#the focus of my story at all. and hes not even a real person. hes an idea- an amalgamation of bad experiences I and others have had
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
Part 2! A little shorter, but felt inspired to continue a little further!
___________________________________________
“This story is awful.”
Iris sipped her coffee, making a face at the overly sweet taste, flipping through the script in her hand. “This character makes no sense!”
Allison, Iris’s assistant, raised an eyebrow. “What a shock, you have a complaint about a script’s writing. So are you turning down this project as well? That would be the fifth in a row that we’ve turned down. People are starting to start rumors that you’re retiring.”
“I’m not saying no… not just yet. But this character…” Iris sighed. “I just don’t get it. She is a princess. The real princess… But she got replaced, and when she returns, somehow everyone favors the fake princess instead. Why didn’t she just stay firm to the truth? She was the one with the right to be there. Instead, she cowered away and attacked her replacement from the shadows.”
Allison took the script from her hands, looking at the scene that was underlined. “So, this girl grew up in the slums, and got brought back right? She feels out of place. And even worse, she has no confidence in her family. They have years of memories with someone else. That replacement… she can be gracious and calm. She’s been spoiled and loved by the royal family for years. And the favored are the confident. There is no one more timid than someone who is hoping to be loved.”
“Wants to be loved, huh… “ Iris murmured, thinking it over. “Why did they ask me to play this part?”
She was not speaking out of false confidence. She was a A list star. To be offered a side character part was not a typical event.
“Apparently the script writer insisted it had to be you.” Allison shrugged with a laugh. “He said you were born to play this part.”
“Is that so? Hmm… I’d like to meet him.”
“I’ll ask, but apparently he’s a hard person to meet.”
Iris took back the script, studying it once more. “Try. I want to meet the man who wrote this poor girl…and her terrible end.”
___________________________________________
“Wake up!”
A rude voice startled Iris awake, almost causing her to fall out of bed. Catching her balance, she sighed, trying to wake up. For a brief moment she wasn’t sure where she was. Iris rubbed her eyes, looking around, recognizing her surroundings as the rooms in the castle.
Back to my life as the replaced princess. Her dreams of the other world were so detailed, so real, that Iris often found herself confused as to what was reality and what was the dream. It didn’t help that the time and events in her dreams often happened out of order, confusing her all the more when she woke up.
The dream me never did get to meet the script writer. She thought tiredly. I wish I had. It might have provided some answers.
Before she could focus on that too long, the voice spoke up once more.
“Are you getting up, Princess?” The tone was sarcastic, breaking Iris from her reverie. Looking over, Iris spotted the source: An angry looking maid, a blond woman in her young twenties, a scowl distorting her otherwise unremarkable features.
“I’m still considering it.” Iris muttered.
“Some of us don’t have time to waste, Your Highness. Breakfast started a half hour ago.” She smirked at the statement, as if Iris being late was amusing.
Ah. I’m being bullied. Smiling to herself, Iris sat up, making prolonged eye contact with the maid.
“Name?”
“Elise.” The woman gave an arrogant look. “I’m the lead maid of the living quarters.”
“Wow. I’m sure your parents are very proud.”
Elise gave her a strange look. “They are.”
“I see…” Iris smiled broadly and tapped her cheek. “Imagine how excited they will be to hear you’ve been imprisoned for disrespecting royalty! Maybe they can come visit you on your birthdays?”
A confused silence fell over the room. Finally, realization dawned on her face, and she protested loudly. “You WOULDN’T DARE! I’m the princess’ favorite maid!”
Iris stood up, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. Step by step she moved closer. A polite smile remained in place, but her eyes were cold and unsettling.
In her dreams, she was an actress. And not just any actress, one with a very specific reputation:
A woman known for her business acumen and ruthlessness in negotiation. No one ever expected to come out on top when talking contracts, but her acting prowess kept them coming back for the abuse. It was a well-known fact in her dreams:
Anyone who crossed her would regret it.
The maid Elise began to cower as Iris moved within arm’s reach. She technically was taller than then the undernourished princess, but for some reason, she felt small in the face of the aura of power and control that radiated from the young woman in front of her. Her sense of danger heightened, until she panicked, breaking out in apologies.
“I- I’m sorry. I'm sorry!”
Iris’ smile widened. “Sorry for what?”
“Sorry for disrespecting you… Your Highness.”
“You aren’t sorry… not yet anyways.” She leaned forward, whispering a few words quietly in the maid’s ear. The woman turned pale, shaking with fear and shock, stammering non-stop apologies. Finally, Iris raised a hand, bringing her words to a halt.
“I’ll dress myself, Elise. Why don’t you let my father, brothers… and my lovely adopted sister… that I will be down to breakfast shortly.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Elise curtseyed, cold sweat dripping down her back. Quickly she turned and headed to the door, only stopping when Iris called out again.
“What will you say if my family asks why I am late?”
Their eyes met again, similar to when she had woken up, but with a completely different atmosphere.
Finally, the maid looked away first and broke the silence. “I will tell them it was due to my error, Your Highness.”
“Good girl.” Iris waved her hand dismissively. “Head along now.”
As if released by a slingshot, Elise ran out, nearly falling to the ground in her hurry to get away. Iris chuckled, putting aside the dress that was laid out for her and searching her wardrobe. The dress selected was clearly a ballgown, something overly fancy and completely unsuited for a breakfast, even a royal one. Wearing that would have made her seem awkward and out of place, a country bumpkin who coveted beautiful and shiny things.
After searching for a while, she found a simpler light blue gown with minimal trim and flared sleeves, clearly a more casual daytime dress. It was difficult to put on by herself, but fortunately, she had a lot of practice getting quickly in and out of intricate clothing…
In her dreams at least.
___________________________________________
Once she was fully dressed, she headed downstairs.
Again, she found herself surrounded by luxury. Intricate fixtures, beautiful paintings, even the door handles looked expensive. Iris sighed quietly, realizing that without her advantage she would have very much felt out of her depth.
I do miss modern amenities though. Even the most expensive toilet in a fantasy world like this can’t match a good reliable modern one.
Iris walked towards the dining room, remembering the path she took yesterday. As she passed by, she heard the servants in the corners whispering. Her hearing was excellent, she only picked up a few pieces, but she was able to understand what the sentiment was.”
“Who is…?”
“Came from… slums.”
‘Really? Doesn’t look…”
“Looks like the Queen.”
At the last sentence Iris turned for a moment, glancing at an enormous portrait of a young woman that was displayed in the sitting room adjacent to her destination. She looked a lot like Iris herself. She had similar red hair and gold rimmed irises in a delicate face. Iris stared silently for a few moments, a small pain in her heart for the woman who gave birth to her, but who she had never met.
I wonder how she would feel about this switch? Would she be excited to see me? Or more worried about how my arrival could hurt her raised daughter instead?
Not wanting to dwell on those depressing thoughts too long, she entered the dining room.
“You’re late.” Her father’s grim voice greeted her arrival. He radiated disapproval, with an intimidating atmosphere… to most people at least.
“Good morning!” Iris smiled at her father, unbothered. She sat down at the empty place setting, her posture upright and confident. “I apologize for my tardiness.” She locked eyes with her maid, Elise, who face paled. She stepped forward with a deep gesture.
“I’m so sorry, I woke up the princess late this morning!”
Anthony frowned. “Is this how you serve your new mistress?” The maid shook her head in response, looking even more distraught. The tense atmosphere thickened, before being shattered by a new speaker.
“Elise has always been my maid before this and served me perfectly! It must be some sort of misunderstanding.” Theodora frowned, before looking uneasily at Iris. “Maybe my sister is… just not used to being around servants?”
They were pretty words, and Iris had to appreciate the barbs hidden within them. Especially nice was the subtle implication that it was Iris who had behaved inappropriately.
Iris laughed quietly. “I fail to understand how me not being used to servants would cause the maid to not attempt to wake me up until 30 minutes after breakfast had started.” She paused, looking over the rich clothes of the other girl carefully. “A more likely answer is that she does not view me as a true princess… and why would that be?”
Theodora looked shocked, and her eyes filled with tears. “It’s my fault! If we hadn’t been switched…”
“How dare you blame Theodora!” Dominic slammed his fist down on the table, rattling the plates and cutlery. “She is an innocent…”
“She is an innocent victim, brother, I know.” Iris faced him calmly. “I’m very confused about why Theodora is taking this to heart. It’s not like she as a baby could have engineered the switch… although the person who switched us may have been her relative… who wanted their child to live a life of royalty while the real princess suffered or died…But obviously that is not her fault! So, please don’t blame yourself… Sister.”
A long silence fell over the room as the three men processed her words. Iris wanted to roll her eyes but kept her expression blank. Did they really never consider that it could be someone related to her who did the switch? Do they think they just grabbed a random baby somewhere? She turned her attention to the food. It was multiple tiny plates of intricate food, all things she had never eaten before… while awake. There was multiple odd appearing cutlery, and for a moment, she felt a slight panic deep within her.
I don’t belong here.
She banished the thought immediately. She was the real princess. Where did she belong, if not here? Drawing on her dream knowledge, she started on the outside, and worked her way carefully through the food. She progressed quietly and smoothly, only glancing up once she felt less hungry… Only to see a hate filled glare on Theodora’s face.
Shocked, Iris glanced down, and when she looked back the look was gone, so quickly that she wondered if she imagined it. But it was real, she knew it deep down. Was it what I said? She glanced down at her hands and smiled. Or the fact that despite them preparing an overly complicated breakfast, I‘ve had no issues? One of the scenes she had acted out in had involved the real princess being humiliated during a meal with her poor table manners. Another improvement in her favor.
One at a time, Iris. Just one small change at a time.
___________________________________________
After breakfast Iris excused herself quickly, not wanting to stay in the tense environment of her smiling “sister” and her father and older brother who were so quick to defend her. Anthony followed her closely, and she found herself smiling up at him. He was the most different from the story she knew. He seemed to care, at least.
“Did you have a good night’s sleep?” He asked as they turned towards the gardens.
Filled with dreams of another world. “Well enough.” She paused. “If not longer than hoped for.”
Anthony winced. “I talk with the head servants. There should be no confusion in how you are to be treated.”
“Don’t waste breath on useless explanations. Words mean little against action. And unfortunately, there’s already confusion, brother. It’s coming from the King and Crown Prince.” She smiled calmly, as if the words didn’t mean anything to her. “Why should the servants see me as something their king doesn’t.”
“Iris… he…”
“Doesn’t look at me like a father who regained his daughter. More like a possible enemy who could threaten his family.” In a way, he’s correct. If he views Theodora as his family, my arrival does make her situation and status complicated.
“…”
Anthony didn’t seem to know how to respond. Ignoring his silent dismay, Iris let out a small cry of delight, swooping down to gently touch a few flowers along the path. The fragile purple petals felt like satin under her fingers. She cupped a few, smiling brightly.
“They are so lovely.” In her joy she accidentally released a small amount of power, leading to the small buds around to bloom beautifully in a few seconds. The rest of the flowers seemed to lean towards her, as if she was their personal sun. In moments a few bright colors became an overwhelming blush of purple, pinks and green.
“Iris?” Anthony spoke up uncertainly.
“Yes, these here are Irises! So lovely and brave of them to bloom so nicely despite the cold.” The castle gardens were much more temperate than the outer city, likely the result of the royal magicians, but it was still not warm enough yet for the flowers to bloom fully. She regretted the accidental release of power, which had attracted them to open up too soon. They would not last long. Silently she stretched out her hands and fed them more power, which would let them last until the weather warmed up some.
“No… Iris… do you have magic?”
She froze at her brother’s question. “… Would it mean much if I said ‘no’?”
“Not much, no.” Anthony laughed. “How long have you had magic? It’s amazing, really… most royalty need guidance to discover it, and usually don’t until adulthood!”
“…” A long silence fell between them. The smile slowly faded from Anthony’s face, to be replaced by a look of uncertainty.
