole.”

Dean’s cock throbs even more. He stands up and quickly removes his clothes, shivering under your hungry and lustful gaze. You pat your lap and he quickly sits on top of you, your shafts pressed against each other.

You grope his ass. “I don’t have any lube..” You trail off, mesmerized by his soft butt.

“I already fingered myself earlier.” He smiles.

“Good boy.” You praise him. “Then spit’ll be enough. Say ‘ah’.” You bring two fingers into Dean’s mouth. He sucks on your fingers in the sluttiest way he can before you take them out and gently push one of your saliva covered fingers inside his soft hole. You give him a moment before adding the second, then you start to finger him.

Dean lets out the prettiest moan you’ve ever heard. “[Name]~” He arches his back and subconsciously thrusts his hips, his cock rubbing against yours. “Your- yours feel so- fuck~” He groans. “So much better!”

You moan as well thanks to the sudden friction. You bring him into a sloppy kiss, the temperature between the two of you steadily rising. Dean pulls away first, more desperate for air, and presses his forehead against your shoulder. “Don't stop– mm- gonna come~” He whimpers. Your fingers find his prostate, an immediate gasp of pleasure leaving Dean’s lips. He throws his head back. “There! Yes!” He moans, grinding against your cock even faster. The combination of his moans, his expression, and his cock against yours all contribute to bringing you to closer your orgasm.

Dean comes first, cum splattering over the two of you. Yours comes second thanks to the amazing look on Dean’s face.

“You're so fucking sexy, Dean, you know that?” You take your fingers out and knead his ass.

“I know.” He gives you a kiss. “I want you inside me.”

You lift Dean up and slowly lower him down on your cock. You both let out noises of pleasure as you penetrate him. He bites down on his lip, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of his ass stretching to accommodate your girth. Once you bottom out, you give him time to get used to it. “Your cunt feels fucking amazing.” You groan. It's hard to hold yourself back but thankfully for you, Dean has no intention of waiting any longer. He places his hands on your shoulders and starts riding you. He quickly loses his momentum as the pleasure begins to overwhelm him. You help him out by grabbing his waist and doing the work for him, allowing Dean to fully enjoy himself.

He knew anal sex would feel good, especially because it's anal sex with you, but he never really had an idea of how good it’d feel until now. Now he's completely blissed out and only able to moan like a slut. It's especially thanks to your quick and rough speed that he's unable to think properly. You couldn't get yourself to go slower even if you tried. His ass just feels way too good.

“Your ass is perfect, Dean–” You groan. “So fucking good-” You hold him and stand up then gently place him on the table after clearing it of the empty cans. You rut into him like a monster, so horny that you feel like you could fuck him all night. You can never get enough of him.

Dean arches his back and shakes as ropes of cum spurt out of his dick. You know you should stop, or at least slow down, but you can't. “‘M sorry baby, fuck–” You moan, hanging your head low as you find your orgasm approaching. “‘M gonna come inside, okay? Gonna fill up your tight fucking cunt with my seed–”

Dean’s conscious enough to understand you. “Ye- yes!” He grins. He's been wanting to know what it feels like to get creampied. “Co- come inside!”

Encouraged by his words, you spill your cum into his warm and welcoming hole. Your thrusts come to a stop and the two of you start to catch your breaths.

“That…was so fucking good.” Dean says, leaning back.

#wicks🕯works #top male reader #male reader #dean winchester x male reader #bottom dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #supernatural x male reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural smut #dean winchester smut #bottom male character

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marscantread7 · 2 months ago

Note

Um um un sylus fucking us with his tail .... ♡ praise and maybe fuck us with his powers.. ?

Did you know I'm fucking insane anon. Did you know I'm the biggest monster fucker to ever exist anon.

(Excuse my brazenness idk what came over me there...)

I haven't finished his dragon myth bc I'm dookie butt at leveling up cards bc I'm more focused on story than like preserving materials to actually level cards up to fight💀💀💀 so idk if he had the energy manipulation evol as a dragon, so we're js gonna separate current Sylus fucking u w/ his evol from dragon Sylus fucking u w/ his tail

I'll do this hc style since I'm doing both to reply to u, but I'll do an additional post of them on their own to go into more detail

--------------------------------------------------------

Fucking u w/ his tail

-He'd stretch u out for hours, making sure ur loose and wet enough to take it. Using at least 3 valves of oil to make the slide easier

-He keeps asking u over and over again if ur sure u want to do this. His tail isn't soft, and he can't make it soft either. It's also, obviously, very big

-He peppers kisses all over ur face as he eases the very tip of the tail in.

-"Shhh, I know it hurts my precious. Look at me, yes, js like that, js take a little more for me- yes, good girl. We can always stop if it's too much. No? Okay, js let me know if u need a break."

- As much as u beg and plead saying u can take half, ur still human and he knows how fragile the human body is. He isn't trying to puncture any organs on accident💀💀💀

-Once a reasonable (and safe) amount of his tail is in, he js sits there for a bit, letting u get used to the feeling.

-"Can I start moving it now? I'll be gentle. No u silly thing, I'm not gonna go rough so soon."

- He fucks u at a very, VERY slow pace, so slow u feel urself drifting asleep until a very sudden orgasm rips its way through u, causing u to immediately squirt everywhere

-"Oh, that's it. Make a mess for me, cum all over my tail."

-He fucks u through the aftershocks of ur orgasms, and when u start to complain abt being sensitive, he js hushes u w/ a

-"U don't srsly think we're done after js one? Oh, sweetie. We're gonna be here all night."

Fucking u w/ his evol

-I'd like to think he only does those when he's super busy

-Like, say he has to write some report or like go over documents, and like ur both bored, but he really needs to get this done, so he'll like use his evol to fuck a dildo into u

-Ur laying on ur back on the couch in his study, face buried in a pillow as one hand holds onto the arm of the couch, trying to muffle ur moans as not to disturb Sylus

-"Ur getting a little too loud, kitten. Do I have to stop? No? Then quiet down for me, js like that."

-Using his evol is like second nature to him atp, so he really isn't putting much thought into controlling it. Sometimes he'll end up accidentally going a little too fast, and he has to apologize for it.

-"Ah, my apologies, sweetie. I zoned out a bit. Was it too rough? I'll make up for it, ur such a sweet little thing, never getting mad at me."

-And once he's done w/ everything, he'll fuck u nice and slow, whispering sweet nothings into ur ear, holding u tight.

--------------------------------------------------------

SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO GET TO THIS💔💔💔 I got sick AGAIN🤦🏾‍♀️🤦🏾‍♀️🤦🏾‍♀️ and then I started my period yesterday and that made me sick. Ts been sitting in my drafts forever, oh my days

Anyways, I'll write longer, more detailed versions of this eventually, but I hope u enjoy this💔💔💔

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love & deepspace #l&ds #marshall cant write #love and deepspace smut #sylus x you #sylus x mc #sylus x reader #sylus smut #sylus lads #sylus love and deepspace #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #love and deepspace reader #love and deepspace mc

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genshinluvr · 5 days ago

Text

The Boyfriend Brigade

Pairings: Various Love&Deepspace Men x reader

Summary: After being away on a solo mission for quite some time, you return to Linkon City feeling unwell. After failing to respond to text messages, you end up getting unexpected visitors and find yourself in a predicament.

Note: I had this fanfic in the drafts for months and couldn't finish it because of how busy I was ;v; but I finally got to finish it! The next update is another LADS update, but this time, it's a smut fic! I'm not sure if it will be separated by character or if all the men are involved in one smut fic. I'll probably have a spinning wheel choose for me. In case anyone is interested in joining, my Discord server is currently open. If you're interested in joining a small community of people who play LADS alongside Hoyoverse games, I'll provide the server link at the end of this fic. Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr), Ko-Fi (also Genshinluvr/Aaliah_exo), and AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: Mother Nature comes to visit you unannounced, if that counts as one

Word Count: 8.2k

You lean against the tree behind you, trying not to collapse to the ground while in the middle of the woods of a foreign country. You’re exhausted, and things have not been slowing down for you. The metaflux levels are through the roof, and wanderers lurk in every corner, forcing you to stay on high alert (as if you weren’t on high alert already). During the first few weeks of your solo mission, you infiltrated Ever’s secret base two hundred meters from where you’re currently gathering intel on protocores and aether cores.

Once you have gathered enough information and sent it to the Hunters Association, you continue with your solo mission: handling the wanderers and entering an area with a high protofield. Is it a smart idea to enter a protofield all alone? No, no, it’s not a bright idea, especially now that you’re dealing with endless hordes of wanderers in the woods, sniffing you out like a bloodhound.

You’re not injured— or at least not horribly injured— but you are feeling under the weather. You barely have the chance to get some rest and sleep. You’re always on your feet, constantly looking over your shoulders to make sure that there aren’t any wanderers ready to strike while you’re trying to take a breather. After what felt like forever, it could be longer than you expected, but you digress— the protofield is stabilized, and you can finally rest after who knows how long. But before you can relax, you decide to return to Linkon City and report to Captain Jenna about your completed mission. On your flight back to Linkon City, you’re knocked out and sleep until one of the flight attendants (bless her heart) wakes you up from your slumber.

You didn’t inform anyone of your return to Linkon, so you didn’t expect anyone to pick you up from the airport. Usually, it would be Zayne who picks you up from the airport, and sometimes it’s Sylus. So, here you are, sitting at the bus stop, waiting for the bus to arrive.

Your eyelids feel heavy, and you can barely remain conscious. You lean against the bus stop, trying your best not to nod off. You pull your phone out from your pocket and turn it on. Once your phone finally has connection, a slew of notifications pop up on your screen. From text messages to phone calls to video calls, it just keeps popping up now that your phone has a decent connection after who knows how long.

RAFAYEL:

“Miss Bodyguard, when are you going to be back from your dangerous solo mission? Personally, I don’t think you should be doing this mission alone, but that’s just me.”

“I don’t want to have an art exhibit without you present. You’re my number one supporter and my bodyguard! I can’t go anywhere without you by my side!”

“Thomas is talking my ears off about it, and I’m trying everything I can to ignore him, but he’s giving me this look.”

“Miss Bodyguardddddddd. When are you coming home? :(”

“Are you back yet?”

SYULS:

“Kitten, I will be expecting you to return to Linkon City unscathed. Do not do anything reckless, alright? Always be two steps ahead of your enemies and know their weaknesses.”

“Kick their asses, and don’t let them kick yours. Show them what I have taught you in the boxing ring.”

“I will see you soon, alright? I want you to return to me safe and sound. If anyone lays their hands on you, tell me who they are, and I’ll take care of everything.”

“Luke and Kieran keep pestering me about your return to the N109 Zone.”

“I found something interesting in Mephisto’s nest today. I believe these are your earrings and bracelets. [PHOTO ATTACHMENT] Mephisto loves shiny things, and he so happens to take a liking to your jewelry.”

ZAYNE:

“How is your mission coming along?”

“Are you resting? Make sure not to overexert yourself, and make sure to eat plenty of food.”

“It’s been a few days since I’ve heard from you. You are safe, right?”

“If you need any assistance, I am one phone call away.”

“Text me back when you get this message.”

XAVIER:

“Make sure not to storm into the protofield recklessly.”

“Let me know when your mission is completed. I want to be the first person you see when you return from your mission.”

“I made sure to water the plants on your balcony and organize the plushies in your room. They are waiting for your return, and I am waiting for your reply.”

“I hope you do not have to resort to this, but if you are in any danger and cannot complete your solo mission, don’t hesitate to call me for help. I will be there in a heartbeat.”

“It’s been a while since I sent my previous message, and I still haven’t heard back from you. Are you alright? Do you need me to step in to help you?”

Before you can unlock your phone to answer any of the text messages you have received, the screen suddenly goes black. You close your eyes and slump in your seat at the bus stop, realizing that you did not charge your phone at all before boarding the plane. Now that your phone is dead, you have no way to contact any of the four men to inform them of your return to Linkon City.

“This is fine,” You mutter, too exhausted to do anything. “I’ll message them once I charge my phone.”

When the bus finally arrives, you sit close to the back of the bus with your belongings and close your eyes. It’ll be a fifteen-minute drive to the nearest bus stop near your apartment, so you might as well sit back and get some shut-eye before arriving home. When the bus arrives at the bus stop a block from your apartment, you nearly miss your stop due to your nap. You stumble off the bus and trudge toward the direction of your apartment, still groggy from your nap on the bus.

A small gust of air causes you to tense up and shiver. You hug yourself with one arm while dragging your luggage with the other, now realizing how cold you are. Despite feeling like a walking popsicle, your body is also covered in a thin layer of sweat. Dear goodness, you must look like a mess to whoever lays their eyes on you.

Everything is a blur after, and you find yourself collapsing on your couch after closing and locking your apartment door. Your luggage is abandoned next to the shoe rack, while one boot is beside the luggage, and the other lies beside your couch. You’re too tired to change out of your clothes and go to your bedroom. Your entire body is aching, and every limb feels like lead. You shift on the couch, digging your hands into your pockets to take your dead phone out of your pockets before tossing it onto the coffee table.

Once you get that out of the way, you curl up into a fetal position and hug your knees to your chest. Your body wracks with shivers when a wave of chills washes over your body as you slowly drift off to a dreamless sleep.

- Two Days Later -

Rafayel steps out of the elevator and turns to the right, walking towards a specific apartment. Before choosing to stop by his precious bodyguard’s apartment, Rafayel realizes that all of his messages are left on read. Now, Rafayel may not be much of a texter (only when it comes to other people who aren’t you), but seeing his messages being left on read with little to no response drives him up the wall. However, since you’re the cutest and most precious person in the world, Rafayel lets you off the hook.

“She’s probably busy with the Hunters Association debriefing.” Is what Rafayel would say to himself, trying to bury the clenching feeling in his chest. But as time goes by, Rafayel will find himself opening the message between you and him, staring at the “READ” receipt at the bottom of his message— still no response from you, not even a phone call, voice message, video call, nothing.

Rafayel doesn’t want to be seen as clingy, but he can’t help but crave for your attention, your voice, your laughter, your touch, you, you, you. Rafayel checks the tracking device he left on you (he did it for your safety) and sees that you’re at your apartment and not in some foreign country the last time he checked! Rafayel pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, letting out a long exhale through his nose.

“I guess she wants me to be the one to stop by this time,” Rafayel mutters before standing up. “Thomas, I’m heading out. It seems like Miss Bodyguard wants me to stop by her place.”

Thomas looks up from his phone, watching the Lemurian man grab his coat and car keys. Before Thomas can say anything, Rafayel is already out the front door, closing the door behind him. Thomas sighs, shaking his head.

As Rafayel approaches closer to your apartment, Rafayel slowly stops in his tracks. Rafayel’s mood worsens after seeing familiar faces in front of your apartment door. Just when Rafayel thinks he’s going to be your first and only visitor after you return from your mission, three other men have the same plan in mind. Rafayel stops before the three men, sensing tension among the trio.

Zayne chuckles dryly. “I see we all have the same intention,” Zayne mutters, his gaze flickering from Xavier and Sylus to Rafayel. “You three don’t need to be here. As her primary care physician, it is my duty to check up on her to make sure she’s okay.”

Xavier smiles at Zayne and crosses his arms over his chest. “Dr. Zayne, while I understand that you’re [Y/N]’s primary care physician, I’m her coworker and neighbor. I believe that I have every right to check up on her after not hearing back from her in a while.”

Zayne and Xavier continue to stare at each other; both men have fake smiles on their faces. Sylus chuckles, shaking his head while tapping on his temples as he watches the tension rise between your so-called coworker and primary care physician.

Rafayel narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, puffing his chest out as he nods in Sylus’s direction. “And what about you?”

Sylus looks at Rafayel with amusement, pointing at himself. Rafayel nods, pressing his lips into a thin line as he waits for Sylus to respond. “Oh, [Y/N] and I are—” Sylus is cut off by the sound of footsteps approaching the door. The three men (Sylus, Xavier, and Zayne) take a step back, going silent as they try to hear other things coming from behind the door. Finally! Finally, you’re going to show your cute face to them all, reassuring them you’re okay and that you’re trying to recharge after a draining mission.

In a perfect world, that’s how everything will go down. In each man’s fantasy, they imagine you telling the other men to go home so you and he can spend time together after not seeing each other for a while. However, no one lives in a perfect world, no matter how much they hope. The doorknob wiggles, and a faint click and beep comes from the door. What everyone expects to see is you in a sleepy haze, answering the door in your cozy pajamas with an extreme bedhead, rubbing your eyes, and yawning. What they all did not expect to see is—

“Hello there! Is there anything I can help you all with?” A boy-next-door voice asks.

— A man in his mid-twenties answering your door… the very same door that belongs to your apartment. The man has black hair and French lilac with a hint of rose gold accents in his eyes, and he’s tall, perhaps the same height as Sylus. Maybe a little shorter than the Onychinus leader. Zayne tenses up the minute he and the mysterious black-haired man lock eyes.

Shit. They didn’t get the wrong apartment, did they? Rafayel quickly glances at the apartment number above the door to make sure he (and the others) didn’t get the wrong apartment, but it’s the correct apartment, and Rafayel can see your signature furniture behind the man’s shoulders.

A look of surprise flashes over the man’s face before being replaced by a wide smile, and he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorframe of your apartment. “Zayne! It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other!” The man says.

Rafayel’s eyes dart between the two black-haired men, looking at them incredulously. “You two know each other!?” Rafayel blurts, grabbing Zayne and the mysterious black-haired man’s attention.

“Of course! We've known each other since we were children,” the black-haired man replies. “Isn’t that right, Zayne?” He smiles, tilting his head to the side as he waits for Zayne’s response.

Zayne nods. “That is correct. Caleb and I have known each other since we were children.”

Silence falls over the five men, no one saying a single thing. Rafayel puffs his cheeks out and sighs, crossing his arms over his chest while leaning on one leg before switching to the other. This Caleb guy is close friends with your primary care physician, but what is Caleb’s relationship with you? Surely you’re not dating this man, are you? Could he be your brother, by chance?

Xavier is the first person to break the silence. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you in [Y/N]’s apartment?”

A look of surprise flashes over Caleb’s face. Caleb smiles and stands straight, propping both hands on his hips. “I’m here to take care of [Y/N]. I messaged her not long ago to let her know that I’m in Linkon, but she never replied. So, I took that as an opportunity to stop by her apartment to check up on her,” Caleb replies.

Sylus raises his eyebrows at Caleb’s reply, eyeing the man from head to toe— almost as if he’s sizing Caleb up. “How did you enter [Y/N]’s apartment? You didn’t happen to, oh, I don’t know, break into her apartment while she’s asleep, did you?” Sylus asks, narrowing his eyes at the black-haired man.

Caleb raises his hand before digging one hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulling out a key. “Me? Breaking into [Y/N]’s apartment? I would never,” Caleb rolls his eyes. “And for your information, she gave me a spare key a while back.”

Sylus briefly glances at the key in Caleb’s hand before continuing what he’s doing prior: sizing Caleb up (or at least that’s what it looks like to others around Sylus). The more Caleb stares at Sylus, the more he notices that Sylus’s eyes have a faint glow. Caleb breaks eye contact with the white-haired man before laughing bitterly.

“I assume you all want to check up on [Y/N]. I’m afraid I cannot let you all into her apartment as of now due to her current condition,” Caleb states, now crossing his arms over his chest.

That catches the four men’s attention immediately. Not only does it bother them that they’re not allowed to see you after not seeing you in a while, but the vagueness of Caleb’s response irks them to no end.

Xavier takes a step forward, his eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean by her current condition? She’s not hurt, is she?” Xavier frowns, his heart pounding in his chest.

Caleb sighs, unsure of whether he should explain the situation to the three unfamiliar men and Zayne. Residents of the apartment weave through the four men in the hallway to get to their apartment and the elevator, grumbling about people taking up space and being inconsiderate. Caleb presses his lips into a thin line before gesturing for the four men to enter the apartment so they wouldn’t block the hallway for the residents.

After everyone is in the apartment, Caleb closes and locks the apartment door. Zayne, Sylus, Xavier, and Rafayel each take their shoes off and put on the spare slippers on the shoe rack. Caleb observes each man closely, mildly miffed over the fact that they know about the (now) unspoken rule when entering your apartment: shoes are to be taken off and put on house slippers. Everyone slowly migrates to the living room, some sitting on your couch while others refuse to sit.

Caleb takes a deep breath. “[Y/N]’s sick,” Caleb says. Caleb looks at each person’s face to see their reaction.

The frown on Zayne’s face deepens as he crosses his arms over his chest, eyebrows furrowing with worry. “How long has she been sick?” Zayne demands, his eyes occasionally lingering in the direction of your bedroom.

“I don’t know how long she’s been like this, but whenever I stopped by not long ago, she was unconscious on the couch. I carried her to her room and made sure she changed into loose and comfortable clothes. Thankfully, she took her medication when I handed her cold medicine. However, it seems her sickness has gotten worse overnight.”

Rafayel’s eyes widen with disbelief and horror. “Worse?! What do you mean by worse? Miss Bodyguar— [Y/N]’s not going to die, is she!?”

Zayne pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head after hearing Rafayel’s ridiculous question. Xavier and Sylus look at Rafayel with a questioning gaze while Caleb chuckles with amusement, shaking his head.

Xavier crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against the couch. “If she’s sick, then why didn’t she let any of us know about her condition?”

Sylus looks at the coffee table and sees your phone lying face down. “She’s either too drained to reply to our messages to inform us of her whereabouts or…” Sylus trails off, reaching for your phone. Sylus presses the button on the side of your phone, expecting your phone to light up. But alas, your phone doesn’t turn on, even if he presses down the button for ten seconds. “She forgot to charge her phone, and her phone is dead.”

Zayne turns toward Caleb and says, “As her primary care physician, it’s my job to check up on her.”

Caleb holds his hands up in a surrender gesture. “I know that, Zayne. I’m not stopping you from checking up on [Y/N]. She’s still sleeping in her room. I tried getting her to eat something, but she refused. She only took cold medicine before going back to sleep,” Caleb says, frowning.

Caleb gestures for Zayne to follow him before turning around and walking towards your closed bedroom door. Caleb grabs the door handle and quietly opens the door. Zayne and Caleb peek their heads into your bedroom to see you out cold on your bed, buried under mountains of blankets. Caleb opens the door wider before entering your room, with Zayne following close behind. The other three men stand by the doorway, eyes glued on your unconscious body.

“If [Y/N] wanted something to warm her up as she sleeps, she could’ve just asked me,” Rafayel mutters, leaning against the doorframe.

Zayne kneels at the edge of your bed, eyes scanning your face. He presses the back of his hand against your forehead. You sigh with relief when you feel something cool press up against your hot forehead. You subconsciously lean into Zayne’s cool touch, wanting more of his touch to cool you down.

“You said she hasn’t eaten anything, correct?” Zayne mutters, looking at Caleb.

Caleb nods wordlessly, his eyes never leaving your face. “She has not, unfortunately. Again, I tried to convince her to eat the congee I’ve cooked, but she just wanted to sleep,” Caleb replies, now standing beside Zayne.

The chatter around you slowly brings you back to consciousness. You crack your eyes open and look around your bedroom with bleary eyes. You mumble incoherent words, grabbing the attention of the five men around you. Upon seeing you awake, the men remaining at the doorway of your bedroom rush over to where you lie. Your body heat and the mountains of blankets over your body cause you to squirm as you struggle to sit up and push the blankets off your body.

Xavier and Zayne help you sit on your bed while Rafayel fluffs the pillow behind you, cushioning your back against the bed frame. Sylus hands you a cup of water to drink after seeing you rub your throat while wincing. You weakly smile at Sylus before taking huge gulps of water.

Xavier chuckles, sitting beside you, and tucks your hair behind your ear. “Careful, now. You wouldn’t want to choke, now, would you?” Xavier murmurs, wiping the droplet of water from the corner of your lips after you downed the cup of water.

You shakily place the cup on your nightstand, leaning your head against the wall, and stare at your lap. No one says anything as they stare at you, waiting for you to say or do something. You rub your eyes with your knuckles, still groggy from your sleep. It feels nice to finally be home after a long mission, but you’re sick, and you feel like you got hit by a bullet train.

“Are you hungry, pipsqueak?” Caleb asks, rubbing your head affectionately before fixing your bedhead.

You shake your head. “No, I’m okay.” You lie.

Before anyone can say anything, the silence is broken by a loud rumbling in your stomach. You clear your throat and hug your pillow to your chest, ignoring the gnawing feeling in your gut. You’re starving, but you don’t want to eat.

Sylus frowns, crossing his arms over his chest as he scrutinizes you. “Sweetie, just because you’re sick and tired doesn’t mean you should starve yourself,” Sylus lectures you, shaking his head with disapproval. “If you don’t eat anything, how else will you recover from your illness, hm?”

You stare at the Onychinus leader with a visible pout on your face. The way you stare at Sylus makes him feel weak at the knees. You resemble a stray kitten found in a downpour— pathetic but cute.

“Maybe she doesn’t want to eat congee. Is it possible she wants to eat something else?” Rafayel mutters, stroking his chin. “Hey, cutie. What do you want to eat? Definitely not boring old congee, right?” Rafayel jokes.

Caleb raises an eyebrow at Rafayel’s comment, turning to you. You press your lips into a thin line and think for a minute. You don’t mind eating congee since it's easy to stomach, but you’re not entirely sure if you want to eat the same thing over and over until you’re no longer sick. The congee Caleb makes is delicious, but you want something new and easy to eat, similar to congee, but without eating congee itself.

“How about I make you some chicken soup? It has plenty of nutrients your body needs in order to recover from an illness.” Xavier says, grabbing hold of your hand and gently squeezing them.

Hearing Xavier offer to cook you something to eat nearly has you in tears. It’s not like you don’t want Xavier to cook you food—actually, it is that. You love Xavier and his willingness to cook something for you to eat, but cooking isn’t his best suit. Xavier looks at you worriedly after not hearing a response from you. The puppy dog eyes Xavier has on his face is killing you.

Zayne clears his throat, sighing to himself. “Chicken soup is a good option if you don’t want to eat congee. Caleb can cook the chicken soup while I get your medication. Xavier, Rafayel, and Sylus can keep you entertained.”

You nearly cry in relief when Zayne says it’s going to be Caleb who’s going to cook the chicken soup for you to eat (sorry, Xavier). You nod, immediately agreeing to Zayne’s suggestion. After Zayne and Caleb leave your room, you lie back down and hug your pillow. You notice Sylus slip out of your bedroom for a moment, but instead of heading to your living room, he goes straight to your bathroom.

Rafayel pouts, staring at you like an angry toddler. “You don’t want to cuddle me, cutie? After not seeing each other for such a long time, you don’t want to cuddle to make up for the lost time?” Rafayel grumbles, his bottom lip jutting out as he plops down at the edge of your bed.

Xavier glares at Rafayel before looking elsewhere. “It’s not a good idea to cuddle with someone while they’re sick. [Y/N] still has a fever, and cuddling her will only add to the discomfort,” Xavier lectures Rafayel.

Rafayel rolls his eyes before lying down on you, his head resting on your lap as he grabs your hand, completely disregarding Xavier’s lecture and glare. Rafayel laces his fingers with yours and presses a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “Nothing is going to stop me from cuddling with you, cutie. Unless you demand personal space, then it’s too bad because I’m here to stay,” Rafayel states, smirking over in Xavier’s direction.

Xavier’s nostrils flare, and his hands clenched into tight fists. “You—”

“Now, now, gentlemen. I believe now is not the right time to be bickering with one another. You two will only make [Y/N]’s headache worse the more you argue with one another. We wouldn’t want that, now would we?” Sylus clicks his tongue with disapproval as he exits your bathroom with a wet cloth in his hand.