Iris stared at the flowers, her face cold. “I suppose many royalty haven’t faced starvation.” She stood up, brushing her hands off, the movements stiff. “The old woman who took me in died shortly after I turned ten. She had run a small shop, but after she was gone, some men came and grabbed it. I was too small to hold onto anything valuable… They tried to grab me too. I would have sold for some gold, after all.”
“Iris…”
She closed her eyes for a moment, trying not to think of the horrible night, but unable to stop. Her heart started beating faster with remembered fear. “I stabbed one of their men in the thigh when he tried to grab me. Almost castrated the bastard. Scared them enough for me to get away. But I was too young. I was desperate, alone with no skills to survive. It was spring, and I discovered I had a knack for selling flowers.”
I started having the dreams that night, and good thing too. “When it got cold, I couldn’t find enough flowers to sell… until I awakened my power.”
She was lost in her memories, when suddenly she was crushed by an overwhelming hug. Her fight or flight response activated and she tried to swing her arms, only to freeze at the sound of her brother’s tearful voice.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Iris. You never should have gotten lost, never should have suffered. I should have found you earlier.”
Iris reached out uncertainly, and patted his back. “It’s okay. You didn’t know. And either way, I’m here, right?”
Anthony’s voice was muffled, his taller frame hanging down as he buried his head on her shoulder. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I need to. Trust me.
“Okay, I’ll be waiting.” Thinking of the ending of her story, Iris added. “You’ve got some time, anyways, until I get married off somewhere.”
“Who is marrying you off!” Anthony raised his head, his eyes angry. “That’s too risky, what if he doesn’t treat you well?! You’ve already suffered so much…. No! Better to marry you close… preferably to someone scared of royalty so you can run home if he makes you angry.”
Hearing his description of his ideal for her husband, Iris couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Okay, brother. I’ll marry someone close by who you can bully, so I’ll never suffer again.”
“You’re making fun of me.” Anthony accused her.
“Yes.”
They both laughed at that, Anthony reached out and rubbed her head affectionately, messing up her hair. As Iris frowned and tried to fix it, he shook his head. “Well we’ve got plenty of time. It’s not like there’s a long list of candidates worthy of marrying a princess…”
“Your Highnesses!” A robed young man entered the garden. “What a coincidence!”
Iris recognized him quickly. “Mage Vicente” She smiled in greeting.
“You look much better rested.” He commented in return.
Anthony looked a bit uneasy, stepping in between the two of them. “What brings you here?”
“I sensed some unusual magic in the garden, so I came to investigate.”
“Well, nothing unusual is happening here, so you should probably keep looking.”
Mage Vicente looked at them both, and gave an amused smile. “Of course. Sorry to disturb you.” He made brief eye contact with Iris again, who felt a distinct familiarity in his gaze. But where would I know him from?
Anthony kept his protective posture, not relaxing until the mage had excused himself and walked away. “Don’t tell anyone of your powers just yet, Iris.”
“Why not?” She hadn’t really planned to. In the story she knew, her father had used her for her powers before abandoning her. She hadn’t meant to display them here, but she supposed she had felt comfortable and safe around Anthony. She was curious as to why he thought she shouldn’t, though.
“We don’t know who meant you harm eighteen years ago. What if they are still around, and mean to finish the job?” He shook his head. “I know father and Dominic don’t want to investigate the switch, as it could lead to public speculation about Theodora, but…” he paused. “I can’t let whoever hurt you try again. I'm looking into it, Iris. I'll find out who did this, and I will protect you in the future.”
“I…” Iris choked on her words, feeling tears fill her eyes. She had been mentally prepared to be alone on this battlefield. To fight an unknown enemy with no one, not even her family on her side. But things were different than she expected. She had an ally, a friend.
A brother.
Unable to articulate her thoughts, she settled for simply hugging him again. He seemed happy with that though, rubbing her head and messing up her hair once more.
“Let’s head back.”
You are a poor girl selling flowers. Today is your birthday but no one knows. When you return home you find the prince of the kingdom waiting for you with a birthday cake. "Are you sure this is the one?" He whispers to his advisor.
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
it’s honestly kinda crazy to me that kel & co were literally the first OCs i ever made
#my test subjects if you will#& yet i am still obsessed w them after all these years#idk i just think it’s kinda special bc it’s like we grew up together almost?#the first iteration of kel & co were honestly very wacky. like the deviant art era of my oc making if you know what i mean#but they’ve changed & grown a lot over the years & that’s kinda fun!! they’re very dear to me tbh#sometimes i read through old notes for them & i’m just like. man what was i thinking#i could honestly write an entire essay on all of the scrapped lore for these guys. the kel & co multiverse is Very extensive lol#the original three the story was about were bow kel & a lil ghost i named tragedy (i was 12 lol)#her real name is isobel. she’s not in canon anymore but she IS in monster boyz. i put a lot of the old characters in mbz.#dhes wasn’t in the original story at first either. he was a character i made for an rp lmao#but once that ended i decided i loved him so much & had to put him in my main project#he has changed the most from his original design tbh. personality wise i mean#he went from very minor side character to the literal focus of the story#he’s essentially the main narrator. even more so than kel#idk. i was just randomly thinking about them & how long it’s been.#gives me feelings when i think about it all lol#i did not sleep last night at all btw#rainyrambles
9 notes
·
View notes
Video
youtube
#fave#videos#thank yoooooooou#you get it#characters arent people and people arent characters#people irl deserve redemption. characters dont need to have redemption and sometimes its hurtful to the story if they do#i COULD make a redemption arc for zero-- but it would be stupidly complicated within my characters relationships given whats hes done in#the past. plenty of my ocs still would never want to be in the same room with him. it just adds unnecessary coffee au drama thats just not#the focus of my story at all. and hes not even a real person. hes an idea- an amalgamation of bad experiences I and others have had#manifested into one being that seeks to inflict these pains#likely his redemption arc would come from no longer being a vampire. but idk where he would go. and i really dont care to write it tbh#i have other minor antagonists I think would be better suited for a redemption arc than him. hes just done too much shit.#just in the same way a lot of azula stans would say ozai is irredeemable thats how I feel about zero.#and its how I feel about azula too tbh. yeah her story is sad and its possible to sympathize with but shes like a machine at this point#her humanity has been stripped away by her abusive father- and I dont think it would serve the narrative to have her suddenly appear#in a therapists office and crying about her trauma or whatever.#in this video he mentions how some ppl think its more 'realistic' to have her redeemed but... i really dont think it is bud#clearly you have not dealt with an azula in your real life. they're impossible to get along with and MOST people stop interacting w them.#they do end up isolated and alone bc of their actiosn. even if those actions are informed by a complex abuse system.#its sad but its also an important story to tell so people can at least maybe see themselves going down that route and stop themselves#characters help give examples to people of what would've happened if they made this or that choice. and thats the purpose azulas narrative#shows. irl people deserve a second chance and thats why we make these stories so they can know to try to avoid acting a certain way that#will only in the end harm their chance at a second chance.#not that its impossible- just that less people will be willing to go along w you on it than there would've been before you fell down hard
0 notes
Text
Apothecary Diaries is pog as fuck bc serious political issues and dynamics from a woman's POV are rarely depicted in ANY form of media
It's always a man's world where women's issues surround him. Even if we get a female perspective once in awhile- it all comes back to how it facilitates his game in the end. She's a footnote in the overarching scheme of things. Misogyny exists. Back to the real plot.
Apothecary Diaries is strictly from a female perspective and how each class of woman has to act, what limits they have, what rights they have and don't have between each class, etc. These women have to behave a certain way under a patriarchy, which you would think makes it a man's story, but it never is. The women are THE focus of this show, their struggles are THE plot. The focus is about how the patriarch effects them.
Take the concubines for example. The show dives into how bearing a child affects their rank, how traumatizing it is to lose that child, the consequences of that, etc. We have barely seen the emperor who sired all these kids because this is not about him.
Jinshi's personal plot is secondary to Mao Mao's journey- he is mostly there to provide new cases for Mao Mao to solve and to learn more about the shortcomings of his class when taking care of citizens like Mao Mao.
Jinshi is not a bad person, but by virtue of his position in the higher classes, he cannot understand how harsh life as a poor WOMAN is specifically- he can only catch glimpses of it from what Mao Mao tells him and feel outrage but powerless in his wealth and luxury
Mao Mao is a fortunate commoner woman for what privileges someone in her class should and shouldn't have. She happened to be adopted by a knowledgeable man. She is allowed to read, write, learn, and has enough skill to be a poison tester and have a job EXTREMELY out of her class limit as an apothecary, also a job not traditionally meant for women
Mao Mao is not a "noT lIkE oThER gIrLs" protagonist, she is FOR THE GIRLIES. She only wants to help the women around her, and women are whom she has the closest relationships to. She sees a woman being harassed and can't let it stand. She sees a frail, traumatized woman dying from the recklessness of those who should be caring for her and spends day and night nursing her back to health, while also punishing the people who were so careless with her needs.
My girl has STUDIED UP on THE BODY to TEACH these upper class ladies on how to really HEAT things up in the BEDROOM
Sex depicted in Apothecary Diaries is both something women are not shamed to be enjoying, while at the same time being acknowledged as an unfortunately huge economic necessity to market themselves.
Like shit is just so real in this series???
Listen, I can go on and on about how GOATED the series and especially Mao Mao is but you get the picture
6K notes
·
View notes
Text
WELL... ok you asked for it . but be warned that its just me taking diluc crumbs and interpreting them however i want because if hyv won't give me more diluc lore i'll just write my own
first of all. its very obvious that diluc is literally batman. and while the fandom and the story itself focuses on the anti-hero persona i don't think we focus enough on the man under the mask. one thing we know about bruce wayne is that that man is a player. he will flirt with everyone to get what he wants. while i don't think that diluc is the same exact way, i think he Does play into the most popular bachelor in town role to navigate situations and perhaps cope with all that mental issues he's got.
in the webtoon (which is the place where we learn most about him) we first see him as the rich gentleman who is loved by everyone in the city. he mediates between dottore and seamus like "let's just have fun gentlemen 🤍" yet at the end we see him not caring about either of them and trying to handle the situation himself.
now you might say that this sounds more like kaeya's facade of a player. he's most likely pretending to get his way. and you wouldn't be wrong, but there's another element to consider: this man can't lie + he's obsessed with honesty and justice.
this brings me to my other point: diluc and kaeya are narrative foils. they contrast each other in Every Way. even their color palettes are opposites of each other. they're so opposites of each other that at the end they end up as the same person. we see this in their personalities as well: while kaeya pretends to be this rogue character (convincing people that he's slacking off, working on his treasure hoarder list that is supposed to be a secret out in the open at a tavern???, pretending to not care about family) if you read between the lines he's actually a good little boy. see example:
not "the same way you threw me out" no. he's more upset about the family legacy. meanwhile diluc, who's supposed to be the foil to kaeya's ""bad boy"" attitude, doesn't give a fuck.
kaeya is a knight that is "destined" to destroy mondstadt, which sums up his "kind and loyal person who pretends to be a bad guy to cope with the trauma and responsibility placed on his shoulders at a young age" personality quite well.
while in contrast diluc is raging and raving about being honest and protecting the city and its people but look at his actions: goes on a 4 year long journey despite people telling him not to, obsessively hunts fatui for personal pleasure (it's "revenge" but is revenge not personal pleasure?), is a wanted vigilante, but he acts like an innocent, well-meaning businessman. let's quote rosaria here:
to conclude this messy and incoherent rant: i think it would only make sense for diluc to be a flirt no matter how subtly. kaeya flirts to keep a facade and diluc keeps a facade to flirt or whatever. and i'd like to make him more batman.
also lets be real "the most eligible bachelor in mondstadt" is not an innocent nickname .
i’m currently going mildly viral on twitter for this tweet:
and it’s really making it clear to me that some of y’all are not playing the same game as i am because like:
my buddy kaeya? my close personal friend kaeya alberich?
like this was a half-baked thought i tweeted out in 30 seconds so you don’t have to agree with the characterization (i’m not even sure i agree with the characterization)
but if y’all are looking me in the eye and telling me that kaeya is unironically a ladies’ man and a player then i’m gonna need you to go back to every single event he’s been in and look at how his shell of facile charm has been ruthlessly and systematically dismantled by the game itself
#is this a reach? perhaps#but what is media literacy if not reading between the lines ....#also another point i think it'd make sense for him to flirt to cope w his loneliness. the man needs a vice#if there's any opportunity to make his character even more morally grey and confusing you Bet im taking it#anyway i wrote this at work instead of working if it doesnt make sense totally blame that and not my brain. LMAO#hope you like my silly headcanon ....... this is so embarrassing
285 notes
·
View notes
Text
Forever & Always
Summary: At 28-years-old Spencer Reid finally has his first girlfriend, you. You are bold, confident, and experienced, everything he's not, and he feels very insecure because of it. You own your own nightclub, and when Sean Hotchner needs a job, you let him come and work for you. Spencer can't handle this attractive womanizer being in your space all day long. Will the two of you make it through this?
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader
Category: fluff, angst, smut (18+)
Warnings/Includes: smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut, virgin Spencer, insecurities, not trusting partner, arguing, threatening people, therapy
Word count: 22.3k
a/n: Sean Hotchner is a treat for the eyes ,, but no one will ever be better than Spencer -- genuinely one of my favorite fics !!
main masterlist
Additional warnings: grinding, finishing in pants (m), light breast play, handjob
Spencer had always been confident in his knowledge, his intelligence a constant source of reassurance in his life. But this—this was different. Sitting across from you in the dimly lit coffee shop, his eyes flickered nervously to the table, then back to you. You were animated, telling a story about your friends, your laugh bright and infectious, but Spencer found it hard to focus. His mind kept drifting back to that quiet, gnawing feeling that had been lurking for a while now.
You were his first real girlfriend. At 28, Spencer Reid had never been in a serious relationship, at least not one that had progressed beyond awkward dates or brief romantic entanglements that always seemed to fizzle out before they even began. But you were different. You were confident, experienced in ways he wasn’t. It wasn’t just about the relationship itself. It was everything. You had dated other people before him, had your fair share of relationships and even casual hook-ups. The weight of it pressed down on him like an invisible burden, one he wasn’t sure how to navigate.
Spencer forced a smile, willing the tension in his chest to settle as you finished your story, your words floating through the air like a melody. He didn’t want to let on that something was bothering him, not when he saw how happy you looked. He couldn’t be the one to disrupt that joy.
“Spence?” Your voice softened as you noticed the subtle shift in his expression, the way his eyes lingered on you a little too long, as if he was lost in thought. “You okay?”
He blinked, his face instantly smoothing into a look of reassurance. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied quickly, his voice a bit too light. “I was just really... engaged in what you were saying. You always tell such great stories.”
Your smile brightened, the warmth of his words making you feel lighter, like you were walking on air. You chuckled, your fingers playing with the rim of your coffee cup as you gazed at him. “You smooth talker.”
Spencer returned your smile, but beneath it, a twinge of doubt lingered. He didn’t want you to think there was anything wrong—didn’t want to give away the insecurity gnawing at him. He wasn’t used to this, wasn’t used to feeling unsure about something. But the thought of appearing inferior to you, of not being enough, was something he couldn’t shake.
You, on the other hand, were oblivious to the internal struggle he was masking. You were just happy—so incredibly happy. In all your past relationships, there had been a constant feeling of walking on eggshells, of waiting for things to fall apart. But with Spencer, it was different. He was different. His kindness, his gentle heart, his brilliant mind—it was everything you hadn’t even realized you were searching for.
Spencer was the best person you had ever dated. And it scared you, deeply. The fear of messing things up gnawed at the back of your mind constantly. What if this ended the same way your past relationships had? What if this incredible thing you had with Spencer was fleeting, destined to crumble just like all the others?
But you didn’t want to think about that now. Not when you were sitting here with him, sharing moments that felt real, that felt good. You let out a breath, pushing away the nagging thoughts. Spencer made you feel like maybe, just maybe, this time could be different.
You caught his gaze again, your eyes softening as you took him in. “You know,” you started, leaning in a little closer, “I feel so lucky to have met you, Spencer. You’re... you’re unlike anyone I’ve ever been with.”
Spencer's heart ached at your words, a bittersweet pang that settled deep in his chest. You said it with such sincerity, such affection, but all he could hear were the things that made him different in a way he didn’t want to be. Of course, he was unlike anyone else you’d been with. How could he compare to the others? He was awkward, inexperienced, and—by his own assessment—weird. The guy who overthought everything, who could recite obscure facts but had no idea how to casually flirt or initiate a kiss without rehearsing it a dozen times in his head first.
So he forced a weak smile, nodding as if your words had filled him with the same happiness they brought you. But inside, it only made him feel more out of place, like he was somehow failing at this relationship without you even knowing.
“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice softer than he intended. He wanted to say more, wanted to tell you that being with you was the best thing that had ever happened to him. But instead, he let the moment pass, watching as your face lit up with excitement, diving into another story.
He focused on your words, or at least tried to. You had this way of captivating him, of pulling him into whatever you were talking about, but right now, it was harder to stay present. The feeling of inadequacy, of not being enough, pressed heavily on him. As you talked about past adventures, dates with friends, and experiences that felt so far removed from anything he’d ever known, Spencer couldn’t help as his fingers nervously tapped against the side of his cup, his mind wandering.
—
It was late, well past midnight, when you noticed Spencer’s quiet sigh as he shifted beside you in bed. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, casting long shadows on the walls. You had been reading, but you couldn’t focus on the book in your hands. Not when you could feel the weight of something pressing down on Spencer.
You set the book aside, turning onto your side to face him, your hand resting gently on his chest. “Spence,” you whispered softly, “what’s going on?”
His gaze remained fixed on the ceiling for a long moment before he sighed again, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your arm where it draped over him. “I don’t know,” he muttered, though the heaviness in his voice said otherwise.
You waited, knowing that he would open up when he was ready. That was how these late-night conversations always started. Sometimes it took a while for Spencer to find the words to express what was on his mind, and you had learned to give him that space.
Eventually, he turned his head to look at you, his brow furrowed, eyes shadowed with the insecurities he often tried to hide. “It’s just... I keep thinking about how different we are. You’ve had all these experiences, and I... haven’t. I’m still figuring things out, and sometimes I worry... I worry that it’s not enough for you. That I’m not enough.”
Your heart ached for him, the depth of his vulnerability cutting through the quiet of the night. You shifted closer, wrapping your arms around him, holding him as tightly as you could. “Spencer,” you whispered against his shoulder, “I don’t care about any of that. You being a—less experienced… doesn’t matter to me. It never has, and it never will.”
He let out a soft, shaky breath, his arms coming around you in return, but the tension in his body didn’t fully ease. “But what if... what if you change your mind? What if one day you realize I’m... I’m just not enough? I don’t know how to be what you deserve.”
You pulled back slightly, just enough to look him in the eye. “Spence, listen to me,” you said firmly but gently. “You are enough. You’ve always been enough. I didn’t fall in love with you because of some checklist of experiences or expectations. I fell in love with you. All of you. The dorkiness, the brilliance, the way you look at the world. I don’t care if you never want to have sex, or if we figure it out together. What matters is that I love you, exactly as you are.”
He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering down to where your fingers were tracing soothing circles on his chest. “I want to believe that,” he whispered, his voice so small, so fragile.
You pressed a soft kiss to his temple. “I know it’s hard,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his skin. “But I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. With you. Always.”
For a moment, there was only the sound of your breathing and the quiet hum of the world outside. Spencer’s grip on you tightened as if holding on to the reassurance you offered. The doubt didn’t disappear entirely—it never really did. But you could feel him relax into your embrace, letting himself lean on you, trusting in your words even if the insecurities still lingered.
“You know,” you said after a while, a playful lilt entering your voice to lighten the mood, “you’re not the only one who has insecurities, Spence.”
He turned his head, curiosity softening the edges of his earlier worry. “What do you mean?”
You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’m terrified of messing this up. Of somehow ruining the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Your voice was light, but the truth behind it was evident.
His brow furrowed, clearly confused. “You? You’re worried about messing things up?”
You nodded, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “Yeah. Every relationship I’ve had before this… it’s ended in an unsavory way. I don’t want that to happen with us, I don’t want us to end at all. You’re different, Spencer. In the best way. And I want this to last.”
Spencer’s expression softened, a small, almost shy smile appearing on his face. “I guess we’re both a little scared, then.”
“Maybe,” you agreed, resting your forehead against his. “But we’re in this together, okay? No matter what happens, we’ll figure it out.”
He kissed you then, a tender, lingering kiss that felt like a promise. When you pulled away, he whispered, “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
You smiled, your heart swelling with affection. “You deserve every bit of happiness, Spencer Reid. Don’t ever doubt that.”
Though the insecurities never fully went away, they didn’t define your relationship. Over time, those late-night conversations became a safe place for both of you, a time to share your fears and your hopes, to remind each other of what you had.
And despite the occasional moments of doubt, you and Spencer were happy—truly happy. You built a relationship that was healthy, full of love, trust, and understanding. You were a team, navigating life together, and every step forward only brought you closer.
Because, in the end, it wasn’t about who had more experience or who was more confident. It was about being there, for each other, in every way that mattered. And that was more than enough.
—
Sean Hotchner leaned against the doorframe of Aaron’s office, his disheveled appearance a stark contrast to the professional atmosphere of the BAU. His hair was longer than Aaron remembered, tousled in a way that made it look like he had just rolled out of bed. The leather jacket slung over his shoulder was worn, his jeans frayed at the edges. Aaron barely looked up from his paperwork as Sean cleared his throat, but the tension in the room was palpable.
"Sean," Aaron greeted flatly, his tone carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken frustrations. He didn’t even need to ask why his younger brother was here. Sean only showed up when he needed something.
“Aaron, man, I need help,” Sean began, already trying to soften his tone as he stepped inside. He glanced at the bullpen behind him, noticing the open door but not caring enough to close it. "I, uh, got fired from my job. Again."
Aaron’s jaw tightened, his hand clenching around the pen he held. "And?"
"And I lost my apartment," Sean continued, running a hand through his hair. "I don't have anywhere to go. I was hoping… I could crash with you for a bit. Just until I get back on my feet."
Aaron finally looked up, his dark eyes narrowing as he studied his brother. His fingers drummed impatiently against the desk as he exhaled through his nose. “So, let me get this straight—you got fired, again, and now you’re asking to live with me? Sean, this is the third time. When are you going to take responsibility for your life?”
Sean shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at his boots. “I know, I know. It’s just... I hit a rough patch, alright? I’ll figure it out, I just need some time.”
Aaron’s frustration boiled just beneath the surface, his voice rising slightly, enough that it carried out into the bullpen. “You always say that, Sean. ‘I’ll figure it out.’ But you never do. I can’t keep bailing you out every time you screw up.”
In the bullpen, the conversation didn’t go unnoticed. Everyone sat at their desks, their eyes darting toward Aaron’s office. Emily leaned over to JJ, lowering her voice but not enough to hide her words.
“Is that Hotch’s brother?” Emily whispered, her eyes widening as she watched Sean from across the room.
JJ nodded, her gaze flicking between Aaron’s stern expression and Sean’s slouched posture. “Yeah, that’s Sean. He hasn’t been around in a while.”
Penelope, standing nearby, leaned in with wide, curious eyes. “Okay, but, uh... is it just me or is Sean... kind of hot?”
Emily raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk forming on her lips. “Oh, it’s not just you. He’s definitely got that... bad boy thing going on.”
JJ chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You two are terrible.”
Penelope shrugged dramatically. “What? I mean, I’ve heard stories, but I didn’t know Hotch had such an attractive brother! Seriously, if I didn’t know better, I’d be thinking some very impure thoughts right now.”
“Garcia,” JJ admonished lightly, but she was clearly amused.