Sylus sits at the edge of your bed near your head, brushing your damp hair away from your face and forehead. You stare at Sylus, watching him fold the small hand towel in half before placing the cool, wet towel over your forehead.

You sigh with contentment. “That feels really nice,” you murmur, closing your eyes. “Thank you, Sylus.”

“Anything for you, kitten. Now, get some rest. I’ll wake you up when it’s time for you to eat,” Sylus murmurs, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

Rafayel and Xavier stare at Sylus with their mouths agape and eyebrows furrowing. Sylus chuckles and shakes his head at their reactions before getting up from your bed. “Make sure to behave, you two. You wouldn’t want another lecture from Dr. Zayne and Caleb, now, would you?”

Rafayel and Xavier glance at each other from the corner of their eyes before watching the leader of Onychinus peer from your bedroom door to see what Zayne and Caleb are doing. You pull the blanket up to your chin and slowly fall into a dreamless sleep.

- 40 Minutes Later -

“How in the world did she fall asleep already?”

“Yeah, she can be a pretty heavy sleeper when she’s sick.” You hear Caleb laugh.

Sylus sighs. “Sweetie, you need to wake up and eat. You can’t skip your meals while you’re sick.”

The voices around you continue to chatter, making it nearly impossible to fall asleep, but not impossible enough to stop you from doing so. You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep, but when you open your eyes, you find yourself sitting on the couch with the blanket draped over your thighs.

You smack your lips together, rubbing your eyes with your knuckles, almost struggling to lift your arms. You furrow your eyebrows, annoyed you can’t get your limbs to function. Your head is resting on the couch cushion, nearly lulling you to sleep again.

“Oh, no, you don’t! Don’t fall asleep on us now, cutie.” Rafayel protests, rushing over to your side and gently patting and poking your cheeks to keep you conscious.

You softly whine, struggling to grab hold of Rafayel’s hand. You open your eyes, only to see how close Rafayel’s face is to yours. You stare at him, confused. Rafayel sighs in relief and slowly backs away, now sitting beside you. Your head droops forward as you try to fight off the need to sleep. How in the world did you get on this couch?

Xavier kneels beside you, grabbing your hand. “You don’t remember what happened before you were carried to the living room?” Xavier asks, staring into your bleary eyes.

You shake your head. “Not really.”

Caleb places a food tray on your lap and then sets down a bowl of chicken soup and cutlery in front of you. The bowl has shredded chicken with chicken broth, chopped carrots, and celery. The aroma of the soup is so delicious that it causes your stomach to let out a growl that’s loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

Zayne sits to the right of you. “Do you want to take your medication now, or do you want to take it after you finish your lunch?” Zayne asks, holding up the bottle of cold medicine.

You stare at the bottle, hesitant about taking the medication again. You should really get new cold medicine because the one Zayne is holding makes you feel nauseous every time you take it. Could it be because you took the medication on an empty stomach? You point at the chicken soup before scooping the broth and shredded chicken with the spoon, and begin eating the soup that Caleb cooked for you to eat.

When you pick up a piece of carrot with your chopsticks, Zayne visibly narrows his eyes at the orange vegetable and watches you bite the soft vegetable. Caleb chuckles, shaking his head at Zayne’s reaction to seeing a carrot.

“You still don’t like carrots, Zayne?” Caleb teases, crossing his arms over his chest.

Zayne clears his throat, almost rolling his eyes. “What about you? Do you still hate cilantro?” Zayne mutters, looking at Caleb from the corner of his eye.

Rafayel, Xavier, and Sylus glance at each other while internally questioning the strange interaction between Zayne and Caleb. Caleb and Zayne said they were “childhood friends,” but the way they’re acting with each other says the complete opposite. The others around Caleb and Zayne can almost visibly see electricity spark between the two men, the more they shoot not-so-subtle glares at each other. If this continues, the two could burn down your (and Xavier’s) apartment building.

You set your chopsticks down on the bowl when you feel a sharp pain in your lower abdomen. You try to ignore the pain and grab the spoon, taking small sips of the chicken broth, hoping the warm soup will ease the pain in your abdomen. Your stomach isn’t hurting; in fact, it hasn’t been hurting since you returned to Linkon City. You start listing the possibilities of what can make your abdomen hurt while sipping your soup.

You haven’t eaten much since your return to Linkon City, so the possibility of eating something “bad” is out of the question. But that’s stomach pain, not lower abdominal pain. Wait— When was the last time you had your period?

Xavier squeezes your hand, pulling you out of your thoughts. “What’s wrong?” He whispers, leaning over and staring at you intently. “Do you not like the soup? Would you prefer for me to cook you something instead?”

You blink at Xavier, slowly shaking your head. “The soup is fine, but…” You trail off, feeling the familiar pain return. “I don’t think I’ll be able to finish this soup.”

The men around you peek into the bowl to see how much soup you have left, and you barely make a dent in the soup. You’ve probably eaten three slices of carrots and four shredded chicken and sipped the broth around two or three times, but either way, you’re not even close to finishing the chicken soup that Caleb made for you.

“Can you try to finish at least half of the soup? You don’t have to finish the entire thing, but half would suffice,” Sylus suggests, gazing at you worriedly.

You stare at the soup, sighing. It’s not like you’re full, it’s just that the cramps you’re suddenly feeling are making it hard for you to want to finish your food. The longer you stare at your food, the more you can feel holes being burned into the back of your head from how hard the five men around you are staring at you.

You grab the food tray and place it on the ground before getting up from the couch. Just when you thought the cramps you were feeling a moment ago were bad, they just got worse the minute you stood up. You clear your throat, acting like you’re not being stabbed in the abdomen over and over by a box cutter. You point to the bathroom, letting them know you’ll be right back before sprinting away. During your journey to the bathroom, you feel the familiar sense of dread fall over you when, you’re assuming, blood starts gushing out of your lady bits.

You accidentally slam the bathroom door shut behind you as you rush to the toilet, pull your pajama pants and underwear down. You grit your teeth and silently groan at the sight. That’s going to leave an ugly stain.

“Maybe you’re the reason why I’m sick,” you grumble, poking at where your uterus is located. “Dropping by for a week-long visit with no notice ahead of time is absolutely foul.”

You remain on the toilet, letting the blood drip out of you as you wipe the blood from your panties. Well, at least you didn’t bleed through and stain your pajama pants. You reach into the sink cabinet, searching for your pads and tampons, only to find nothing. Your heart falls into the pit of your stomach, causing you to lurch forward on the toilet, peeking your head into the cabinet to double-check if you may have misplaced it somewhere.

You shake your head, in denial. “Fuck. Please tell me I didn’t forget to restock my pads and tampons,” you whisper.

“Everything alright in there, pipsqueak?” Caleb knocks on the door.

You close the sink cabinet with silent defeat, flush the toilet after wiping (a lot of wiping), fold toilet paper, and place it in your underwear as a temporary pad. You pull up your pants and underwear, waddling to the door. You crack the door open, peeking out to see Caleb and the others standing outside the bathroom door.

You press your lips into a thin line and proceed to push past them, walking straight to your closet to pull out clean clothes to change into after your shower. It’s probably not the best idea to shower while you’re sick, but right now, it’s very much needed. You stop in your tracks, sighing. You still need to restock pads and tampons.

“What’s wrong, sweetie? You look distraught,” Sylus says, approaching you.

God, he’s so tall.

“Huh?” You blink at the Onychinus leader owlishly.

Sylus smirks, letting out an amused laugh, and crosses his arms over his chest. “You really are out of it, aren’t you?” He teases, now standing in front of you, and presses his hands against your forehead. “You shouldn’t be showering when you have a fever, kitten.”

You frown at Sylus, feeling all sorts of emotions hitting you like a brick wall. You’re angry that your period started, you’re also sad because you completely forgot to restock your tampons and pads, you’re humiliated that you stained your panties with your blood and now have to use toilet paper as a temporary pad, but you’re so tired and in so much pain.

You want to cry, but you also want to scream and obliterate the entire planet. Of all people, why you and why now? Sylus tilts his head to get a better look at your face; his gaze softens when he sees the look on your face. Before Sylus can say anything, you drop your clothes and bury your face into his chest, sighing.

Rafayel takes a cautious step forward. “What’s wrong, cutie? It’s okay if you’re too tired to finish your soup. We won’t force you to eat,” Rafayel says softly.

You press your cheek against Sylus’s chest, peeking at Rafayel and the others with a pout. God, this is making you feel even worse. You shake your head, closing your eyes. You shudder, feeling like a stepped ketchup packet.

Xavier rubs your back, eyebrows knitted together with worry. “Please tell us what’s wrong. You seem to be doing far worse before you went to the bathroom,” Xavier pleads, pulling you away from Sylus.

“You guys know that I’m sick, right?” You mutter, sitting on the edge of your bed.

The men around you nod, slowly migrating over to your bed.

You sigh, rubbing your eyes with your knuckle. “Well, turns out, I’m also menstruating! Yippee! Hooray! Someone please kill me and end my suffering.” You plop over on your bed and rub your temples. “Oh, and to top it all off, I completely forgot to restock my tampons and pads! Things just keep getting better and better!”

You grab your pillow, tempted to take yourself out of your misery. Instead, you hold yourself back and hug it against your chest, zoning out. Caleb makes a noise, grabbing your attention. You look over at Caleb to see him staring at his phone, stroking his chin.

“That makes sense on why I’ve been getting notifications about your menstruation cycle nearing,” Caleb says nonchalantly.

You stare at Caleb owlishly. “You keep track of my period?” You ask with millions of questions running through your mind rapidly.

“I do too,” Rafayel says, waving his phone. “In fact, I just got notified that your period should be starting sometime this week, but it looks like it starts today! I should mark it.”

You sit up, ignoring the feeling of your blood staining your temporary “pad.” Wait, since when did they keep track of your period?

Noticing the clueless look on your face, Zayne pats your head with a small smile. “In case you forgot, which, judging by the look on your face, you did, you wanted me to keep track of your cycle. By the looks of it, it seems like I’m not the only one who’s tracking your cycle,” Zayne says, looking over at the others.

You stare at the five men blankly, with your mouth agape, when the others show you their phone screens. You look at the ceiling, trying to recall the time when you asked them to keep track of your period. Well, at least you won’t have to worry about forgetting your impending cycle when you have five people who will notify you about it before it happens. Today, however, is different. No warning signs at all— well, maybe you getting sick is the warning of your impending menstrual cycle, and having no pads and tampons stocked in your bathroom is the worst situation to be in.

Xavier strokes your hair. “If you want, you can go take a shower while we go to the store to buy you some pads and tampons,” Xavier murmurs, gazing at you with those adorable puppy dog eyes of his.

“If we do that, someone’s going to need to stay back and keep watch of [Y/N],” Caleb interjects, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know [Y/N] long enough to know what products she uses.”

You groan and flop over on your stomach. You can’t believe Caleb wants someone to babysit you while they go out to buy you menstrual products. You’re an adult, you can be left alone in your apartment while they’re out shopping at the nearest store. It’s not like you will bleed out and die if they leave you all by yourself. Plus, this isn’t your first rodeo as a menstruating woman, a hunter to be exact.

After convincing all five of your lovely guests to let you be alone in your apartment while they go out to restock your menstrual products, you find yourself sitting in the shower, staring at the tiles. You watch the blood and shampoo trickle into the drain, wincing when another wave of cramps hits you. You lean against the shower wall, questioning everything. You have no idea how long you’ve been in the shower, but you truly hope that Caleb, Zayne, Xavier, Rafayel, and Sylus return before you’re done taking a shower.

Meanwhile…

Zayne walks to the cash register with three boxes of pads in one hand and a box of dessert from the store’s bakery in the other. Zayne stops in his tracks when he sees the other four, raising an eyebrow at them as they approach the cardiac surgeon.

“Five boxes of tampons! [Y/N] won’t have to worry about running out of menstrual products for the next few months!” Rafayel says, looking smug.

Xavier scratches his head, holding up four boxes of both pads and tampons, each one different from the other. “I bought one of each for [Y/N]. If I remember correctly, she said her period flows tend to be different and unpredictable each month and day.”

The others nod and murmur with approval, earning a shy yet satisfied smile from Xavier. Everyone turns to look at Caleb, your childhood friend and Zayne’s childhood and maybe current love rival.

Caleb laughs, shaking his head. “Wow, all of you went all out. I, on the other hand, got her the period essentials,” he says, holding up a shopping basket that contains pads, tampons, a couple of your favorite snacks, a heatable teddy bear, and a soft throw blanket.

Zayne hums, mentally critiquing Caleb’s cart. Despite there being differences between Zayne and Caleb, Zayne approves of Caleb’s cart. Everyone turns to look at Sylus, who came empty-handed. Everyone’s silently judging the leader of Onychinus. Sylus chuckles, tapping on his temples before crossing his arms over his chest.

“While you all were shopping around, I put in a bulk order of pads, tampons, and wipes that will be delivered to [Y/N]’s apartment. It should be there by the time we return to her apartment,” Sylus says, glancing at the watch around his wrist.

Rafayel looks at Sylus with wide eyes, a mix of horror and awe. “Bulk order?! Are you implying [Y/N] is going to get warehouse-level type of shipments to her apartment?” Rafayel asks.

“Yes, because I don’t want her to worry about having to run back to the store to restock her menstrual products,” Sylus says nonchalantly, propping his hands on his hips.

Caleb scrutinizes Sylus, propping one hand on his hip. “Where did you get the money to do all of this, Sylus?”

Sylus smiles, waving off the skeptical looks thrown his way. “I’m just a fruit vendor with a very successful business, that is all.”

- 15 Minutes Later -

You shut off the water and grab your towel, wrapping it around your body. You stand in the shower, debating whether you should step out and get dressed or wait for the others to return with pads and tampons. A knock on the bathroom door interrupts your thoughts, making you nearly cry out in relief. Oh, thank goodness you won’t have to make a temporary pad out of toilet paper!

You leave the shower and walk to the door, unlocking it. You crack the door open and take a peek. Zayne, Caleb, Rafayel, and Xavier are holding bags of pads and tampons. No Sylus in sight.