They all tried to suppress their laughter, watching as Aaron’s stern voice carried into the bullpen, his frustration with Sean evident. But they couldn’t help the whispered commentary as Sean stood there, looking like the picture of trouble.
“I’d hate to see what Hotch is going to do to him once that door closes,” Emily mused, shaking her head. “But I have to admit, he’s got a certain... charm.”
Penelope wiggled her eyebrows playfully. “Maybe I should go in there and offer him some moral support.”
JJ rolled her eyes, grinning. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly what he needs right now.”
Back in the office, Aaron had stood up, his hands planted firmly on his desk as he glared at Sean. "You need to grow up, Sean. This can’t keep happening. I’ve got Jack to think about now. I’m not running a halfway house."
Sean's shoulders slumped, his voice lowering as he tried to appease his brother. "I know, Aaron. But I don’t have anyone else. Please, just this one last time. I swear I won’t mess it up."
Aaron ran a hand over his face, torn between anger and the sense of duty he always felt toward his family, no matter how much they disappointed him. His voice softened slightly, but only just. “This is the last time, Sean. I mean it.”
Sean gave a small nod, grateful but visibly embarrassed, as he mumbled, “Thanks, man. I owe you.”
As he turned to leave the office, the gossiping trio quickly straightened up, trying to look busy. But as Sean made his way toward the exit, Penelope couldn’t resist shooting one last glance, her voice barely above a whisper. “I mean... Hotch’s brother, right? Who knew?”
JJ stifled a laugh, shaking her head as she turned back to her paperwork. Meanwhile, Emily just smiled knowingly, her eyes trailing after Sean for a moment longer before settling back into work.
No one noticed Spencer sitting at his desk behind them, listening to every word.
—
That evening you and Spencer sat across from each other at your dining table, plates of food between you, but Spencer’s voice held an unusual tension as he recounted the events of the day. His fork poked absentmindedly at his meal, his eyes flickering between you and his plate as he spoke.
“So, Sean Hotchner showed up at the bureau today,” Spencer began, his tone neutral but carrying an undercurrent of something heavier. “Apparently, he’s having a tough time. Lost his job again.”
You tilted your head slightly, setting your fork down to give him your full attention. “Sean? Aaron’s younger brother, right?”
Spencer nodded. “Yeah. He’s... been bouncing around, trying to figure things out. He came to Hotch for help, and it sounds like he’s pretty desperate.”
You sighed softly, a familiar pang tugging at your heart. You knew that feeling all too well—the desperation, the uncertainty of trying to rebuild when everything felt like it was crumbling. “That’s rough. I feel for him. It’s not easy trying to make something of yourself when you’ve hit rock bottom.”
Spencer glanced at you, his brows knitting together slightly. He knew your story, knew how hard you had worked to pull yourself up and build something successful out of nothing. Owning a nightclub wasn’t just a job—it was a symbol of everything you had overcome.
You took a sip of your drink, lost in thought for a moment before something clicked. “Does Sean have any bartending experience?”
Spencer raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting the question. “Uh, yeah, actually. He’s worked at a few bars. That’s where he got fired from, this last place.”
A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you reached for your phone, fingers quickly typing out a message. Spencer watched, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.
“What are you doing?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual, though his curiosity was piqued.
You looked up, still smiling as you explained, “I’m texting Hotch. I can offer Sean a working interview tomorrow at my club. We’re always looking for good bartenders, and if he’s in need, it’s worth a shot, right?”
Spencer froze, his fork hovering in mid-air, his brain scrambling to catch up with what you’d just said. He forced a smile, but there was a storm brewing inside him. Not because you had texted Hotch—Spencer had long accepted that your relationship with his boss had developed into a friendly, professional one—but because of Sean.
He had seen Sean walk into the bureau today, watched as the women in the office had practically swooned when they saw him. Sean was tall, undeniably attractive, with an easy charm that Spencer knew was irresistible. It didn’t help that Sean had a reputation. Spencer knew he had “gotten around,” experienced in ways that Spencer wasn’t. And now, Sean was going to be working for you, in your club, where you’d be seeing him regularly.
Jealousy gnawed at Spencer’s insides, dark and insidious, feeding on his deepest fears—that one day, someone else would come along. Someone like Sean. More experienced, more charming, more… everything.
But he couldn’t let you see that. He couldn’t let you know how much this was eating at him. So, instead, he plastered on a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and leaned back in his chair.
“That’s... that’s really generous of you,” Spencer said, his voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil he felt. “I’m proud of you, honestly. It’s such a kind thing to do, helping him out like that.”
You beamed at his words, unaware of the storm raging inside him. “Well, it just makes sense, you know? If he’s a good bartender, why not give him a chance? It’s not like I’m handing him the job—he still has to prove himself.”
Spencer nodded, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched you. He could see how happy you were to be able to help, how genuine your intentions were, and it only made him feel worse for the insecurities twisting in his gut.
You reached across the table, taking his hand in yours. “I love you, Spence,” you said softly, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “I’m glad you’re okay with this. I was worried you might think I was overstepping by getting involved.”
Spencer swallowed hard, squeezing your hand gently. “Of course I’m okay with it,” he lied, his smile still in place. “I love you too, and I’m so proud of how much you’ve accomplished. You’re always looking out for people, giving them chances. It’s one of the things I admire most about you.”
You smiled again, leaning across the table to kiss his cheek. “Thanks, Spence. That means a lot.”
As the conversation shifted to other topics, Spencer kept his mask firmly in place, not letting his doubts show. But deep down, that gnawing feeling refused to go away. No matter how much he tried to push it aside, the thought lingered: What if one day, you realized someone like Sean was better?
—
Sean had already impressed you the moment he walked through the doors of your nightclub, right on time for his working interview. Dressed in the attire you had specified—black from head to toe—he looked sharp and professional. You had expected someone more casual, maybe even a bit cocky given his reputation, but Sean Hotchner showed up ready to work.
Aaron had called earlier that morning, expressing his gratitude for your offer. "I really appreciate this," he had said, his voice heavy with something between relief and exhaustion. "But you don’t have to feel obligated to help Sean. He’s not your responsibility."
You had assured Aaron you didn’t mind at all. After all, you were always on the lookout for good bartenders. "Especially since I just promoted my best bartender to the VIP level," you had explained. “We’ve got space to fill, and if Sean can handle the bar, it’ll be a win-win.”
Now, as you watched Sean behind the bar, you felt a quiet sense of satisfaction. He moved with precision, taking orders smoothly, mixing drinks quickly, and keeping up with the flow of the night like a seasoned professional. It was clear he had experience, and that gave you a sense of relief. You had taken a chance on him by allowing him to skip the usual server stage, something you typically required of all new hires. But it seemed like that gamble was paying off.
You made your way over to the bar as Sean finished serving a group of customers. He noticed you approaching and straightened up, giving you a nod. "How’s it going?" you asked, leaning against the counter with an approving smile.
“So far, so good,” Sean replied, a hint of confidence in his voice. “I’m used to a fast pace. It feels good to be back behind the bar.”
You smiled, appreciating his composure. “I have to say, you’re doing a great job. I usually don’t let people jump straight to bartending, but you’ve handled everything perfectly tonight.”
Sean’s face lit up with a genuine smile, his posture relaxing a little. "Thanks, that means a lot."
You nodded, understanding the weight of those words. "I think we can skip the formalities—if you’re interested, the job’s yours."
Sean’s eyes widened slightly, clearly surprised by the offer. "Really? Just like that?"
"Just like that," you confirmed. "You’ve shown me enough tonight. You know what you’re doing, and I could use someone like you on the team."
He blinked, momentarily taken aback by the swiftness of it all, before breaking into a grin. "Thank you. Seriously, I won’t let you down."
"You’d better not," you teased, giving him a wink. "Welcome to the team."
As Sean returned to his work, you stood back, watching him interact with customers and noticing how well he fit in with the atmosphere of the club. He was a natural behind the bar, and you were already confident in your decision.
The next day, before the crowd came in, Aaron stopped by to check on his brother. As you greeted him, he glanced toward the bar, where Sean was preparing before what was supposed to be a busy shift.
"I have to thank you again," Aaron said, his tone sincere. "Sean needed this, more than you know."
You shook your head, brushing off the sentiment with a smile. "He’s doing a great job. Honestly, I think I’m the one who got lucky. You were right—he’s not my responsibility, but I’m happy to have him here."
Aaron gave a small, appreciative nod, his face softening. "I’ll make sure he knows how grateful he should be. You’ve done more for him than you realize."
You smiled, watching as Sean continued his work, his focus sharp and his movements steady. "He’s earned it, Aaron. I’m glad I took the chance."
Later that night, the club was in full swing, lights flashing in sync with the beat of the music, and the energy was palpable. People crowded the dance floor, moving to the rhythm, while others clustered around the bar, talking and laughing as they sipped their drinks. You navigated the floor easily, greeting regulars and keeping an eye on how things were running. It was a typical Friday night—lively, loud, and just the way you liked it.
In the center of the dance floor, Derek and Emily were having the time of their lives. Derek had drawn Emily out to dance almost as soon as they arrived, and now the two were lost in the music. Emily laughed as Derek spun her around, her dark hair flying as she moved effortlessly with him. Their laughter echoed even over the thumping bass, and it was clear that they were in their element, shaking off the stress of the week.
“Come on, Em! You can do better than that!” Derek teased, flashing her that playful grin he was famous for.
“Oh, you think so?” Emily shot back, her competitive side kicking in as she matched his dance moves with a flick of her hips. “Watch and learn, Morgan.”
Nearby, JJ stood at a high-top table, sipping a cocktail while watching them, shaking her head with an amused smile. “They’re ridiculous,” she said, laughing softly.
“They’re having fun,” Penelope added, her eyes glowing with excitement as she scanned the room. “This place is amazing! Y/N has really outdone herself!”
But Spencer was quieter than the rest, standing a little farther back from the group, his drink untouched in his hand as his eyes remained locked on the bar where Sean worked. He wasn’t dancing or chatting like the others; his focus was entirely on you and Sean. Spencer’s jaw tightened slightly as he watched the two of you exchanging easy conversation. You stood at the bar, laughing at something Sean said as he mixed drinks with practiced ease.
Sean was good, no doubt about it. He looked completely in his element behind the bar, effortlessly charming customers as he handed out drinks, his smile quick and easy. And there you were, standing beside him, looking equally relaxed and at home in your own nightclub. You smiled at Sean, gave him a friendly nudge as you helped out, your laughter ringing out above the hum of the crowd.
Spencer’s grip on his glass tightened just a fraction.
"Spence?" JJ’s voice pulled him out of his spiral. She was looking at him with concern, her head tilted slightly. "You good?"
Spencer quickly forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… thinking.”
JJ gave him a knowing look but didn’t press further. “You sure? You’ve been staring at the bar for a while now.”
Spencer swallowed, forcing his gaze away from the scene. “Just... keeping an eye on things,” he said, trying to sound casual.
But his eyes drifted back, drawn to the way you leaned in close to talk to Sean, laughing easily at something he said. Spencer clenched his jaw, trying to shake off the irrational jealousy. He didn’t want to feel this way—not when he trusted you so deeply. But the insecurities simmered just beneath the surface, no matter how much he tried to tamp them down.
At the bar, you noticed Spencer’s gaze from across the room, giving him a quick wave and a bright smile, unaware of the storm brewing in his head. Spencer waved back, forcing himself to return your smile, but his heart was still heavy with the weight of his unspoken fears.
As Derek and Emily continued to dance, their carefree energy a stark contrast to the tension building inside Spencer, he tried to push his jealousy aside. He wanted to trust in what you had, to remind himself that you loved him, not Sean.
But as he watched you lean against the bar, your attention completely on Sean as he worked, Spencer couldn’t help but feel that gnawing insecurity settle deeper in his chest.
Spencer’s eyes flickered toward you again as you moved across the club, checking on customers, making sure everything was running smoothly. Even in your all-black uniform, which was meant to look professional, you somehow made it look effortlessly chic. The fitted black blazer, the lace tights, and that sleek skirt—it all came together in a way that caught people's attention. And it wasn’t just the customers. Spencer saw how Sean’s gaze lingered a little too long every time you walked away, his eyes drifting down to the hem of your skirt, to the low neckline of your top.