Noticing your questioning gaze, Zayne gestures to the door leading to the living room. “Sylus is stocking your storage room. You’ll understand when you’re done with your shower,” Zayne says.

You sigh in relief. You thanked the four men before grabbing a random bag from one of their hands, closing the door, and getting dressed. After changing and securing your underwear, you unlock and open the bathroom door. Caleb helps you with restocking the pads and tampons in your bathroom while Xavier and Rafayel help Zayne with throwing the boxes away.

“Where is Sylus?” You mutter, closing the sink cabinet door.

Caleb shrugs. “Probably still stocking up the storage room,” Caleb replies.

Caleb wraps his arm around your shoulders before leaving the bathroom with you. When you and Caleb step into the living room, you stop in your tracks when you see Xavier, Zayne, and Rafayel helping Sylus stock your apartment storage room. You look at Caleb, who shrugs in response to your questioning gaze.

You leave Caleb’s side, approaching the four men while trying to peek from their shoulders to see what they’re doing. Xavier and Rafayel move out of the way for you to look; your eyes nearly pop out of your skull after seeing your storage room, once empty, now completely full of boxes of pads, tampons, and wet wipes.

You look at Sylus, who reminds you of a smug cat showing his owner his successful hunt. “This was your doing, wasn’t it?” You ask.

“Well, of course it is, sweetie. I don’t want you to worry about restocking your menstrual products for the next few months. If you happen to use up the entire stock, then you can always let me know, and I will have them restocked in no time,” Sylus says.

Next few months?! You look back at the storage room, filled to the brim with boxes of pads, tampons, and wipes. Maybe it’s your period that’s making you emotional, or the fact that these men care about you so much that they would go out of their way to buy as many boxes of pads and tampons for you, you find it very touching. You can’t help but tear up at the sweet gesture, causing mass panic among the five men.

“Cutie, why are you crying?! You’re not in pain, are you!?” Rafayel asks, grabbing you by the shoulders and staring at you with pure panic.

You laugh and cover your face, bending over to avoid their worried stares. Rafayel looks at the others, unsure of what to do aside from pulling you into his arms and cradling you, patting your back. You wipe the tears running down your cheeks and let yourself loosen up in Rafayel’s arms, sighing.

“What do you want to do now, pipsqueak? Do you want to finish your food now or later?” Caleb trails off, stroking your hair.

You continue clinging to Rafayel, peeking over at the untouched (and most likely cold) soup. “Can we watch a movie first? I’m not really in the mood to eat right now. Maybe I’ll be hungry after we finish a movie,” you mutter, peeking at Caleb and the others.

Each man agreed to your proposal and began setting the living room up for the impromptu movie night. When everyone starts to settle down for the movie, they all leave space for you to sit next to them—lots of space. You prop your hands on your hips, unsure of where to sit, while these men subtly glare at each other.

“Can you guys scoot a little closer?” You ask, gesturing for everyone to move in.

Caleb, Sylus, Zayne, Xavier, and Rafayel reluctantly scoot closer to each other. When they stop to look at you, you shake your head with disapproval and continue to gesture for them to move closer. Once they’re finally sitting side by side, thighs touching, you nod with approval. You grab the throw blanket that Caleb bought for you and drape the blanket over their laps, ignoring the confused stares thrown your way. You grab a plushie that works as a pillow and place it on Sylus’s lap. You walk to the light switch, turn the living room lights off before returning to where the others are waiting for you, still confused about what you’re plotting. On your way back, you grab the spare plush blanket that hangs from the armrest of the sofa. This is probably the most you’ve moved around since returning from your solo mission.

You briefly sit on Zayne’s lap before lying down on everyone’s lap. If these men want to fight over who gets to sit beside you while watching the movie, you might as well make them your bed. You lay your head on the plushie pillow on Sylus’s lap, draping your blanket over your body.

Rafayel frowns. “Hey, how come I’m the only one with the short end of the stick?” Rafayel mutters, lightly tickling your feet, making you jolt.

You peek at Rafayel with a playful glare. “Don’t worry, Rafayel. I’ll be switching positions when we start watching another movie after this one,” you reply, getting comfortable.

About twenty minutes into the movie, you slowly start to doze off. There are many times when you try to force yourself to stay awake during the first few minutes of the movie. But the more the movie drags on, you can’t help but slowly fall asleep. You’re so comfortable: fresh out of the shower, wearing cozy pajamas, lying on top of Sylus, Caleb, Zayne, Xavier, and Rafayel’s lap with a blanket over you.

You don’t mind spending your vacation and sick days like this as long as you’re surrounded by the people who cherish you and care about you. Right when you succumb to your slumber, you feel someone press a kiss on your head, and more kisses soon follow after the first.

Note: I can't believe that this is my second fanfic for Love&Deepspace and the next fic is going to be smut 😭 One of my ideas for the smut was going to be based on the Tomorrow Catch-22 memories, but then that (the fic) ended up being the complete opposite of the event and the memories. So, I'm probably going to scrap that idea and come up with a new one for the upcoming smut-fic for my LADS series. If you're interested in joining my Discord server, the invite to my Discord server can be found [HERE]! The Discord server invite links will be different every time I post a new fanfic, and these links have expiration dates. It's a relatively chill server, which I like because the server nearly crashed when it was first created. Anyway, to all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr), Ko-Fi (Genshinluvr/Aaliah_exo), and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Read more of my works on my Grand Masterlist, which contains every masterlist I have created! Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories there, too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

#Love&Deepspace fanfiction #Love&Deepspace fanfic #Sylus x reader #Zayne x reader #Rafayel x reader #Xavier x reader #Caleb x reader #genshinluvr #Love and Deepspace fanfiction #Love and Deepspace fanfic

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ayukas · 2 months ago

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FOREVER

when lee haechan was fourteen, he thought he'd found forever in the fleeting moments of a summer spent with you. but forever isn't promised, and he can't seem to let go.

pairing lee haechan x fem!reader genre angst, summer love au, coming of age word count 1.4k notes ayukas stop writing for hyuck challenge FAILED... this has been in my drafts for a month loll lightly inspired by this tiktok! thank you for reading :D

HAECHAN REMEMBERS EVERYTHING.

the way the cicadas hummed in the july heat. the way your laughter would ring across the narrow streets of your hometown. the way your hand fit so naturally into his, as if it belonged there.

at fourteen, haechan felt limitless, as if happiness could be held in his hands forever.

but forever was never promised, and neither were you.

FOURTEEN

haechan met you on the first day of summer, in a town too small for secrets. he was the boy who never ran out of things to say, and you were the one who never got tired of listening.

"you're not from here, are you?" he asked that day, his eyes squinting against the sunlight, his honey skin glistening under the glow.

you shook your head. "just here for a while."

just here for a while. he had no idea those four words would permanently brand themselves onto his heart, a warning he should have heeded. but at fourteen, time seemed endless. summers stretched like golden highways, and saying goodbye was just a story older kids told.

you spent that summer together, consumed in the golden hours of childhood—stealing his older brother's popsicles from the fridge (sorry johnny), challenging each other to jump into the deep end of the river, and whispering about the future under a star-filled sky.

one evening, when the sun had set and the air smelled of dirt and fading warmth, you turned to him and said, "i think this is the happiest i've ever been."

haechan could only stare at you, sucking in a deep breath as a strange ache filled his chest. he didn't know why, but he wanted you to know that he felt the same—that every moment with you felt as if it should last forever.

but forever was always an unsteady promise.

the night before you left, the two of you sat by the river, your feet dipped into the water and the stars spread above you like spilled sugar.

"i'll write to you," you said.

he nodded, but he didn't believe it. he was reminded of the movies, where people always said things like that. they meant it in the moment, but moments didn't last forever.

the day you left, he ran after your dad's car, breathless and desperate, as if his pure determination could keep you from leaving. but wheels don't stop for fourteen year olds with broken hearts.

you waved at him through the window, but all haechan saw was the distance growing, stretching, and widening.

and just like that, you were gone.

FIFTEEN

the first letter arrived a week later.

it smelled like the pages of an old book, as if you'd spent hours hunched over it, your handwriting imprinted deep into the paper. you told him about your city, how it seemed too vast, too loud. you missed the cicadas, you wrote. you missed him.

he wrote back that night. told you about how nothing had changed here, except the fact that you were no longer here with him.

the letters continued, fluttering in and out of his hands. he read them at night, tracing the loops in your handwriting and imagining your voice in the ink.

but over time, the letters became fewer. shorter. until, eventually, they stopped altogether.

one night, he sat on his bed with one of your last letters pressed against his chest, trying to convince himself that perhaps you had just forgotten to write the next one. perhaps it was lost in the mail. you wouldn't just forget about him, would you?

but silence has a way of answering questions that no one dares to ask.

SIXTEEN

the bench where you used to sit was still there, but haechan never sat on it anymore. the convenience store where you spent too much money on slushies still sold your favourite flavour, but he never bought them anymore.

somewhere along the way, he realised he was keeping spaces open for you, in case you return.

but you never did.

he walked past the river one evening and noticed a couple laughing together, their fingers entwined and their faces glowing in the warm twilight. he quickly turned away, shoving his hands into his pockets, his chest tight with something he refused to name.

SEVENTEEN

haechan found himself talking to you, even though you weren't there.

"you'd love this song," he'd mumble, pulling his earphones off.

"you'd call me an idiot for doing this," he'd say, laughing to himself after stealing his brother's favourite leather jacket.

he wondered if, wherever you were, you ever talked to him too.

there were days when he thought he was moving on. and then there were days when he walked past his reflection and saw a fourteen year old boy staring back at him, waiting for someone who wouldn't return.

EIGHTEEN

haechan stopped looking for you in crowded places. stopped hoping that every unfamiliar face might be yours. but the ache in his chest just kept persisting.

it sunk deep into his bones, quiet and constant.

there was a girl who liked him. she laughed at all his jokes and reached for his hands when she thought he wasn't looking. he even let her kiss him once, under the soft glow of a streetlamp.

but when he closed his eyes, all he saw was you.

NINETEEN

haechan's brother often told him first loves never last. that they're just a spark, not a flame.

but what if he never let go of the match?

he didn't say it out loud, but the thought ran through his mind, endless and unrelenting.

on his birthday, he sat on his bed, staring at his phone with your facebook profile on it, half-expecting a message from you. he didn't know why he still hoped. perhaps, because he didn't know how to stop.

TWENTY

you return.

news spreads fast in a small town, but haechan doesn't believe it until he sees you standing there, right in front of him.

you look different, older. your hair is styled in a way he isn't used to. your voice had matured in ways it hadn't before. you're not the same fourteen year old who once held his hand so tightly.

but when you smile at him, even for just a moment, he forgets that you ever left him in the first place.

"hyuck..." you murmur, gasping, like you've seen a ghost. "it's been so long. i can't believe we haven't seen each other since we were fourteen..."

he blinks. his throat tightens. his heart stutters.

and then, almost inaudibly, he says,

"what do you mean? i've been stuck at fourteen."

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN A DREAM AND A MEMORY

haechan finds himself standing in a room that feels like a memory. his old bedroom, but not quite—there's something surreal about it, as though it exists somewhere between reality and a dream. the michael jackson posters on the wall, the messy desk, the slightly broken lamp that flickers every now and then—it's all there, the way it was when he was fourteen.

and sitting on the edge of the bed, his legs swinging idly, is a boy.

a boy with rounder cheeks, brighter eyes and an innocence haechan barely remembers having. a version of himself he hasn't seen in years.

"you're me," haechan says, his voice quiet, almost in disbelief as he stares at the younger boy.

the younger version of him grins, tilting his head slightly. "of course i am."

"why am i here?" haechan asks, his voice wavering slightly. it's not the question he wants to ask, but it's the only one that makes sense right now.

"you never left," his fourteen year old self replies calmly, studying him closely. "you don't want to."

haechan's chest tightens, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. the ache in his heart grows the longer he's in here, pressing against him from all directions. he wants to leave this place. he needs to leave. he needs to move on.

to move on as easily as you did, to forget everything and walk away without looking back. that's what haechan wishes he could do. but instead, he stands frozen in place, staring at his fourteen year old self, a sense of suffocation building in his chest.

and so, with a heaviness that fills the space between them, he finally cracks, his voice barely above a whisper, "help me."

"i've been stuck at fourteen. i don't know how to let go.

#haechan #haechan x reader #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #haechan x you #nct 127 x reader #donghyuck x reader #haechan imagines #haechan angst #haechan drabbles #nct imagines #nct dream imagines #nct 127 imagines #nct angst #nct dream angst #nct haechan #donghyuck x you #lee donghyuck

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uranometrias · 1 year ago

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✮ꜜ : ❛ now i see daylight : spencer reid x fem! reader

pairing: spencer reid x fem! reader

summary: three weeks have gone by since your last encounter with reid. you'd both been doing an exceptional job of pretending that the other didn't exist. you felt like it was only fair. he didn't have the right to talk to you any type of way, and you supposed in his mind, you didn't have the right to behave so jealously. three weeks of no ground being made, that is, of course, until a conversation with rossi helps to screw your head on straight

content warnings: love confessions. reader definitely has anxiety and a fear of romance/relationships, BUT she fights her fear! i also think it's fair to say that she views telling spencer about her feelings as facing her fear, regardless of his response! this is part two to 'guilt is a motherfucker'.... i'm so sorry it's taken forever, but i've actually preparing to enlist in the army && haven't had a lot of down time. i've got 10 drafts to prove it, but i tried my best to make this longer than part one, and i hope that you guys enjoy it.

Grow up.

Those words had haunted you for about three weeks. It'd been that long since the day you and Spencer had sort of... drifted apart. You refused to blame yourself, despite knowing full well this whole ordeal was majorly your fault. Okay, all of the blame very well rested on your shoulders, but you were stubborn. You'd been that way forever.

Maybe you were the childish, scared, and jealous little girl he'd accused you of being. That wasn't your job to figure out, because he had no business speaking to you that way. Who did he think he was? You could hit him right in his stupid little face. That last thought of violence seems to follow you.