It didn’t sit right with Spencer. He tried to tell himself that Sean wasn’t doing anything out of line—he was just looking, and maybe that was normal. You looked amazing, after all. But it gnawed at him, the way Sean’s eyes followed you, the way he smiled that easy, flirtatious smile at customers and coworkers alike. There was something too comfortable about the way Sean was acting, and Spencer couldn’t shake the irritation growing in his chest.
JJ was talking with Penelope next to him, her attention catching on Sean’s antics at the bar. She chuckled, leaning closer to Spencer, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. “Classic Sean,” she said, shaking her head as she watched him chat up a group of women by the bar. “Talking up every person within earshot.”
Spencer didn’t laugh. He didn’t find it funny. His fingers gripped his drink a little tighter, his jaw tensing as he tried to ignore the bubbling jealousy rising inside him. Sean wasn’t just talking to the women, he was clearly charming them, making them giggle and blush with every word.
Why did I even come tonight? Spencer thought to himself. Maybe staying home would have been the better option. Watching Sean work the bar—watching him charm the customers, and worse, watching him look at you—was a slow burn of frustration that Spencer didn’t know how to handle.
JJ nudged him lightly with her elbow. “You sure you’re alright, Spence?”
He forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, I promise, I’m fine,” he said quietly, though his thoughts were far from fine.
He didn’t want to seem insecure, didn’t want to show just how much Sean’s presence was bothering him. But it was hard to shake the image of Sean’s lingering glances, the flirtatious air about him, and the unsettling thought that maybe, just maybe, Sean was good for you in ways that Spencer wasn’t.
As you made your way over to Spencer and his friends, completely unaware of the internal storm that had been brewing inside your boyfriend all night, your smile brightened when you saw him. “Hi, baby,” you said sweetly, leaning down to give Spencer a quick peck on the lips.
But to your surprise, instead of the brief kiss you were expecting, Spencer’s hands found their way to your waist, pulling you in closer as he deepened the kiss. His lips lingered on yours longer than usual, and the intensity of the gesture caught you off guard. You could feel the heat of his hands through the fabric of your blazer, the possessiveness in his grip that was unlike him, especially in public.
When you finally pulled back, slightly dazed, your cheeks flushed as you whispered, “Damn, baby, what did I do to deserve that?” You playfully tucked a loose strand of his hair behind his ear, grinning at him.
Spencer’s grip on you didn’t falter. In fact, he pulled you even closer, positioning you between his spread thighs from where he sat on the stool. His gaze was soft, but there was something in his eyes, something deeper. “You just look so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low, almost vulnerable. “I couldn’t help myself.”
Your heart fluttered at his words, feeling heat rise to your face. Spencer wasn’t usually so bold, so forward—especially not in front of other people. The sweet boy you loved was often shy, reserved, but this moment? This was different. It was as if he was trying to show you something, stake a quiet claim that you couldn’t quite understand.
You gave him another quick kiss, smiling softly against his lips before pulling back. “Well, thank you,” you said, feeling your own cheeks flush. You glanced at the group with a bright smile before excusing yourself to check on a few things at the bar. As you walked away, Spencer’s eyes followed you, his hand still resting on his thigh, feeling the lingering warmth where he’d held you close.
No sooner had you disappeared from view than Penelope was already nudging Spencer with a playful grin. “Spencer Reid!” she teased, her voice brimming with amusement as she lightly slapped his shoulder. “Save it for later, horn dog!”
Spencer felt his entire face turn scarlet, his heart pounding with embarrassment. He wasn’t trying to be… well, that! But the way Penelope’s eyes twinkled, the implication that she thought the two of you were all over each other in that way, made him squirm in his seat.
“Oh, come on, don’t blush, pretty boy,” Penelope giggled, thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. “You’ve been staring at her all night. We know what’s on your mind.”
JJ joined in, her laugh warm and teasing. “Yeah, Spence, is that why you’ve been keeping an eye on her all night? Can’t wait to get Y/N all to yourself later?”
Spencer wished he could disappear into thin air. He shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the heat rising to his ears. “Something like that,” he muttered, but the truth weighed heavier on him than he wanted to admit.
It wasn’t that Spencer wasn’t physically attracted to you—he adored every part of you—but the teasing only made him feel more inadequate, more aware of the gap between your experience and his. The others didn’t know. They had no idea that he hadn’t crossed the line into physical intimacy with you yet, despite your relationship being serious, despite you having already moved in together and said “I love you.”
Most couples would have by now, he thought bitterly. And everyone else, Penelope and JJ included—they probably assumed you two were just like everyone else, that he was just another guy in a committed relationship. The teasing implied as much.
But Spencer knew the truth, and it gnawed at him—those dark fears he kept bottled up, that you would eventually find someone more experienced, more capable, someone who could offer you more than he ever could.
The soft click of the door echoed through the apartment as you stepped inside, already feeling the exhaustion from the long night creeping in. It was well past 3:00 a.m., the time when the world was quiet, and you expected the same from your apartment. Usually, Spencer would be fast asleep by now, his rhythmic breathing a comforting sound you’d find when you crawled into bed after closing the club. But tonight, as you set your bag down and kicked off your heels, you were surprised to see the warm glow of a lamp in the living room.
Spencer was sitting in his favorite green armchair, the soft pages of a book resting in his lap as he looked up, a sleepy but genuine grin spreading across his face. The sight of him there, waiting for you, made your heart swell. His hair was slightly disheveled, his long fingers trailing off the edge of the chair as he beckoned you closer with open arms.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he mumbled, his voice warm and low, the kind of greeting that made you feel instantly at home.
You couldn’t resist the invitation, crossing the room in a few quick strides before slipping into his arms, settling into the chair with him. “Hi, my love,” you sighed, leaning into his warmth, your face nuzzling into the crook of his neck as you inhaled his familiar scent. The combination of coffee and books was something uniquely Spencer, and it always made you feel safe.
“How was closing?” he asked, his voice gentle as his hand moved to stroke your back in slow, soothing circles.
You shivered lightly at his touch, enjoying the familiar rhythm of his fingers. “It was fine,” you murmured, your breath soft against his neck. “Sean is so much faster than Amber was. It makes things a lot easier.”
As soon as the words left your lips, you felt it. The way Spencer’s body tensed beneath you, the way his hand paused for a fraction of a second before continuing. You didn’t think much of it at first—maybe he was just tired—but then his touch changed. The gentle strokes on your back turned into something more deliberate, more intent as his hand slid lower.
“Hmmm,” Spencer hummed, his tone almost too casual. “I’m glad he’s been helpful.”
You opened your mouth to continue, but your thoughts trailed off as Spencer’s hand slid down further, past the small of your back, coming to rest on your thigh. His fingers pressed into the fabric there, his thumb tracing slow circles that sent a shiver through you. At first, you didn’t think much of it—Spencer’s touch was always affectionate, but this felt different.
“Yeah, he really has been—” Your sentence was cut short as Spencer’s hand traveled higher, his fingers brushing over your ass with a boldness that caught you off guard. His touch was unmistakable now, filled with an intensity you weren’t used to seeing from your typically gentle and reserved boyfriend.
You lifted your head, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes, searching for the meaning behind this sudden shift. His gaze was dark, filled with something you hadn’t seen before—jealousy and possessiveness that simmered just beneath the surface.
“Is this okay?” Spencer asked, his voice a little rougher than usual, his hand still resting firmly on your body.
You blinked, your heart racing a little faster as you processed his question. “Yeah, baby, of course,” you whispered, stroking his cheek softly with your thumb. You gave him a reassuring smile, letting him know there was nothing to be uncertain about. “You can touch me anywhere.”
At your words, you felt something shift in Spencer. A quiet storm brewing behind his soft exterior, flared up. His hand flexed against you, and you could see it in his eyes now—he was staking his claim, reminding himself, and maybe even you, that he was the one who had the right to be close to you like this.
He was the one allowed to touch you, to hold you, to love you. Not Sean, not anyone else. Only him.
Without another word, Spencer pulled you closer, his grip on you tightening slightly as if to make sure you understood. You weren’t sure where this sudden intensity came from, but it made your heart race in a different way. This wasn’t the soft, shy Spencer you were used to. This was something deeper, something more primal. And for a moment, you were both wrapped up in it, the quiet room charged with unspoken tension.
You pressed a kiss to his lips, slow and tender, hoping to ease whatever storm was brewing inside him. “Spence,” you whispered against his lips, “I’m yours.”
Spencer's heart pounded in his chest as the moment stretched between you. He had always felt a deep sense of attraction for you, but acting on it had been something he’d carefully avoided—out of nervousness, out of insecurity. But tonight there was something about the way you had reassured him, the way you said he could touch you, that ignited a new kind of confidence in him.
He leaned down, closing the space between you, and kissed you with a passion that surprised even him. It was much like the kiss you’d shared earlier at the club, only this time there was an intensity behind it—a hunger that had been quietly building for a long time. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as his lips moved with yours, no longer tentative, but sure, as though he had made a silent decision within himself.
You were taken aback for only a brief moment, but not at all upset by the new direction your night was taking. If anything, you were thrilled to see this side of him, this bolder, more assertive Spencer. You brought both hands up to cradle his face, your thumbs gently stroking his jawline as you kissed him back, pouring all your affection into the moment. His hands, meanwhile, began to roam your body, exploring what little he could in this current position, his fingers tracing the curve of your hips, your thighs. There was an eagerness in his touch, a yearning that you could feel pulsing from him.
You could sense that he wanted more, that he wasn’t sure how to ask for it, but you knew. You knew exactly what he needed. Without a word, you sat up from where you were nestled in his lap, moving slowly so you could shift your position. You swung one leg over him, straddling his lap and settling back down, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders. Then, with a teasing smile, you took his hands in yours, guiding them back to where he seemed to want them the most—onto your ass.
“Better?” you asked, your smirk playful, though your heart was racing just as fast as his.
Spencer’s breath hitched slightly, the weight of your body on his lap combined with the newfound freedom in his touch making him dizzy with need. His fingers instinctively squeezed the flesh beneath them, reveling in the feeling of holding you like this, of having you so close.
“Much,” he managed to say, his voice weak with desire, his eyes wide as he looked up at you. He leaned forward again, capturing your lips in another kiss, more urgent this time. His hands tightened around you, holding you as if afraid you might slip away. You could feel the tension in his body as he leaned into the kiss, the way he was holding back so much yet giving in more than he ever had before.
The kiss deepened, and you could feel the heat between you building as his hands roamed your back, your thighs, then found their way back to your ass, squeezing you with newfound confidence. He wasn’t just nervous Spencer anymore—he was Spencer who wanted you, and that thought made you smile against his lips.
You pulled back slightly, just enough to catch your breath and look into his eyes. His gaze was filled with a mix of awe and desire, as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening, yet he was determined to take the leap.
“I love this side of you,” you whispered, your fingers brushing through his hair as you leaned your forehead against his. “But we don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”
As you whispered those reassuring words, you saw the subtle flicker of doubt flash across Spencer’s face. His confidence, which had been so bold a moment ago, seemed to waver. You could practically see the question forming in his mind—Did you not want this? Was he misreading the situation?
You were quick to close the gap between his fear and your truth. “I want to do everything with you, baby,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss him softly, your lips brushing against his with tender intent. Then, in a playful move, you gently bit down on his bottom lip, just enough to make him whine, a small, needy sound escaping his throat that sent a thrill through you. “I just don’t want to rush anything,” you continued, your voice soothing but firm. “We have all the time in the world.”
You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, making sure your next words landed where they needed to. “I am not going anywhere, okay? You don’t have to worry about that.”
Spencer’s chest rose and fell with the deep breath he took, his gaze softening as your words sank in. He nodded, his hand still resting possessively on your waist. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath but carrying the full weight of his emotions.