Especially as you sat as your desk, leg bouncing furiously underneath as you counted the seconds until he was away from the kitchenette. Your cup of coffee was dwindling, and you still had a few more files to get through, before you'd give yourself room to slack off. You needed more caffeine, but the newfound thorn in your side was taking up space, using up all the sugar as he made his third cup of the day.

A more mature person might have questioned why you didn't just go up there anyway. He didn't own the kitchenette, and it wasn't like you had to say anything at all. It was meant to be cut-and-dry, you were both mature adults, you could interact as such. Except neither of you were quite as mature as you affronted. You could just picture the screwed up expression he'd offer you if you chose to approach.

You were certain your face was already twisted up, showing off your own annoyance, and he wasn't even near you.

You'd been berated by Derek, Emily, and Penelope over your petty streak, all three parties really driving in the point that you were behaving like a toddler throwing a tantrum. They had a point, but you also refused to accept any such criticism about your behavior. Partly, because you hated correction, and you didn't want to think about the possibility that all of your friends were on his side.

But you think most of your refusal to accept your part from any of them had a lot to do with the fact that they weren't the ones who'd been so callously humiliated, and they weren't the ones with feelings for someone who obviously knew, and was perfectly content flaunting such knowledge right in your face.

God, you could punt him like a football.

You needed to work on your insult creativity, these were starting to get repetitive. You shake all thoughts of assault out of your mind as Dave begins to approach your desk. Rossi wasn't stupid, he like everyone else had noticed the significant decline in attention passed between you, and Reid. But unlike the rowdier members of the team, he and JJ had elected to go the route of silent but deadly.

They'd cast the both of you disapproving looks when in rare form you'd allowed your spat to affect your job. Their clear disappointment in you exceptionally loud. Times like those were sparce, you really only ever objected obedience when Hotch insisted on partnering the both of you up. Which had luckily become much more rare in the last few weeks.

"Still pouting, angioletto?" he asks, and his ability to read right through you seems to make your pout deepen. "It's been three weeks, don't you think it's time to talk about it or move on?" he questions, and there's no judgement there. It's what you like the most about Rossi, he seemed to have fallen into the role of paternal figure incredibly well. He gave you the tough love that you often needed.

But he never disrespected your boundaries, he never went too far. He'd always say just enough to nudge you in the right direction.

"Maybe." you agree, and it's true. You know it's time to put this situation behind you in one way or another, but you refused to cave first. You didn't want to give Spencer the satisfaction of it, and once again you're made aware of just how petty you really were. "But I don't want to." you voice this thought to Dave, who offers an unamused expression. You narrow your eyes in his direction.

"He's the one that started it..." you exclaim your side for the umpteenth time. Rossi's expression doesn't morph, but there is a bit of disappointment swimming in his eyes. It makes you avert your gaze quickly, you could feel the first pinpricks of guilt slicing at you. "It's true." you insist. Rossi waves a tired hand at you, ushering you to proceed, and you find yourself grateful for the chance to vent.

Everyone else knew too much about the behind the scenes to let you get a word in edgewise. Rossi was basically a clean slate. "If he knew all along, what he thinks he knows..." you stop long enough to look towards the kitchenette. He's still there, which is a relief, you'd be pissed if somehow he managed to overhear this. "Then why would he come over here and flaunt it. Was he trying to rub it in?" you demand.

Silly you for thinking that Rossi would be any less on your ass than the rest of the team. He was David Rossi after all, one of the founders of the BAU, a smart man that could read you like a picture book. "You finished?" he asks, and your mouth parts. You weren't finished, but you don't tell him that, he looked like he was ready to lecture. You offer a curt nod, and he hums under his breath.

"What exactly were you expecting from him, Y/N?" he asks, and you blanche. You weren't expecting anything, you'd never expected anything from Spencer. "I mean just stick with me here... put yourself in his shoes for one second." he prompts, and you huff. Those were big shoes, probably uncomfortable. Still, you play along as you wait for Rossi to proceed. "Would you wait around for two years for someone to finally realize that they want to be with you?" he asks.

You hope that it's rhetorical, because the answer for you was probably a lot different than the one he was expecting. You also feel the urge to correct him, you didn't take two years to figure out you liked him, you'd known since your first day. Your issue was verbalizing it, because you cared about your bond. Spencer was nice, he was the sweetest person you'd ever met. You liked seeing him get excited about the things no one else seemed to care about. He was different.

He was your friend, and you had always admired him.

"I wasn't making him wait..." you voice the correction. "And I didn't need time to realize anything..." you trail off, and realization seems to set in for Rossi. He sighs deeply, head shaking as you continue on your tangent. "I liked him back when all the girls in the unit still looked at him like he was some freak, and I'm not saying it entitles me to anything... I'm the dummy for being a chicken, but he didn't have to be so mean." and you're certain that's the root of it all.

Your feelings were hurt.

"Ah, well haven't you heard? Boys are quite stupid." Rossi offers, and you think he only said it to get you to laugh. It works, because you do chuckle, and it makes Dave's shoulders relax just slightly. "Talk to him, Y/N." he presses, and you find yourself looking across the bullpen. "It's the right thing to do." and you know he's right. "And who knows, it might even wind up being for the best." he offers, and you blanch. You nod your head, and Rossi beams proudly.

"You're right." you agree audibly, and you're fidgeting in your chair.

"You are coming this Friday aren't you?" Rossi pries, and you've gone nonverbal, head nodding once more as he mimics your action. "See if you guys can't get this squared away before then, won't you?" he asks, and he's leaving you with a gentle pat on the shoulder. You stare after Rossi with a mixture of disdain and appreciation. Leave it to the old man to get you off your ass. Your eyes are drawn to Spencer as he draws closer, you know he's not coming to you.

It was a byproduct of your desk location, but it wouldn't hurt to use it to your advantage. When he's within earshot, you take the first step. "Spence?" you try, and you expect him to ignore you, to keep walking like the sassy bastard that he is, but he shocks you. He seems to mirror your feelings with his own surprised expression. "Can we talk?" you try, and it's the cliche thing... but you don't have it in you to be poetic. He stops abruptly, head nodding stiffly as he does so.

You feel like you need to stand up, having him stand over you feels too much like you're being cornered or something of the sort. He takes a small step back when you do so though, and the tension seems to only grow tenfold. You mask your disappointment in his retreat easily, instead standing up a bit straighter, sticking your chin out as you prepare to bite the bullet and be the bigger woman. It was utterly humiliating having to bring yourself back to Earth like this.

"Sure." he finally verbally answers your question, you take that as a cue to get on with it. Your patience for back and forth seemed almost as thin as his.

"Maybe it's three weeks too late..." you begin, and his eyebrows furrow. "And I know we've got this new rhythm of pretending we don't exist to each other," and his face betrays how wrong he finds that statement. His face pinches up like he's smelled something bad, and he wants to remind you that the only reason you hadn't spoken was because you hadn't had the guts to own up to the fact that you had feelings for him, but he digresses. He wasn't here to pick a fight.

"But, I'm sorry...." you spit the apology out and it feels hollow. You know you have to do better, so you proceed before he can shoot you a disapproving glance. "I really am." you insist, and despite the fact that you had only just begun to feel guilty about the whole thing in the last few minutes, you meant it. "I never should've acted like that, and I never should have let this go on for so long." you express.

Across the bullpen, Rossi, Penelope, Derek, and Emily are huddled up watching the exchange, not so discreetly. You're none the wiser to your growing audience, but Spencer sees them clearly. Not that they were really aiming for subtlety. "It's not my business what you do outside of work or who you do it with." and your nose curls, mostly because you want it to be your business. You want to be valid in your aggravation, more than that you wanted to be his. How annoying.

Your leg starts to shake just barely, and you look like you'll crumble to the ground at any moment. Spencer notices all of these ticks, and stores them into the part of his brain that's full of things specific to you. "So I'm sorry that I was being a jerk." you offer, and Spencer's face doesn't show any signs of whether or not he believed you, so you continue. "I'm happy for you." you clear your throat, and feel embarrassment setting in.

"Thanks, Y/N." his head tips to the right as he appraises you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes you in. It's not a menacing sort of glance. He seemed to be waiting for something else, you weren't sure what more could be put into your apology, there was no way you were about to give an outright confession, that'd be humiliating. Instead, you avert your gaze, and it seems to be enough of an answer to whatever internal question he had. "That actually means a lot."

You don't smile, mostly because you're not sure what the actually means, he seems to notice the way your expression changes just slightly, and he's quick to correct himself.

"I just mean that your approval does mean a lot to me." he says, and you relax. You can't quite beam, you're still not up for it, but you offer a small smile, one that could count more as a grimace than anything else, but you weren't in the headspace to monitor your facial expressions. You were growing bothered all over again, and you had to do everything in your power to ensure that this time things didn't end with another three-week break between you and Spencer.

"Really?"

Spencer's nose curls now, he's an expressive guy. His facials said a lot more than his words could at times, and you note that this particular expressions reads somewhere between confused and surprised. Those were almost synonyms in the grand scheme of things, right? "Is that a real question?" Spencer asks, and despite the tension that hung over you at the start of the conversation, with this question you witness the way his guard drops. It was liberating in a way.

"I asked it didn't I?" you quip, but there's no real bite behind your words. Spencer seems to note this, lips pressing together firmly.

"You're important to me." he promises, and you hate that his first reaction is to validate you. Your anxiety-riddled mind would convince you that he secretly thought you were fishing for praise, which was the farthest thing from the truth. Still, you love Spencer, platonically and otherwise, and you're certain that's why you're mimicking his words back to him so quickly.

"You're important to me too."

He takes a second to stare at you, and you stare right back. You're careful not to show any signs of timidity or awkwardness, things were finally starting to look up. "I..." he begins, and you stay silent to allow him the time he needs to get whatever was on his chest off. "I'm sorry." he says, and you're surprised. It was the last thing you'd expected from this conversation, you're certain your surprise is evident plain as day on your face.

"Yeah?" you feel it's only fair to press him onward.

"Jealous little girl." he cringes as he repeats it, and you wince because it still hurts. "That was-" he shakes his head. "It was out of line. Plain and simple, I guess I was just a little frustrated, but that's not your fault. It wasn't fair of me to come at you in that way." he begins to ramble. "I wouldn't want you to feel... mocked or belittled by me." and you blink. Mostly because that was exactly how you had felt, but how did he know. It's then that you finally feel the beady-eyed stares.

You look over your shoulder just in time to witness the group dispersing, Penelope grasping a file in her hand as she scurried in the opposite direction. Derek picking up a file folder, and Emily focusing all her attention on the drink sloshing around her mug. You really hate profilers, this is the loudest thought in your head as you turn back to Spencer. "It doesn't matter if I felt justified then, or even if I feel justified about it now." and it makes you snort.

Classic Spence.

"D-Do you forgive me? Are we okay?" he asks, and his voice has grown a bit fainter. If you listen hard enough you hear the echoes of the Spencer you first met. Even with all his strides, and the confidence he gained, there was still that small part of him that felt like the nerdy boy that everyone overlooked. The one that talked too much, and was constantly silenced with looks or snide remarks whenever he rambled for too long about some niche subject.

You think this train of thought is what gets you to see Rossi's point of view. And who were you to get in the way of someone who clearly was ready for someone as amazing as Spencer. You didn't know much about the woman, aside from the fact that she was constantly making coffee, and staring at Spencer. You didn't know how long she'd worked at the bureau, you didn't even know her name, but you knew that she was brave. She knew what she wanted and got it.

Unlike you.

You suppose 'snooze you lose' is your burden to carry from this ordeal. At least you'd gotten your friend back though. And that was enough, it could be anyway. You nod your head at his question, offering a half smile. "We're okay, Spence." you promise, and he seems relieved. His smile is one of those rare ones, the gorgeous kind that Spencer reserved for special occasions. He then visibly and audibly lets out a quiet sound of relief, and it makes you relax.

"Hey, Spence, can I get your help?" JJ is calling, and your pulled from your bubble. The world is still spinning, there's still work to do, pressing matters that needed your attention. You felt a little lighter, offering another half smile as he offers you a sheepish glance. He's heading towards JJ as you sit back down at your desk. Your leg bounces despite the perceived 'win'. It only takes you a moment to wonder why, reality sets in, and you realize your shortcomings.

You'd failed the test twice.

Twice you'd had the chance to be the most open and honest with Spencer, only to let your nerves or fear of rejection get in the way. The jealousy is gone now though, instead replaced with a brief feeling of self-aggravation. You hear Dave's stern voice in your head. 'Talk to him, Y/N.' and you frown. Hadn't that been what you'd done? You'd talked to him, so why did you still feel so bummed.

Why don't you just talk to the guy? Look him in the eye and tell him straight up how you're feeling? Derek's question from three weeks prior slaps you like a ton of bricks. You supposed that was the end goal, wasn't it? The only way to relieve yourself of all this anxiety and all the big feelings you were having a hard time digesting. You're back to pouting, mostly because you've got no idea where to start.

You pick up one of your files, and flip it open, hoping to bury yourself in work. Every time your mind tried to stray to Spencer or your feelings, you'd switch files, until all twenty-five on your desk had a dent in them. Your hand was cramped, and you know that soon enough you'll need a cup of coffee. Emily approaches your desk, hands centered as she leans forward, eyes right on you.

"So how did it go?" she asks, and you cut your eyes at her. "Tension's all gone, so it must have gone well, right?" she's grinning down at you. "I told you if you told him the truth, you'd have nothing to worry about." Emily proceeds, and you're shaking your head back and forth.

"Emily... Emily, no!" you exclaim, and her smile drops.

"No? What do you mean, no?" she demands as you exhale.

"I still haven't told him, and I'd really appreciate it, if you'd lower your voice." you hiss as she pouts. "Maybe it's just not supposed to be." you shrug, and Emily looks visibly disgruntled with your thoughts. "I'm just saying... we're okay, because we apologized." you explain. "I don't want to risk making it awkward again, because I think I have feelings." and now you're being purposely dismissive.