You smiled at him, a loving, genuine smile that only deepened his feelings. “I love you more,” you whispered back before leaning down to kiss him again.
In that moment, the kiss was everything. Soft, slow, reassuring, full of the love and trust that you’d both built together. But then, as you shifted in his lap, your body moved instinctively—rolling your hips ever so slightly. You hadn’t meant to, but the unmistakable hardness beneath you pressed against your core, causing a delicious friction that neither of you expected.
Spencer whimpered into your mouth, the sound raw and unrestrained, his hips jerking upward involuntarily in response to the sudden, new form of pleasure. The sensation seemed to spark something deep inside him, a rush of need that had been bubbling under the surface for so long. You felt his fingers tighten on your waist, his breath hitching as he chased the friction, his body moving beneath you as if on autopilot.
The way Spencer reacted to the brief touch, the soft sounds of desperation coming from him, sent a thrill through your own body. You could feel the heat rising between you both, the chemistry shifting from sweet to something more electric. Your lips hovered just above his, your breath mingling with his as you caught the look in his eyes—dark, yearning, and yet still so full of love.
You kissed him again, slower this time, savoring every second as your hands cupped his face, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “Spence…” you whispered, his name a quiet plea on your lips, “Does that feel good, baby?”
“Mhm,” he whined softly, eyes closed as he leaned into the feeling, chasing the sensation your touch brought him. His body responded instinctively, moving with you, completely lost in the moment.
You were just about to suggest something more, thinking about shedding some of the clothing between you, when suddenly, Spencer stilled beneath you. His entire body tensed, and before you could ask what was wrong, he let out a long, unexpected moan. You felt it—an undeniable wetness seeping through your tights.
Spencer’s eyes shot open in mortification, his face flushing crimson as he realized what had just happened. Panic set in immediately, and without a word, he scrambled out from under you, pushing you off gently but urgently as he bolted toward the bathroom.
You barely had time to process what had happened before he disappeared behind the door. The sound of it closing echoed through the quiet apartment, leaving you sitting there, still feeling the heat of the moment but now overtaken by concern. You stood up, adjusting yourself and taking a deep breath, your mind quickly shifting from your own arousal to Spencer’s sudden distress.
You followed him to the bathroom, heart heavy as you heard him breathing heavily on the other side of the door. Gently, you knocked, your voice soft and filled with care. “Spencer? Honey, are you okay?”
A sniffle came from the other side, a sound that broke your heart. “No,” he whimpered, his voice small, ashamed.
You leaned your forehead against the door, trying to offer him comfort without pushing too hard. “Can I come in?” you asked, your tone gentle and filled with reassurance.
“No,” he answered again, his voice cracking, clearly embarrassed.
You sighed softly, wanting nothing more than to hold him, to make sure he knew there was nothing to be ashamed of. “Why not, baby?” you asked, your voice soft but persistent.
Spencer hesitated, his breath shaky as he tried to find the words. “Because... because I... I... ruined it,” he stammered, his voice thick with tears.
Your heart broke at his words. Ruined it? There was nothing to ruin. You leaned against the door more firmly, wanting him to hear the sincerity in your voice. “Spencer,” you said softly, “you didn’t ruin anything, my love. Please let me in. We can talk about it, okay?”
He sniffled again, his breathing still shaky. You could hear him shifting on the other side, his back still pressed against the door. “I... I couldn’t control it. I didn’t mean to... it’s so embarrassing,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
“Baby, it’s okay,” you reassured him, feeling your own heart ache for him. “It’s normal. It happens. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, I promise.”
There was a pause, and you could hear him take a deep breath, as if he was trying to gather himself. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you heard the soft click of the door unlocking.
Slowly, you opened the door and found Spencer standing there, his eyes red-rimmed, his shoulders slumped in defeat. His gaze dropped to the floor, avoiding yours out of sheer mortification. Without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a comforting embrace.
He hesitated at first, still feeling the weight of his embarrassment, but eventually, his arms came around you, holding on tightly as if you were his lifeline.
“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled into your shoulder, his voice muffled and thick with emotion.
You pulled back just enough to cup his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. Your eyes were filled with nothing but love and understanding. “Spencer, you don’t have to be sorry,” you said softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He blinked at you, clearly still struggling to accept that. “But... it was... I didn’t even—”
“Shh,” you soothed him, gently placing a finger against his lips, your voice soft but reassuring. “How about we focus on how that felt, yeah?”
Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly, tilting his head at you, still unsure how to navigate this moment. His embarrassment was still fresh, but your calmness helped ease the tension that had built up inside him.
“Did it feel good, baby?” you asked, your tone gentle and coaxing. “Like something you’d want to try again?”
There was a moment of hesitation before the realization hit Spencer—what you were doing. You weren’t focusing on his embarrassment, his mistake. You were helping him see past it, guiding him back to what mattered: the feeling you had shared, the intimacy of the moment. His heart swelled with gratitude, a soft warmth spreading through his chest.
“Yes,” he said softly, his voice filled with relief and sincerity. “It did.”
You smiled up at him, and that smile was all it took to melt the remaining tension in his body. Leaning in, you kissed him, a slow and tender kiss filled with the reassurance that everything was okay, that he was okay. “I liked it too,” you whispered against his lips. “Maybe we can do that again soon?”
Spencer’s lips quirked into a small smile, more confident this time. “I would like that,” he admitted, his voice steady, a little more sure of himself.
Your heart swarmed with affection as you pulled him close, pressing your cheek against his as he tucked his head into the crook of your neck, his body relaxing into yours. You gently rubbed his back, feeling the tension ease from his muscles as he sighed against your skin.
“Do you want to shower, Spence?” you asked softly, your hand trailing soothing patterns up and down his back.
Spencer nuzzled closer to you, his voice a low mumble into your skin. “Together?”
You smiled, kissing the top of his head. “We can,” you hummed, “but if that’s too much right now, I don’t mind leaving. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
Spencer shook his head rapidly, pulling you closer. “Don’t want you to go anywhere.”
“Okay, okay,” you soothed, your fingers still brushing lightly across his back. “I won’t leave. We can shower together.”
Spencer sighed happily, his arms tightening around you as if to confirm that you were staying, that you weren’t going anywhere. He pressed a soft kiss to your neck before mumbling, “Just… don’t look at my penis, please?”
You couldn’t help the soft laugh that bubbled up, but you quickly reassured him, kissing his cheek as you whispered, “Of course, my love. My eyes will stay on your face.”
With that promise, Spencer relaxed further into you, his trust in you deepening with every passing second. The shame and embarrassment from earlier slowly dissolved, replaced by the comforting knowledge that you accepted him fully, without judgment. You held him for a moment longer, your arms wrapped securely around him.
The shower was filled with steam and laughter, the sound of water splashing mixing with your playful giggles and Spencer’s rare, carefree chuckles. It was the first time you had shared the shower, a new experience that was turning out to be much more fun than either of you had expected. Usually, one of you would sit outside on the toilet, talking through the curtain while the other showered. But now, the barrier was gone, and the playful side of both of you was in full swing.
You couldn’t resist puffing your cheeks full of water and spitting it in Spencer’s direction, making him laugh out loud as droplets hit his chest. “Hey!” he protested, though his grin betrayed him as he retaliated with a splash of his own, his hands sending a wave of water your way.
You laughed, dodging the water as best as you could, enjoying this lighthearted, silly moment between you two. It was refreshing to see Spencer like this, so relaxed, his usual careful demeanor replaced with playful mischief.
But there was something else too. Spencer tried his hardest to keep his eyes on your face—his eyes darting up quickly whenever they drifted a little lower. You couldn’t help but giggle each time he looked away, a blush creeping up his neck, his face flushed for reasons beyond just the heat of the shower.
After the fourth or fifth time of catching him sneaking a glance only to immediately avert his eyes, you decided to call him out on it. “Spencer,” you giggled, crossing your arms over your chest playfully. “I am your girlfriend, you know?”
Spencer looked back at you, his brow furrowing in that adorable, confused way he did when he was trying to figure something out. “I know that, why are you asking?” he asked, his head tilting slightly, genuinely perplexed.
You couldn’t hold back your laughter at his expression, shaking your head in amusement. “Because, you big dork,” you cackled, “you’re allowed to look at my boobs! You can even touch them if you want!”
Spencer’s eyes widened, his blush deepening as he processed your words. “I—well, I just didn’t want to... I mean...” He stammered, looking flustered but also a little curious, his gaze flickering down before darting back up to your eyes. “I didn’t want to seem disrespectful.”
You burst out laughing, stepping closer to him, your hands resting lightly on his chest as you stood on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Spence,” you said between your giggles, “you could never be disrespectful. Trust me.”
He blinked, still looking a little unsure but also charmed by your playfulness. “I... I guess that makes sense,” he murmured, his lips curving into a shy smile.
You rolled your eyes affectionately, moving his hands from your waist to your chest with a smirk. “Here, I’ll even help you.”
Spencer’s face turned crimson as he felt the softness beneath his hands, his fingers lightly tracing over your skin as if he were still processing what was happening. His touch was tentative, delicate, like he wasn’t sure if he was doing it right.
You smiled, leaning in to kiss his nose. “See? Not so scary, right?”
He swallowed, finally letting himself relax a little, his thumb brushing softly over your skin. “Not scary,” he echoed softly, his eyes filled with a mix of wonder and affection. Then, as if realizing the silliness of it all, he let out a small laugh, shaking his head at himself.
You both stood there in the warmth of the shower, your bodies close, the steam curling around you as Spencer finally allowed himself to look, to touch, to enjoy this new level of intimacy with you. It was another step in your relationship, one that made both of you feel more connected, more comfortable with each other.
But as always, you couldn’t resist keeping the moment light. With a mischievous grin, you puffed your cheeks full of water again and spat it playfully in Spencer’s direction, causing him to sputter in surprise and laugh as he wiped his face.
“Hey!” he laughed, shaking his head as water dripped from his hair. “You’re gonna pay for that!”
“Oh yeah?” you teased, backing up against the wall of the shower with a grin. “What are you gonna do about it, Dr. Reid?”
Spencer’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he stepped closer, the playful dynamic back in full swing, earlier embarrassment long forgotten. It was just the two of you now, laughing, teasing, and enjoying each other in the most carefree way. And that, in the end, was what made this moment perfect.
—
As the weeks rolled on, Spencer found himself spending more and more time at your nightclub. It had become a routine for him during his free weekends, a way to be closer to you. On the busier nights, he would sit at the bar, watching you work, admiring the way you effortlessly ran the place. And on weeknights, when you invited the bartenders in during closed hours to practice making new drinks, Spencer would linger in the background, quietly observing.
But each time he visited, something gnawed at him. It wasn’t just the crowd, the music, or the dim lighting of the club—it was Sean. At first, Spencer tried to brush it off. He chalked it up to Sean’s naturally charming personality, how bartenders often carried themselves with confidence, flirting with customers as part of the job. But now, Spencer couldn’t help but feel like there was something more.
Sean’s eyes seemed to linger on you longer than they should, or at least that’s how it appeared to Spencer. Over the past few weeks, with Spencer spending more time at the club, he became convinced that Sean had started flirting with you. His words seemed just a bit too smooth, his smiles lingered a little too long. Spencer couldn’t ignore the casual way Sean would lean in when he spoke to you or how he seemed overly attentive whenever you checked in at the bar.
What Spencer didn’t know, however, was that Sean had recently confided in you about his lack of attraction to women. While he wasn’t out of the closet yet, he wanted to make sure his playful, flirtatious behavior was never misunderstood. It was all in good fun, a way to keep the atmosphere light and easy at work, and he trusted you enough to share his truth, knowing it wouldn’t affect your friendship or professional relationship.
One night, after a long day, you and Spencer were curled up on the couch, your legs draped over his lap as the two of you settled into your usual post-work relaxation. You were absentmindedly playing with Spencer’s hand while a TV show played in the background, the glow of the screen filling the cozy living room. But Spencer’s mind wasn’t on the show. His thoughts were elsewhere—back at the club, and back on Sean.