"Oh, so now you're not sure?" Emily questions, and then she's clicking her tongue against her teeth. "No. I don't buy that." she denies, and she's stern, but discrete. "Don't do this, Y/N. Don't be that girl." she pleads. "There's nothing worse than regret. It eats at you until there's nothing left, you don't want to look back, and think 'what if!'" and that's twice you're hearing something of the sort. Wasn't there some quote about hearing important things twice? You're not sure.

"If you like him-" she pauses, head still shaking from side to side. "If you love him... like it seems, you owe it to yourself to tell him. What's the worst thing that could happen?" she questions, and you scoff. "No, realistically." she insists. "Realistically tell me what the worst thing could be? And not from that place where your irrational fears sit." she deadpans, and you feel attacked, it makes you look away.

"In the two years of you knowing Reid, do you actually think that he's the kind of guy to break you down to nothing if he doesn't feel the same?" she asks, and the answer when presented to you like this is no. "So tell me what it is that you're really scared of?" she presses, and you don't understand why everyone's so worked up over this. Why the whole unit seemed to be invested in you expressing your feelings.

"I don't want to mess it up..." you shrug your shoulders. "I don't want to make it weird." you offer, and Emily's unmoved by your answer.

"You managed to do that without saying a thing." she retorts, and you feel like you've got no room to speak, no voice to rebuttal with. "Let me be your shrink for a second." Emily is your friend for moments like these, where her clear allegiance to you shines through. "Talk to me." she prompts.

"Why are you so invested in this?" you inquire. "Why does it even matter?" you huff.

"Because it matters to you." she answers. "What? You didn't know that's how this team works?" she asks, and you huff out a puff of air through your nose. "This isn't about us playing matchmaker... it's about you realizing that you've got a few bad beliefs about romance... and friendships.... and relationships that are going to keep you all by yourself if you don't start speaking your mind." she shrugs.

"And despite the way you curl into yourself back here at your desk, we both know you don't really want to be alone." and you think you might cry, it makes you wince. "You owe it to yourself to try, but ultimately the decision is all yours. I just think you'll feel better if you take Reid aside, and tell him the truth about how you feel." she seems done, and you don't know how to respond. Emily pats your shoulder as she rounds your desk, before heading back across the unit.

You really hate profilers.

By the time you're heading home for the night, you and Spencer hadn't spoken again. You'd been so buried in work that you'd skipped lunch to get things done. You'd gotten a comment from Hotch about that, wondering if you were feeling alright. You knew that he knew the truth, even as you told him a fib. Hotch though, was discrete enough not to make you feel scrutinized by exposing just how obvious you were. You couldn't get Emily's words out of your head.

You didn't feel angry with her, and your embarrassment had managed to go away within the first forty minutes after she'd left you alone. You knew she was right, but it still didn't make things easier. It was almost like you forgot how to speak whenever the time came to really express yourself. You supposed that was why your apology had been so flat. Feelings weren't your strong suit, and you'd learned to express them by lashing out. A less than healthy way to live.

You liked that the team didn't speak to you like a child or treat you like you were incapable. Instead, they talked to you like an adult, gave the truth to you in a way that sliced through all your stubbornness and attitude. As you head towards the elevator, you hear footsteps, and look just in time to see Spencer making his way towards you. His satchel hangs off his shoulder, and he looks relieved, an emotion that you knew all too well by the end of a work shift.

You hoped there wouldn't be any cases that drug you back to the unit, all you wanted was a shower and a nap in your own bed.

Stepping into the elevator, Spencer trails you. He takes one side of the elevator, while you huddle up in the other. He offers you a tired smile as the doors slide closed, you offer him a smile right back. It's weary, mostly because you were drained, but partly, because Spencer had been the object of your thoughts the entire day. Especially after Emily's blunt speech. You were drained. The anxiety of keeping the secret far outweighed any fear of rejection now.

"Hey, are you alright?" he addresses you, after noticing the way you seemed lost in your head.

"Hmm?" you hum, and he repeats himself. It snaps you out of your mind spiral, and your head nods. A lie. "I'm all good, Spence." you reply, and he looks disappointed, but not surprised. "Thanks for asking though." you add a second after, and he offers you a dry little nod of his head. The elevator is back silent, and you hope the doors open quick. You might drown if the tension grew any thicker.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." he says, and you blank. Your confusion is clear as day on your face. "Earlier..." and your still not understanding. "I wasn't telling you that you were important to me, because I was expecting anything in return." he explains, and it clicks. "If it made you feel weird, I'm sorry. It just felt like the right way to express my point then." he proceeds, and you don't know how to collect yourself. "So, I'm sorry." and you want to scream.

Mostly at yourself for being so infuriatingly inadequate at expressing your thoughts and feelings.

"If you want, we could just pretend I never said anything?" he offers, and you don't answer quick enough. The elevator slides open just as the words are settling inside your head, and he's stepping out into the parking deck without another word. You sit there in the elevator for a moment, the door sliding shut after a moment, but you don't move. You feel like you're at a crossroads, almost at a point of no return. If you let Spencer leave now... like this, there would be no coming back.

There would be no room to gain some balls later, and try again. It wouldn't be fair to him. It wouldn't be fair to yourself.

You feel like hyperventilating, thoughts everywhere. Love had never been a subject you really understood. You'd always sort of saw it as this concrete construct. Unchangeable, always either black or white. A gloomy, gray, existence that could cut you up and spit you out. Love could turn you into a hollow version of who you once were. Love could break you down, and make you nothing. But then you think of your team. JJ and Penelope, Hotch, Dave, Emily, Derek. Spencer.

They were the rarest and purest examples of love in your day-to-day life, weren't they? You'd never quite met anyone who had your back more than your team. They fought for you, they fought with you. They believed in you, pushed you to be the best you that you could be. So why was it so hard, what were you scared of? Was it the notion of getting Spencer, and staining him? Blowing out that light inside him the way you'd witnessed for so long?

Was that a life worth living? Was it a chance you could take?

And then you huff, because damnit... you were tired of waiting. You were tired of anxiety, and uncertainty, and insecurity, and pain. You're certain that is why you hit the button to open the elevator. Gracefulness is not on your side as you practically sprint out into the car park, your eyes scanning hopefully for the familiar silhouette of your friend. When you spot him, you release a quiet noise of relief. "S-Spencer!" you hear the echo from your shout, and cringe.

But it doesn't matter, because he turns, he stops, and he's looking at you. His eyebrows are raised, hands gripping his bag, as you start to run. You ignore your fatigue, and your desire to run and hide, and instead run towards something for once. You don't stop running until you're past the point of 'personal space', you want to hover, you want to be in his space, because it was the only way you could possibly get through this. He looks a bit unsure, and still a bit grumpy.

You hope by the end of this that's no longer the case.

"Spencer, I don't want to forget about what you said." you're trying to catch your breath, bouncing up on your heels. "I don't want to pretend you never said it." you add, and Spencer's surprised expression has the hairs on your arm and neck ready to stand on end. "I-I actually want to know what you meant." you admit. "Because, I know what I meant when I said it... and it's not something that I take back." you express, and you can hear blood rushing in your ears.

"What did you mean?" Spencer asks, and you blanche.

"I asked you first." the obvious retort, and Spencer exhales loudly, but there's no annoyance, no exasperation. Only amusement, like always.

"I've done enough talking, haven't I?" he asks. "I want to know what you're thinking." and his voice is so soft, full of tenderness that you feel like you're being serenaded. You feel like you've got a knot in your throat also, almost like you'll suffocate if you don't get your thoughts out. "I promise I won't leave you hanging." and you're not sure what he means by that, but it helps. It makes your heart stutter-step, and you need to catch your breath, because you can't believe this is actually happening, or that you're actually here.

"I-" you play withy your fingers, and you have to inhale deeply to ensure you don't chicken out. "Spence, I didn't tell you that you were important to me, because you said it first." you promise, and he nods, but he doesn't say anything. His eyes are syrupy, alluring, and beautiful, still twinkling under the dingy, flickering lights of the parking deck. "I said it because you're all I really think about." you admit, and his eyebrows furrow, and you're scared.

"And the last three weeks... I've been so mad at you." you blurt out. "I was the one that acted like a child, but I was angry with you, because I thought that you were making fun of me... and all the feelings I have for you." you exhale, and you look down at the ground, because the nerves that come with your words are overwhelming. "I was jealous, I acted like a child, but it was only because I thought you were rubbing it in my face... I thought you were being cruel."

Spencer's long lashes blink rapidly, but he's still stone silent. Probably because he knows that you're still not done. "And that wasn't fair of me, because I know you, Spence. You're not that type of person, but I just I couldn't reign myself in, and I acted immaturely because I was scared... and then just now, in the elevator... I almost did it again. I almost let you think that I don't care about you... but I do. Spencer, I have feelings for you." and you clear your throat, legs shaking.

"I'm in love with you, and I'm not... this isn't some trick or ploy or cry for help. I understand if you're mind is elsewhere... and I'm so sorry if the way I've been acting ruined everything, but I-I love you okay? That's what this has all been about. I'm sorry it took me so long to say something, but there it is." and you gasp, chest heaving now that you were finished. You finally look up at Spencer again, and he's staring you down. It doesn't feel hypersexual or heady with tension.

Instead, it's like the first intake of air into your lungs after being under water for so long. You supposed that's what the truth did, you supposed that's what your feelings for Spencer did when you allowed them to exist. "You mean that?" he asks, and you huff.

"Of course, I mean it. I mean it so much, I think I'm going to be sick." and despite himself he laughs, a bright beam following after it. He takes a small step towards you, and you feel crowded, the body heat from you both warming you up from the inside out. Still, despite how outwardly calm he looked in comparison to you, you managed to spot the shyness, the anxiety that rested in his own eyes. He looked unsure, almost like he was being careful not to ruin the moment.

"Do you know how long I've been wanting to hear you say that?" he asks, and you're shocked, stuck, surprised. You don't know if this is in your mind or if you just got lucky. "Have you ever-" he's got this gleeful look on his face. "There's this quote by Lao Tzu..." he stammers, "Love is of all passions the strongest, for it attacks simultaneously the head, the heart, and the senses." he quotes, and there are no butterflies... you think that might be a good thing.

"I don't know if there's been a time since I met you that you haven't been on my mind." Spencer explains, and there it is. "I think that's why I snapped the way I did, I don't think I ever imagined a scenario where we'd be here." he admits, and it pains you to know that he thought that way. "It was-" he motions between you both. "The thought of us being something was sort of just something I believed would always sort of just be a thought." Spencer's glowing red.

The blush coats his ears, cheeks, nose, and neck. His eyes are brighter, and his hands twitch at his side, almost like he's restraining himself. You think you only notice, because you're doing the same.

"I want to be with you." he says this so faintly you're almost unsure you heard him correctly. Your eyes widen, and your surprise is obvious. He takes a small step forward, and he's crowding you. It's nothing like the movies, in fact, the closer he gets to you, the more you're able to see the shyness in his eyes. He reaches out, and his hand ghosts over your side.

"Spence-" and the you that you were just an hour earlier, the one too scared to tell him the truth almost feels like she never even existed.

"Can I?" he asks, and your eyes drift to his hands that are inching closer to your body. You nod your head quickly, and he doesn't look amused. "I want to hear you." he says quietly. "I want you to tell me that I can." he adds, and you find yourself nodding anyway.

"Y-You can." you promise. "But I don't want you to pretend." his eyebrows furrow again. "Please don't do this if you don't mean it." you say, and Spencer's hands drop to your side, there's no wandering fingers, in fact it feels like he wanted to touch you for the sole purpose of keeping you from shaking any longer.

"Y/N, I want to be with you." he repeats it more firmly this time, and he's looking directly at you. It's intense, the eye contact more than anything else. He sounds sincere, and that makes you nervous.

"But what about..." and you trail off, because you don't know what to label the pretty woman he'd been entertaining. Spencer chuckles quietly, and his head shakes from side to side.

"She was nice." he reiterates the words he'd said three weeks prior. "But, she's not you... I don't think anyone would've been able to fill your shoes." he says, and you squeeze your eyes closed, because God, Spencer was so good with words. His hands are on your face, brushing at your cheeks as you shed a few long overdue tears. "Are these happy tears?" he asks hopefully, and your eyes shoot open. Your head nods, and you're not sure why you're so quiet.

Maybe, because life had thrown a curveball and surprised you in a good way. "Happy tears." you agree, and he presses his lips together, thumbs still working to keep the tears at bay. "I just can't believe-"

"Please do." he cuts you off, before you can get it out. "Believe this, believe me." he almost begs, and you hum. "Can I kiss you?" he asks, and you don't answer him, instead you surge forward and press your lips to his. You're certain security is getting a full view of the action, Spencer kisses like he wants to inhale you, and it's nice.. It's more than nice, his kisses are surged with emotion, every ounce of affection that his words had been drenched in was felt in the kiss.

Had breathing not been a factor, you might have stayed there. When you pull back to inhale, Spencer's got this twinkle in his eye that makes your nose scrunch up. "What?" you press, and he grins at you.

"You love me..." he breathes it out, and you're not sure if he's stating it or asking, but you suppose now that the cat's out of the bag, saying it again is nothing.

"Yeah. I love you, Spence." you promise, and he's quick to lean in and peck you on the lips. "D'you love me too?" you ask, once he's pulled back, and his hands move up, cupping both sides of your face as he drags his thumbs up and down.

"I love you." and it sounds like a promise.

So you believe him.

"It’s a profoundly strange feeling, to stumble across someone whose desires are shaped so closely to your own, like reaching toward your reflection in a mirror and finding warm flesh under your fingertips. If you should ever be lucky enough to find that magical, fearful symmetry, I hope you’re brave enough to grab it with both hands and not let go.” ― Alix E. Harrow

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader smut

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misshuntereevee · 4 months ago

Note

This had been in my draft since forever. I'm gonna put it here, if you have a better idea of how to write this story, please go ahead! If not, feel free to toss it.