“Hey…” Spencer began, his voice hesitant as his fingers traced small circles on your knee.
You looked over at him, smiling softly. “Yeah, babe?”
He chewed on his bottom lip, trying to find the right words. He didn’t want to sound paranoid, but the thought had been eating away at him for days now. “I think… I think Sean’s been flirting with you.”
You blinked, taken aback by his statement. “What? Sean?” The idea made you laugh—not to be dismissive of Spencer’s feelings, but the thought of Sean flirting with you, his boss, was almost comical. “Spence, no way.”
He frowned slightly, feeling a bit vulnerable after putting it out there. “I’m serious. He looks at you… and I’ve heard him make little comments. I don’t know, it just feels like he’s always trying to get your attention in a certain way.”
You laughed again, shaking your head, though your tone was softer this time, recognizing the seriousness in his voice. “Baby, bartenders flirt. It’s literally part of the job. They flirt with everyone—it doesn’t mean anything.”
Spencer’s shoulders slumped slightly. He knew you didn’t mean to dismiss his concern, but it stung a little. “Yeah, I know, but… it’s different with him. I see the way he acts around you. It’s not the same as with other people.”
You shifted, sitting up a bit to face him, brushing a hand through his hair. “Spencer, I promise you, Sean’s just doing his job. If he’s flirting, he’s doing it with every customer that walks through the door.” You smiled warmly, leaning in to kiss him softly. “And even if he was flirting with me, it wouldn’t matter. You’re the only one I have eyes for.”
Your words were meant to reassure him, but Spencer still felt that unease. He didn’t doubt your loyalty or love for him, but there was something about Sean that bothered him. He could sense it—the subtle charm, the lingering glances that made his stomach twist with jealousy. But he didn’t want to seem overly paranoid or insecure, especially not after you had laughed off the idea. So, instead of pushing it further, Spencer just nodded, giving you a weak smile in return.
“Yeah… you’re probably right,” he murmured, though the knot in his chest hadn’t untangled.
You kissed him again, resting your head on his shoulder. “Of course I’m right. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
But even as you both settled back into your cozy position, Spencer couldn’t shake the nagging feeling. He didn’t want to keep bringing it up, didn’t want to seem annoyingly jealous or insecure, so he kept it bottled up after that night, silently watching from the sidelines each time he visited the club. But each time Sean’s eyes lingered too long on you, or every time Spencer caught the slight inflection in Sean’s voice when he spoke to you, the feeling festered inside him, unresolved.
—
Spencer hadn't realized just how much his pent-up frustration was affecting him—at least, not until the team started to notice. What began as subtle shifts in his demeanor during interrogations had gradually turned into something much more obvious. Spencer had always been the calm, logical one. The genius with a kind heart, who often sought to understand unsubs and their motivations. But recently, something had changed.
During takedowns, Spencer's grip on suspects was firmer, his actions more aggressive than they needed to be. When it came to interviews and interrogations, he was no longer the patient profiler with a steady voice. His words were sharp, cold, and sometimes downright cutting. He'd lean in too close, his eyes dark with intensity, and his voice would drop to a low, threatening tone that made even the most hardened criminals flinch. He became a version of himself that no one on the team recognized.
It all came to a head when they brought in a person of interest—someone who wasn’t even officially connected to the crime yet, just a potential witness. The woman had been nervous enough as it was, but the moment Spencer stepped into the interrogation room, his usual warmth and understanding were gone. Instead, he stared her down, his eyes hard, his tone biting as he drilled her with questions. The more she stammered, the harsher he became, until finally, the woman broke down in tears, sobbing uncontrollably.
Hotch had seen enough. The moment Spencer walked out of the interrogation room, his jaw tight and his hands clenched at his sides, Hotch made the decision to pull him aside.
“Reid, conference room. Now.”
Spencer barely glanced up, his frustration still evident, but he followed Hotch without a word. The rest of the team exchanged uneasy glances as they watched him disappear into the room, the door closing firmly behind them.
Hotch turned to face Spencer, his arms crossed, his face unreadable. "What the hell is going on with you, Reid?" His voice was stern but not unkind, giving Spencer the chance to explain himself.
Spencer, still bristling with residual anger, shifted uncomfortably. “What do you mean?” He knew exactly what Hotch meant, but he wasn’t ready to admit it yet.
“You made a person of interest cry, Spencer,” Hotch said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “That woman was barely connected to the case, and you broke her down like she was the unsub. This isn’t like you.”
Spencer crossed his arms, suddenly feeling defensive. “She wasn’t cooperating. I was just trying to get the truth out of her.”
“There are ways to get the truth out of people that don’t involve scaring them,” Hotch countered. “You’ve always known that. But this—this isn’t the Reid we all know. What’s going on?”
Spencer clenched his jaw, his eyes dropping to the floor. For a moment, he considered brushing it off, making some excuse about the stress of the job, but he knew Hotch wouldn’t buy it. The truth of it was, Spencer didn’t even fully understand what had been driving him lately. All he knew was that something inside him had shifted, a growing aggression that he couldn’t quite shake.
“It’s… it’s nothing,” Spencer muttered, though he knew how weak the excuse sounded.
“Reid, you and I both know that’s not true,” Hotch said, his voice firm but not unkind. “You’ve been on edge for weeks. I’ve noticed it, and so has the rest of the team. Whatever’s going on with you, you need to talk about it. Before it gets worse.”
Spencer exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. His mind raced, filled with thoughts of the one thing that had been eating away at him for weeks: Sean and the club. The jealousy, the fear, the constant feeling that he wasn’t enough. He had tried to keep it bottled up, had tried to pretend that everything was fine, but clearly, it wasn’t. And now, it was affecting his work—affecting who he was.
“I…” Spencer’s voice faltered, his throat tightening as he realized how ridiculous it might sound to Hotch. But there was no point in hiding it anymore. “It’s personal.”
Hotch raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further, his gaze steady as he waited for Spencer to continue. The silence stretched between them, a gentle but firm reminder that Hotch was giving Spencer space to be honest.
Spencer shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of the conversation hanging over him. He knew what Hotch was expecting, what he should say, but the truth was harder to face than he anticipated.
“I’ll talk to someone,” Spencer finally said with a sigh, running a hand through his hair in a tired gesture. His voice was laced with reluctance, but there was a genuine attempt to reassure his boss. “I promise.”
Hotch studied him for a moment longer, the skepticism clear in his eyes, though he didn’t vocalize it. He knew Spencer well enough to recognize when he was pushing something down, burying it beneath layers of self-control and avoidance. And as much as Hotch wanted to push further, he also knew that Spencer was an adult—one who had to take ownership of his own emotions.
“Alright,” Hotch finally said, his tone even. “I’m trusting you to handle this, Spencer. Don’t let it get worse.”
Spencer nodded, though a small part of him wasn’t sure if he’d follow through. But the weight of Hotch’s gaze made it clear that this conversation wouldn’t be forgotten easily.
Hotch gave a final nod, his demeanor softening just slightly as he spoke. “Take care of yourself, Reid.”
Spencer forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I will,” he said, though the truth of the promise felt heavy.
With that, the conversation ended, and Spencer made his way out of Hotch’s office, feeling the quiet pressure of everything that had built up inside him over the past few weeks. He knew he had to do something about it—he had to talk to you, or someone, before this spiral led him further down a path he didn’t want to follow.
For now, though, he’d keep the promise to himself, hoping that he’d find the strength to follow through.
—
Spencer had barely set foot through the door before you were there to greet him, your usual warmth and love surrounding him as you kissed him softly, welcoming him home. But instead of the usual sense of relief he felt in your embrace, something inside him snapped. The frustration from the case, from everything that had been building inside him, surged to the surface.
Without thinking, Spencer grabbed your face, pulling you into a deep, urgent kiss. It wasn’t the kind of kiss you were used to from him—it was rough, almost desperate. He devoured your mouth like he was trying to lose himself in you, his hands gripping you tighter than usual. You assumed it was just the result of a tough case, and maybe he just missed you. But something about the intensity of it was off.
As Spencer’s hands tugged at the hem of your shirt, right there in the walkway by the front door, you tried to pull back slightly to ask him if everything was okay. But he didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just didn’t care—because he kept tugging, his fingers working to get your shirt over your head.
You let him pull it off, still unsure of what was going on but trusting that Spencer wouldn’t act like this without reason. Maybe he just needed you, needed to feel close to you. But when he backed you towards the bedroom with that same roughness, something in the pit of your stomach twisted with unease.
Then, when he pushed you onto the bed—aggressively, without the usual care he always showed—alarm bells started ringing in your head.
"Spencer!" you called out, your voice louder than intended, hoping it would snap him out of whatever was happening.
But Spencer didn’t stop. If he noticed your tone, he either misread it or ignored it, because he crawled over you, his hands fumbling with your pants now, too focused on what he was doing to realize you were uncomfortable.
Panic set in then. This wasn’t your Spencer. He had never acted like this before. You pushed at his hands, your heart racing as you called out again, louder this time.
“Spencer, stop!” you shouted, finally shoving his hands away from your waist.
Spencer froze, his body going rigid above you as your words seemed to cut through the fog of whatever had taken over him. His eyes widened slightly, and you could see the mix of confusion and shame washing over his face as he registered what you had said.
“What’s gotten into you?” you asked, your voice breathless but firm, your hands still on his chest to keep some distance between you.
For a moment, Spencer didn’t say anything. He looked away, the sting of rejection clear in the way his shoulders slumped and his hands fell limply to his sides. “Nothing,” he muttered, his voice quiet and defensive.
You sat up, pulling your shirt back on, your concern growing with every second that passed. “It’s obviously something, Spence. You’ve never acted like this before.”
Spencer kept his eyes down, not meeting your gaze. “I just… I just missed you,” he mumbled, though you could tell there was more to it than that. The way he was avoiding your eyes, the tension in his body—it all told you that this wasn’t just about missing you.
You reached for his hand, gently pulling him to sit down on the bed beside you. “I know you missed me,” you said softly, trying to keep your tone calm and reassuring. “But this isn’t like you. Please, talk to me.”
Spencer’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might stay silent. But then, he let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over his face as if he was trying to push away whatever emotions were swirling inside him.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he admitted quietly, his voice thick with frustration. “I’ve just… I’ve been feeling so off lately. Angry. Insecure. And I keep telling myself not to, but… I can’t stop thinking about Sean, and how he looks at you, and how much better he is at everything, and—” He stopped abruptly, his hands clenching into fists in his lap as he tried to control the storm of emotions building inside him.
You blinked, finally starting to piece together the reason behind his behavior. “Spence, this is about Sean?”
Spencer’s shoulders sagged, his silence confirming your suspicions. He finally looked up at you, and in his eyes, you saw all the fear, jealousy, and insecurity he had been trying to hide for weeks.
“I know it’s stupid,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I know you love me, and I know he’s just a bartender at your club, but… I can’t stop feeling like I’m not enough. Like you’ll realize you could have someone… better.”
Your heart broke at his words. You cupped his face gently, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Spencer,” you said softly, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “You are more than enough. I love you. There is no one better for me. Sean is just a coworker. You’re the man I want, please believe me.”
Spencer sat back on his heels, looking down at his hands, feeling the weight of his own frustration and shame. He had never wanted to make you uncomfortable, never wanted to act like this, but the jealousy that had been building inside him finally broke through. Now, here he was, on the edge of ruining something so precious to him.
“I know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know we talked about it, and I know you don’t see Sean that way. It’s just… it’s so hard, watching him flirt with you every day. And you don’t stop him. It feels like… like I’m not enough.”
You sat up, still catching your breath from the intensity of the moment, but your heart ached hearing his words. You hadn’t realized how deep his insecurities ran. The playful flirting from Sean, which you had brushed off as part of the job, had been festering inside Spencer for weeks, and you hadn’t seen it.
“Spencer, baby,” you started, your voice gentle but firm as you reached for his hand. “You are enough. More than enough. I don’t let him flirt with me because I want him to, or because I’m interested. It’s his job to be friendly, charming even, but that’s all it is. I don’t see Sean the way I see you. I only have eyes for you.”