Zayne x mc. His pov when he had to move away and study to become a doctor and finally seeing mc again when he becomes her primary physician. Bc i feel like he had a crush on her when they were kids. And in the story mc said she finally meets her childhood friend after she met her primary physician or something like that

Thank you in advance! <3

₊˚｡ ❆ ⋆⁺₊❅. & isn't it just so pretty to think; all along there was some invisible string tying you to me? i fucking love this prompt thank you! �� i hope this is okay, i did make it a continuation of that one zayne memory where he gives her an ice seal.

prompts open.

The second he saw you again, he knew he couldn't lie to himself any longer. Time, he had figured, would ease his crush on you. His attraction to his childhood friend.

But the second you stand in front of him with that adorable smile, a little tooth poking out, he knew he was screwed. You were not textbook. In fact, you were everything but textbook. And that's what Zayne was used to. Zayne liked order. Zayne liked playing by the rules. Because the rules are there to protect you...right?

But it's addictive. Even if he'd tried to imagine how you'd look now, he'd never come close to the perfection you are now to him. How you laugh, how your nose and eyes crinkle when you do. And the color of your eyes. He's sure a million artists could try, and never replicate the exact shade of your hue. Lips so kissable... So when you join him at lunch because he's the only one with room at his table -- he's too shocked to say much. You're here. Not only are you here, but you remember him!

You're giggling as you recount the story of him giving you a snowball at you at the seal exhibit. Back then, you thought he'd been teasing you by making a sculpture of the snowball the seals had just thrown at you. He'd made it out of his Evol and you still have it.

He doesn't widen his eyes or respond physically, but he's not sure whether to laugh or cry at the fact you didn't realize it was supposed to be a seal. It was supposed to be cute and impress you. But you thought it was a snowball! And thought he was making fun of you!

Finally, he closes his eyes, shaking his head with a laugh. You finish the rest of your meal together, and you aren't sure why he keeps giving you a look that is on the verge of smile -- but holds back. When the meal is finally over, he offers to walk you to the cab.

Outside, he's mesmerized by you. Suddenly embolden, he realizes he can't let you think he was making fun of you any longer. He needs to show you what it was supposed to be.

"Can I show you something? Stick your hand out."

You furrow a brow at him, but you trust him. You stick your hand out, palm up. He places his hands over it in a dome...and then you feel it. Icy tendrils on your palm. But besides being cool to the touch, they don't hurt. That's intentional.

When he pulls his hand back, an ice seal sits in the palm of your hand and you beam at it. "Something to put next to the snowball you gave me? That's so sweet!"

He mutters something, but you don't quite hear him. You lean in closer, a hand resting on his forearm casually. (Casually to you, but his heart is racing in his chest. He's a cardiologist and even he's concerned about the effect you have on his heart.)

"What was that?" You ask him, leaning in.

He's going to have a heart attack. With a exhale, he repeats it: "You can throw the last one away. It's..."

He pauses, his eyes closing. "Just... this one is better."

And as he walks away, leaving you at your cab, you smile down at it -- and then realize. It's better... because it's what it's supposed to be this time. Your mouth is almost on the floor. He was trying to make something cute all those years ago...

But as you continue to grin down at the new seal, you know you're never throwing out the first one, even if he probably wants you too. No, because you have a feeling... something started right now.

And as he heads home, he also thinks about how happy he is to have a reason to see you again, even if it was just to correct that past mistake.. he should have never given her that snowball-looking seal. But looking out the window, he realizes... maybe the snowball made sure you didn't forget him.

Maybe he's grateful for the ugly thing.

#doctor zayne #zayne x reader #lads fanfiction #lads fanfic #dr zayne #l&ds zayne #lads zayne #lnds zayne #love and deep space zayne #zayne and mc #zayne fluff #zayne love and deepspace #zayne imagines #zayne x mc #zayne

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cowboyellies · 2 years ago

Text

- Bad Habit | e.w.

were you not not too good for me, my dear?

funny you comeback to me my dear

PART TWO OF "You're Not Good enough"

pairing: college player!ellie x fem college!reader

warnings/themes: angst!!!, ellie is v emotionally unavailable (my type <3), she's a teensy bit manipulative, reader mentions past toxic relationship, slight mention of ellie's past trauma, lots of jealousy, small amount of abby x reader (sorry abby), reader is kind of stupid (just like me fr), slight mentions of violence, small amount of smut (just a heavy make out)

word count: 3.8k

synopsis: you finally end things with ellie and months later you couldn't feel any better. ellie on the other hand is losing her mind without you. when she sees you at a club one night on a date with another girl, she's determined to get you back no matter what cost.

a/n: I didn't originally plan on making a part two but a few people asked so here it is! I hope you enjoy (below I'm tagging everyone who asked for a part 2)

🏷 🏷 🏷: @shortcake22341 @harrysslutsstuff @robinismywifee @gizzzi

you and ellie hooked up three more times before you finally called it quits. for real this time. seriously. you blocked her on all platforms and even started avoiding spaces you knew you would see her at.

the final straw this time for you was the fact that the third time you were hooking up she got a text from another girl during, and she answered it. once she finished sending her text back she rolled over to resume eating you out but you were already grabbing your shit and bolting for the door. that wasn’t the first time ellie williams had humiliated you but you made a promise to yourself that it would be the last.

now it was two months later, the longest you’d gone without seeing her in about a year. you no longer thought of her, for the most part. there were times where you longed to unblock her number and go crawling back. but you didn’t. you finally felt actually single for the first time in forever and it was exhilarating. you now could do whatever you wanted, hook up with whoever you wanted without feeling the weird guilt and shame ellie left you with every time you’d walk out of her apartment. and now that your spring term had ended you were most certainly using this freedom to your advantage.

ellie on the other hand was losing her shit. the night she fucked up again was actually a misunderstanding this time. yes, she did receive a text to hook up while you were fucking each other. and yes she did answer it. but it was only to tell the girl to fuck off. she tried to explain that to you but you had already slammed the door in her face before she could get the words out.

she had tried everything she could think of how to get you to talk to her, even stooping so low as to show up at your door, begging for you to open up. this actually might have worked on you if she hadn’t gotten your apartment number wrong. you two spent most of your time together at her place so she ended up scaring the living shit out of your elderly neighbor mrs. flenderson when she showed up knocking on her door at one a.m. drunk.

now all she could do was sit alone with her feelings which she hated. she hated knowing she cared about you and all this time apart was just giving her more time to think about it, so much so she even began fantasizing how she would confess her feelings for you. she drafted long speeches in her head for different ways she’d make you hear her out.

when the opportunity to actually confess arrives, things don’t go as smoothly as they do in her imagined scenarios.

the night you two finally see each other again you happen to be on a second date. the first second date you’ve been on since you started seeing people again. you had become accustomed to your one night stands but something about this girl drew you in. abby and you had met through a mutual friend and you actually got along really well. she’s funny, kind, doesn’t seem to share the same emotional incapabilities as your exes, and she’s pretty fucking hot.

your night starts out amazing, she brings you to a club where she happens to know the owner, getting you past the entrance right away and straight to the bar, where she showers you in free drinks and many, many compliments. you flirt and laugh and blush like you haven’t in a while and you realize what you really want to do is dance. as you’re on your way to the floor, that's when you see her.

ellie’s at the entrance of the club with her two friends you vaguely know, dina and jesse. you stare at her for a few moments, taking in the features you had tried so desperately to brush from your memory. her auburn hair is shorter and you can tell from the rolled up sleeves of her black button up that she got more detailing done on her tattoo. her head starts to turn towards your direction so you suddenly switch positions with abby, moving so if ellie looks your way she’d only see your back.

“is everything okay?” abby asks, leaning down towards your ear so you could hear her over the loud music. you nod and try to continue dancing as if nothing is bothering you, which is hard to do considering that you suddenly feel the urge to vomit. abby doesn’t seem convinced so she pulls you off to the side of the dance floor, luckily away from where ellie had gone to sit with her friends. “are you sure you’re alright, you look a little green,”

“yeah I’m fine!!” you insist, trying not to give ellie the power to ruin your night like you’d done many times before. “I think I’m just a little lightheaded,” you say, hoping it’ll make her drop it.

“oh shit, let's go to the bar and get you some water,” she replies, frowning in concern, grabbing your hand to lead you back there.

“no!” you suddenly shout, knowing that’s where ellie’s sitting. “no um- I just really like this part of the club! do you think you could just bring some for me over here?” you ask, even though the “area of the club” you’re referencing is just a dark corner near the bathroom next to a trashcan.

abby looks at you questionably but eventually turns and does what you ask, probably figuring you definitely need it now. once she’s gone you start plotting how you can make your escape from here without ellie seeing, hopefully not further ruining your date. you know you’re being immature and that grown ups don’t hide in corners from their exes, but you’re pretty tipsy and you never claimed to be a grown up.

a minute after abby leaves you see dina and jesse make their way to the dance floor. before you can even think to conceal yourself, dina makes eye contact with you and you notice her eyes widen in recognition, which makes you realize ellie had definitely told her something about your breakup. while that made you go into further panic it also made you pause. when you first met dina it was when you and ellie had run into her at a coffee shop the morning after one of your sleepovers. ellie had introduced you to her as “a friend” even though you’d been hooking up for four months at that point. if ellie had gone from that to now confiding in dina about your messy break, it made you think about how much your split had actually affected her.

as you see dina move to go and tell ellie about you lurking in the shadows, abby starts to walk back in your direction, glass of water in hand. now you’re screwed. there’s no way you can convince abby to leave before ellie comes to find you.

while you’re being overcome with sudden doom, ellie from the other side of the room feels her heartbeat pick up in a way it hasn’t in months. as soon as dina had muttered your name she jolted out of her seat. now as she makes her way over to you, confident to win you back, she notices something dina hadn’t mentioned, her.

abby stands next to you brushing a hair behind your ear, gently stroking your shoulder as you down the glass of water she brought you. ellie feels a sudden rage flow through her whole body. just when she thinks she’s getting you back she sees you with another girl. this is different than with the couch girl from the party who was just gonna be a random fuck, she can tell from your body language you’re already getting comfortable with her beyond that. she stops suddenly a few feet in front of you, causing you to choke a little on your water.

as you’re now standing face to face with ellie you notice that familiar jealousy plastered all over her face. as much as you know you have nothing to be guilty about, you can’t help but start to sweat a little as she resembles the look of a rageful girlfriend. you realize that’s exactly what abby might think she is as you look up to see her shocked expression. just as you’re about to explain, ellie beats you to it.

“can I talk to you?” she asks, more of a command than an actual question.

“no!” you shout back over the music, hoping that will send her away but knowing from past experience it won’t.

“who is thi-” abby starts before she’s cut off

“I’m ellie. who the fuck are you?” she yells, turning her direct attention to abby for the first time.

“her date, who the fuck are you? are you two-”

“NO!” you yell, wishing you had opted for the dinner and a movie date you previously discussed. “let’s just go!” you yell, at this point you weren’t even focused on salvaging your date but instead on getting the fuck out of there.

“I need to fucking talk to you please,” ellie begs stepping in front of you, this is different than the last time at the party, you’ve never heard her voice sound so desperate.

“she said no, back the fuck up,” abby shouts, pushing ellie a little on her shoulder. before you can say anything, that small little push turns into ellie flinging her fist into abby’s jaw. you knew she had a temper but have never seen her actually fight someone until now. the two of them begin full on fighting and instead of doing the honorable thing and trying to pull them off of each other, you simply leave. you know doing this pretty much guarantees no third date with abby but you can’t really find it in yourself to care. you’re so over with this night and the constant shit show that is your love life so you find yourself just exiting the club.

they don’t notice you’re gone until a few minutes after, around the same time the security begins showing up to pull the two of them apart. before they can restrain ellie she makes a break for it, bolting after you towards the door.

she finds you a few blocks away sitting on the curb waiting for an uber. you notice her shadow looming over you and you turn your head up to face her, groaning once you see her bruised face.

“ellie you’ve done enough, can you just please leave me alone,” you plead, the weight of the night’s events finally starting to hit you, making you feel exhausted.

“i’m sorry, I can’t,” she replies, lowering her body to the curb next to you. you look at her confused for a few moments, realizing that’s the first time you’ve ever heard her use the words “I’m sorry”

“why?” your voice cracks and your eyes starting to brim with tears on impulse. you aren’t sure exactly why you’re crying but it’s making you feel small and stupid.

“you know why,” she replies, unable to give anymore. after all this time she spent building speeches, she still found herself scared to say the actual words.

“no, I don’t ellie. I have no idea why you treat me like this,” you reply, the tears beginning to spill on your cheeks. “I don’t know why you act as if you don’t give a shit about me but still can’t let me go, you never fucking tell me why,”

her heart is racing now. she knows if she doesn’t say the right thing she’ll lose you for real. this is the last moment she can avoid her feelings or she’ll crush yours once and for all.

“It’s because I-” she starts at barely a whisper, her eyes beginning to water. “its because I fucking care about you!” now she’s almost yelling, the words escaping her mouth like a sob. “and I haven’t felt this way in a long time and it fucking terrifies me,” you look down at her hands and notice they’re shaking. you want so badly to hold her but a part of you stays restrained, knowing after everything she’s put you through you can’t just grant her forgiveness that easily.

“you don’t think I’m terrified too? ellie it took me a long time to get over my ex and you know that. but I didn’t dump you on your fucking ass the second I started to get feelings for you. and I certainly didn’t text another girl in the middle of us fucking!” the memory of that night starts to overcome your sympathy for her, replacing it with anger instead

“I texted her back to tell her not to message me again, and I tried to explain that to you and you wouldn’t let me. I know i fucked up and had shitty timing but you have to believe that I would never hurt you like that,” she was fully pleading now. you had never seen her so much as shed a tear and now here she is baring her soul.

“ellie, you know I want to trust that but why should I? you’ve done nothing but give me reasons to believe otherwise,” you’re sobbing now too, your face turned towards the pavement in front of you watching your tears drip on the floor. you feel her fingers gently pull your chin upwards to look at her again, you notice a complete sense of somberness in her eyes now, this could possibly be the last thing she’d ever say to you.

“I know you don’t have any reason to believe me but you have to know that I…” she pauses for a moment to collect herself. the three words on the tip of her tongue were something she hadn’t said out loud in over five years. “I love you. okay? and I know I have a shitty way of showing it but I do,”

out of everything she could have said to you that was the last thing you were expecting. you had known for a while that ellie had rejected that feeling because of something that had happened in her childhood which she never could fully tell you about, and you weren’t sure if she was even capable of it anymore. it’s at that moment where you know for certain she’s not just saying all this to get you in her bed.

you’re truly looking at her now, the two of you facing each other with tearfilled eyes not able to say anything. this is when ellie finally breaks out the material in her fantasy speeches. “I love how you look when you’re sleeping, you get this cute half smile on your face when you’re having a good dream. and I love how obsessed you are with pickles, even though you refuse to eat a cucumber which I have explained to you many times is what pickles are made out of-”

“they’re not the same and you know it,” you interrupt through your tears. you had always wanted a big love confession like the one she was giving you, filled with specific facts and details, you said so while watching when harry met sally after one of your first hookups, you were shocked she remembered.

“I love how you never let me finish my sentences,” she replies with a smirk, her cockiness beginning to return after the intense few minutes of vulnerability. “I love how you do that thing with your lips when you’re cum-”

“okay you’re done now,” you stop her, a blush beginning to take over your face. you were starting to forget that at the beginning of the night you hated her guts and were likely going home with another woman.

“are you sure? I have a lot more,” she teases, you know the rest are all sexual. you realize after a moment of silence you never told her you love her back, and you realize you aren’t sure if you even do. obviously you still have strong feelings for her, otherwise you’d have already stormed away from her by now.

as you’re about to say something to break the silence the uber you’d ordered earlier appears in front of you. you look up at her and contemplate what it’ll mean to invite her in with you. is it still stupid to fuck her after one night of seeing her again? does the fact that she loves you make a difference in that?

you aren’t really sure and you don’t care. you pull her yourself up from the curb, dragging her along with you towards the backseat of the car.

–

after a tense fifteen minute uber ride which consisted of the two of you trying your absolute best to keep your hands to yourself and spare the sweet little old man driver, you finally arrive at your apartment. you’re now the one dragging her towards the elevator, recreating the same passionate makeout against the metal walls as the time after she cornered you at the party. the only difference being the fact that now you were no longer shoving down feelings of regret and shame.

after you exit the elevator and you’re opening your apartment door you hear her laugh at the unit behind you, mrs. flenderson’s apartment.

“oh my god ellie, stop,” you whisper shout at her, remembering the fear in the little old lady's voice as she told you about ellie’s drunken escapade. “she has heart problems, you could have killed her!”

you feel her arms reach over your sides, gently resting on your stomach as she begins to lean into your neck “are you jealous thinking about me confessing my feelings for another woman?” she teases, the embrace making it harder for you to open your door.

“no ellie, the thought of you trying to seduce my 78 year old neighbor does not make me jealous,” you reply with an eye roll, finally managing to open the lock. as soon as the two of you are inside she’s pushing you up against the door, her lips trailing all over your body, desperate to show you how much she meant what she said earlier.

“you have no idea-” she says in between kisses. “how hard it was-” she’s gripping gently at your hair now, her eyes traveling up and down your body, taking you in fully for the first time in months. “to see you dancing like that with someone else,” you think about what she’s saying for a moment, the memory of abby making you trail your fingers down a bruise she had left on ellie’s cheekbone. you realize then that you could find it in yourself to forgive ellie for using you, because that’s exactly what you inadvertently had done to abby.

you pull her towards you by the jaw, her ear just centimeters away from your lips as you whisper “good.” you figured if you had accidentally used someone to make her jealous there's no harm in using that to your advantage now. you see ellie’s jaw tighten a little and her lips are back on yours in seconds, this time harsher than before.

you make your way to your bedroom, her hands on you the entire time as you’re leading her there. when you reach the bottom of your bed you begin to sit but you feel her pull you up, her hungry hands clinging to the fabric of your dress around your thighs.

“look at this pretty little dress,” she mumbles while running her hands up towards your breasts, the skin tight fabric clinging to you in all the right places. “you got all dressed up just for her,”

you roll your eyes at her jealousy but deep down the pool of heat in your core was growing stronger. she responds to your eye roll by yanking the dress down your arms. she then makes her way to the clasps on your bra, unhooking it and throwing it to your floor. she begins kissing you again, starting at your neck and trailing down towards your breasts, a moan escaping you as her mouth met your nipples. instinctively your hand grasp onto her hair, clinging to the roots as she laps at your skin. your grip on her hair tightens as your pleasure increases when she stops suddenly. “could abby’s tongue make you feel that good baby?”

you’re about to reply when she breaks away from your skin, now firmly pushing you towards your mattress. as you lie back she begins to take off your dress completely, staring down at you cravingly. unable to stand the lack of her lips on you, you’re suddenly sitting up and pulling her down towards you, gripping at the fabric of her shirt as her lips are crashing down on yours.

“somebody’s eager,” she teases, smiling in between kisses. as you’re making out you begin to feel her remove your hands from her neck and pinning them to the bed above you. you lean up towards her to continue your kissing when she pulls back, the sudden lack of contact causing you to let out a small pathetic whimper. she laughs at you and begins to take you in. her eyes linger over your mussed hair and pink lips that are wet from her kisses. “you’re so fucking beautiful,”

this comment catches you off guard. ellie had never said anything like that to you before. yes, she complimented frequently while you were together calling hot and gorgeous especially when you were on top of her, but this was different. this was more intimate. you smile brightly beneath her and use all your strength to lift yourself by your elbows to deliver one frenzied kiss onto her lips, plopping your head back down on the bed afterwards.

you realize then that the hot jealousy filled sex you two were headed towards had begun to change. all thoughts of abby, of any of your collective exes, or anyone else in the world for that matter have disappeared. this is about you and her.

she resumes kissing you, this time gentler, and you think back to the last time you had slept together. after your breakup every time you fucked was more feverish than the last. that sex was a dirty little mistake you couldn’t stop making, and you made sure to make it as quick and emotionless as possible. now as she’s on top of you, slowly stroking your hair as she moves her lips across your neck you are overcome with a sense of closeness for her that you had been trying to repress since the night she broke your heart on her dingy old couch.

“ellie,” you whisper, her mouth slowly detaching from your skin as she adjusts herself to look at you.

“yeah?” she asks, moving a chunk of hair near your face behind your ear.

“I love you too”

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levandright · 6 months ago

Text

BEST FOR YOU ✦ P.SH

pairings : ex! sunghoon x fem reader ୨ৎ content / warning(s) : hurt with comfort, sunghoon gets closure ୨ৎ word count : 1.5k ・ archive

synopsis. sunghoon reflects on his past relationship with you, feeling the weight of your breakup and the distance that has grown between you. as he sees you move on, he is reminded of your shared memories and the love you once had. coming to terms with the changes in your lives, sunghoon finds peace, wishing you well as he lets go of the past and the connection you once shared. lev notes : this is inspired by the song best for you by slchld <3 i actually cried when i first finished writing the draft which was shorter (around 700 words) and this is my first ever angst!! hopefully it doesn't dissapoint >.> i genuinely had such a hard time writing some parts but i pulled through with the power of friendship!!

sunghoon sat in his room, the dim light of his desk lamp casting shadows against the walls. the air conditioning hummed softly, the only sound filling the silence of the quiet evening. he leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as his gaze drifted to the window. the stillness in the air matched the quiet that had settled within him—a feeling he couldn’t shake, no matter how many times he tried to distract himself.

there was something about the loneliness tonight that felt different. it wasn’t just the silence that made it seem so heavy, but the creeping ache in his chest that had been growing for months, ever since your breakup. sometimes, in the middle of a busy day, he would forget that the person who used to be at the center of his world was no longer there. but in moments like this, when it was just him and solitude, the reality of it all hit harder than he cared to admit.

the soft glow of his phone screen illuminated his face as he unlocked it, absentmindedly scrolling through his instagram feed. it wasn’t like he was looking for anything specific—just trying to fill the emptiness in the room with something, anything. his thumb paused when he saw your post. you were smiling brightly, laughing with your friends at some outdoor café. the image felt almost surreal to him.

he had never been the type to go through his ex’s social media, not anymore. but today, something had drawn him in. he couldn’t help but wonder how you were doing, how you were living your life without him. it had been a while since you breakup, and he had been trying his best to move on, to accept that things were over between you two. but seeing you this happy, living the life you’d always dreamed of—it hurt.

your smile was the same as it had always been, bright and effortless. but now it wasn’t for him. it wasn’t because of him. that realization hit harder than he expected. his heart clenched, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

he continued scrolling through your feed, stopping at another post—a picture of you and him, taken months ago at the park. he remembered that day so clearly, the way the sunlight had filtered through the trees and made everything glow. it had been a perfect day, one that had felt like it would last forever. how naive he had been, thinking that nothing could tear you apart.

but everything had changed.

back then, you and sunghoon had been inseparable. high school sweethearts. you had shared everything with each other: dreams, laughter, and even the inevitable frustrations of growing up. you were each other’s safe haven. but life had a funny way of pushing people in different directions, of breaking apart the very things that once seemed unbreakable.

he remembered the late nights he’d stayed up studying, only to have you call him crying, talking about how much the distance between you two was weighing on your heart. and then there were the times he was too exhausted from his part-time job to really listen, too caught up in his own world to hear the desperation in your voice. he was juggling university, work, and trying to hold onto a relationship that was slowly slipping through his fingers.

sunghoon had never been good at balancing everything. he had never been great at handling the outbursts or the tantrums that sometimes came from the overwhelming pressure of your long-distance relationship. back then he had only been able to offer quick reassurances, tired words that meant little in the face of your pain. and when the break-up came, it felt like a punch to the gut.

the reason you drifted apart was simple, yet so complicated at the same time. you both had grown, and in that process, you had grown away from each other. the person he was back then, caught between uni and a part-time job, he had failed to truly see the depth of what you needed. and now looking back, he wished he could have done better.

"i should have tried harder," he whispered to himself. "i should have been there more."

but that didn’t change anything now. he couldn’t go back in time and fix his mistakes. all he had now were memories, and the reality that those memories would never become anything more.

the pain of that realization had hit hardest after the breakup, it felt like the ground had shifted beneath him. for so long, he had imagined his future with you. suddenly, he was adrift, lost in a world that no longer made sense. he remembers nights lying awake, replaying the last few months of your relationship, questioning what he could have done differently, feeling anger, confusion, and heartache twist together inside him.

eventually, he learned to let go of the resentment, to see things with a little more clarity. you both had grown, and sometimes people simply grow in different directions. even now, he knows that his feelings for you haven’t faded, that part of him will always love you in some quiet, unspoken way. but he’s come to accept that you’re better off without him, that he needs to let you go fully.

and then, one night, it happens. he’s scrolling mindlessly again when he sees it. a new photo—one that’s different from the rest. you’re standing next to someone, a guy with an easy smile and a warm, gentle presence. jay.

jay, sunghoon had heard about him from mutual friends. he was kind, thoughtful, everything sunghoon wished he could have been for you back then. and now, it was clear: you had found someone new. someone who made you happy. someone who could give you everything he couldn’t.

sunghoon sat back in his chair, feeling a lump rise in his throat. it felt like the final confirmation that you had truly moved on, that his place in your life was nothing more than a shadow now. he’d always imagined a future with you. he’d imagined growing old together, supporting each other through everything life threw at you. but now, all he had were his memories—and even those felt like they were fading, slowly but surely.

he looked at the photo again, your smile still as bright as ever, but this time, it wasn’t for him. it was for jay. and a strange peace settled over him. you had found love again. you were with someone who made you feel the way you deserved to feel.

sunghoon took a deep breath and opened your chat. he had been avoiding it for so long, unsure of what to say, but now he knew. he wanted to reach out one last time. he didn’t expect anything in return, but he needed to say what was in his heart. after all, he had never been good at letting go, but it was time.

his fingers hovered over the keyboard as he searched for the right words. they trembled slightly as he types:

“hey y/n… i saw your post. i just wanted to say, i’m really happy for you. you deserve all the happiness in the world, and i know jay will treat you the way you’ve always deserved to be treated. thank you for everything, for all the memories. i’ll always wish you the best.”

he paused, staring at the message for a moment before pressing “send.” a weight lifted off his shoulders as soon as he did, his heart heavy yet at peace. by saying goodbye in that simple message, he was letting go, wishing you well—even though he knew he’d never see your smile in person again.

sunghoon sat back in his chair, his eyes drifting back to the photo of you and jay, the one that had started all of this. for the first time in months, he wasn’t angry or sad. he wasn’t resentful. instead, he felt an odd sense of closure, a peaceful acceptance that the two of you were no longer meant to be.

his mind wandered back to the first time he saw you, in the school library. you had been sitting at a table, a pile of books in front of you, your head slightly down as you concentrated. when your eyes met his, you smiled shyly, and something in him had shifted. it was as if the world had slowed down just for that moment. that smile had been the first spark, the first flicker of something that would grow into an overwhelming love. that first smile had stayed with him, a memory he carried through every moment you shared.

“i fell for you right then,” sunghoon whispered to the empty room. “and i think, a part of me will always love you.”

he closed his eyes and leaned back, letting the memory of that smile wash over him. it was bittersweet, but in that moment, he finally understood. you had been his first love, and though that chapter had closed, it would always be a part of him. and that was enough.

he whispered a final goodbye to himself, letting the memory fade into the stillness of the night. with it, he carried a silent promise to move forward, even if it meant holding a small piece of you with him forever.

as he drifted off to sleep that night, he silently wished you well, hoping that wherever life took you, you would find everything you were looking for and more.

perm taglist. @honeychocos @honeybelleee @manaah02 (open!)

©levandright

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