Spencer looked up at you, his eyes filled with vulnerability. “But what if one day… what if one day you change your mind?” he asked softly, the fear evident in his voice. “What if one day, you find someone who’s more… experienced, more everything?”
You cupped his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “That’s not going to happen, Spencer,” you said firmly. “I love you. Not because of experience, or because of anything physical, but because of who you are. You’re kind, brilliant, thoughtful, and you make me happier than I’ve ever been. No one else even comes close.”
Spencer swallowed, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean to… to act like that. I just—I didn’t know how to handle it.”
You stroked his cheek, offering him a small, understanding smile. “It’s okay,” you reassured him. “But we need to talk about these things, okay? If you’re feeling like this, I want to know. I don’t want you to keep it bottled up until it explodes like this.”
Spencer nodded, his head dipping down as he let out a shaky breath. “I know. I just… I didn’t want to seem weak.”
“You’re not weak, Spencer,” you said softly, leaning in to press a tender kiss to his forehead. “Being vulnerable doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. And I’m here for you, no matter what. We’ll get through this together.”
He let out a long sigh, his body finally relaxing as the tension drained out of him. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close as if he were afraid to let go.
“I love you,” he whispered, his voice muffled against your skin.
“I love you too, Spencer,” you whispered back, holding him just as tightly. "Always."
Later that evening, after Spencer had unpacked his things and taken a long, soothing bath, the two of you settled onto the couch with a bowl of popcorn and a movie playing softly in the background. The warm, familiar glow of your living room felt comforting, but you couldn’t help but notice how hesitant Spencer was. He sat beside you, his body tense, his hands resting awkwardly in his lap, as though he was afraid to touch you.
It broke your heart to see him like this, to see him so uncertain. You knew he still felt guilty about what had happened earlier, worried that he had somehow ruined everything.
“Honey,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the quiet. “You can still hold me, you know… or if you’d rather, do you want me to hold you?”
Spencer looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief and hesitation. But then, slowly, he nodded, his expression softening as he shifted on the couch. He leaned over, laying his head gently in your lap, and you couldn’t help but smile at how vulnerable and sweet he looked in that moment.
As soon as his head was settled, you instinctively began playing with his hair, your fingers threading through the soft strands as you stroked him gently. You felt him relax under your touch, his body finally easing into the comfort of your presence.
“Spencer,” you began, your voice soothing as you continued to run your fingers through his hair. “Earlier, I was worried because we haven’t gone that far before. That doesn’t mean I never want you to touch me again. Okay? I just want us to be on the same page, to make sure we’re both ready.”
He nodded again, his face nestled against your thigh as he let out a soft sigh. “I get it,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to push you or anything. I just… I didn’t know how to handle everything I was feeling.”
You leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to the top of his head. “I know, baby. And we’ll figure it out together, at our own pace. There’s no rush.”
Spencer shifted slightly, looking up at you with soft, grateful eyes. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice filled with emotion. “For being so understanding.”
You smiled warmly, leaning down to kiss his forehead once more. “I’ll always understand, Spence. You never have to be afraid of that.”
As you continued to play with his hair, Spencer closed his eyes, letting the comfort of the moment wash over him. You could feel the tension in his body melt away, and soon enough, he was relaxed and peaceful, knowing that everything between you two was going to be okay.
And for the first time in what felt like weeks, Spencer felt like he could truly breathe again.
—
You had taken a Friday night off to be with Spencer, trusting your number two to keep things running smoothly. Spencer had taken you to dinner, wined and dined you before bringing you home and kissing you sweetly. Now the room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm, intimate atmosphere around you both. You had been kissing for what felt like hours, tender and slow, taking your time with each other. Spencer’s hands had wandered, tentative at first, but growing more confident as the moments passed. You had already reassured him a dozen times over that you were ready, that this was something you wanted to share with him.
And now, the moment was here. You laid in front of him, completely bare, your skin bathed in the soft light. Spencer’s eyes roamed over your body, wide and filled with awe. His breath hitched in his throat, his hands shaking slightly as they reached out to touch you. He was gentle, reverent, as though he were afraid of hurting you by merely looking.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as his fingertips ghosted over your skin. He took his time, memorizing every curve, every line, as if he wanted to commit every inch of you to memory.
You smiled softly, your heart swelling with affection as you leaned down to kiss him. “Thank you, baby.”
Spencer swallowed hard, still staring in awe. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he admitted, his voice trembling slightly. “You’re perfect.”
You laughed softly, your heart swelling with warmth. "I’m not perfect, Spence."
He looked at you with nothing but sincerity in his eyes. "You are to me," he said, his voice full of honesty and affection.
With only mild hesitation, Spencer leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your collarbone, his lips trailing slowly down to your breasts. He explored every inch of you with care, his lips brushing your skin tenderly. You couldn't help but let out soft whines of pleasure, and Spencer, trying to learn what you like, paid extra attention when your sounds grew louder, lingering in the spots that made your breath hitch.
As your hands instinctively found their way into his hair, gripping softly, Spencer's teeth accidentally grazed your nipple when his lips suctioned to your breast. The unexpected sensation caused you to arch your back and moan loudly, the sound filling the quiet room.
Spencer immediately pulled back, his face filled with concern, eyes wide in alarm. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" His voice was thick with worry, afraid he had crossed a line.
You shook your head quickly, reassuring him as your hands stroked his hair gently. "No, no, baby, I liked it," you whispered, your breath still shaky from the pleasure. "It's okay. It felt good."
Relief washed over Spencer’s face, his lips curling into a small, nervous smile as he realized he hadn’t hurt you. He leaned back in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, and this time, he allowed himself to explore you with even more confidence, knowing that you were both in this together.
Spencer froze for a moment, his eyes wide with concern, his breath shaky as he pulled back just enough to search your face. His brow furrowed, worry evident in every inch of his expression. “Are you sure?” he asked softly, his voice laced with uncertainty. His hands hovered over your body, not daring to touch you until he knew for certain that you were alright.
You smiled up at him, your heart swelling with affection at just how much he cared. Reaching up, you gently brushed a hand through his hair, guiding him back toward you. “I’m sure, Spence. I liked it, I promise,” you whispered reassuringly. “You didn’t hurt me. In fact, I liked it a lot.”
Spencer’s eyes searched yours, still looking for any signs of discomfort, but all he found was warmth and trust. Slowly, his shoulders relaxed, the tension in his body easing as he took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, though his face softened with a hint of relief. “I didn’t mean to—”
You cut him off with a soft kiss, pulling him closer, your hands threading through his hair again, this time more gently. “You don’t have to apologize,” you murmured against his lips. “I love everything you do, Spencer. Just… trust me, okay? Trust that I’ll tell you if something is wrong.”
He nodded, still looking a little unsure but reassured by the sincerity in your voice. His eyes softened as he leaned back down, pressing a tender kiss to your lips before trailing them once more along your collarbone, and then lower, toward your chest. This time, there was a careful gentleness in his touch, though the intensity hadn’t faded.
You arched your back again, your body responding to his kisses, to the way his lips brushed against your skin with both tenderness and a growing confidence. As he felt you grip his hair again, Spencer’s lips paused just for a moment, as if waiting for any sign that you weren’t comfortable. But when your soft moans filled the room, he took that as all the permission he needed to continue.
His lips pressed harder, his hands exploring your body with more intent, and this time, when his teeth grazed your skin, he did it purposefully, testing the boundaries of your pleasure.
And when you moaned again, louder this time, Spencer felt a surge of something—both pride and desire—swell inside him. He kissed you again, his lips and teeth finding the spots that made your breath hitch, his hands moving with a confidence that he hadn’t known he possessed until now.
In that moment, you both shared something deeper, a connection that wasn’t just about trust but about exploring each other fully, knowing that in this space, in this moment, there was nothing but love, vulnerability, and acceptance.
—
The bookstore was a haven of calm, a peaceful retreat from the world. The scent of old paper, leather-bound books, and the soft rustle of pages being turned created an atmosphere of quiet serenity. It was the perfect place for you and Spencer to spend the afternoon.
From the moment you walked in, hand in hand, you could see how at home Spencer felt here. His eyes lit up with excitement as he scanned the shelves, fingers trailing over spines as if each book held a personal story he was waiting to uncover. You loved watching him like this—so in his element, so absorbed in his passion for knowledge and discovery.
But, of course, the playful side of you couldn’t resist adding a bit of mischief to the day. As Spencer dove headfirst into the non-fiction section, his attention already lost in the spines of ancient history volumes, you snuck off into a different aisle, peeking around the corner like a spy on a secret mission. You had been teasing him since you arrived—jumping out at him from behind shelves, sneaking little pokes and playful scares.
You watched from your hiding spot, stifling a giggle as Spencer carefully examined a thick book, oblivious to your plan. His brow furrowed in concentration, a small smile playing on his lips as he skimmed the pages. You took the opportunity to tiptoe closer, hiding behind a row of shelves, waiting for the perfect moment.
Finally, when Spencer rounded the corner, deep in thought about which book to buy next, you jumped out, arms raised in mock menace. “Gotcha!” you shouted with glee.
Spencer yelped, his eyes going wide in surprise as he stumbled back a step. For a split second, his brain went into overdrive, trying to process the sudden "threat." But then, his startled expression melted into laughter. “You’re ridiculous!” he chuckled, shaking his head at you, a fond smile tugging at his lips.
You couldn’t help but laugh along with him, your giggles filling the quiet space between the rows of books. You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him into a tight hug, your face pressing against his chest as you felt his warmth seep into you.
“Maybe,” you said with a grin, looking up at him, “but you love it.”
Spencer’s smile softened, his arms coming around you as he held you close. He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his breath warm against your skin. “I do,” he murmured, his voice gentle, full of affection. “I really do.”
You both stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other, the world fading away as the quiet of the bookstore enveloped you. Spencer's hand moved up to your back, rubbing slow circles as you soaked in the comfort of the moment. There was something magical about being here together, surrounded by the books he loved and the peaceful intimacy of just being with each other.
After a few moments, you pulled back slightly, your playful grin returning. “Alright, Dr. Reid,” you teased, “what book are we getting?”
Spencer's eyes lit up again, and he immediately turned his attention back to the stack of books he had been eyeing. "Well," he began, his voice taking on that enthusiastic tone you loved so much, "I’ve been looking at this one on the history of cryptography. It has some fascinating insights into early codebreaking techniques used in ancient times, and—" He caught himself, his eyes flickering to yours as he smiled sheepishly. “But I’m not sure you want to hear me ramble about that.”
You shook your head, stepping closer to him and placing your hand on his arm. “I always want to hear you ramble, Spence,” you said sincerely. “Tell me all about it.”
His eyes softened, and for the next few minutes, he explained the intricacies of the book, his voice animated and full of passion. You listened intently, loving every second of seeing him so in his element.
After Spencer finished his enthusiastic information dump, the way his eyes lit up while talking about cryptography and ancient codebreaking made your heart swell. You couldn't resist the urge any longer. Without saying a word, you leaned in and kissed him, your lips pressing softly against his, filled with all the affection you felt in that moment.
Spencer blinked in surprise, a grin slowly spreading across his face as you pulled back. “What was that for?” he asked, his tone playful, though his cheeks flushed pink from the unexpected kiss.
You shook your head, smiling warmly as you looked into his eyes. “I just love you so much,” you said softly, feeling your chest fill with warmth at how easy it was to be with him, how completely in love with him you were in moments like this.
His grin softened into something more tender, and his hand found yours on the table, squeezing it gently. “I love you too,” he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity and that same vulnerability that always made your heart flutter.
—
The next time you found yourselves in an intimate position, the energy was different. The tables had turned, and now it was Spencer’s turn to be vulnerable, to bare himself completely to you. As you stood together in the hallway, you could feel the shift in the air, the weight of the moment pressing softly between you two.
“Spence, are you sure?” you asked gently, guiding him by the hands into the bedroom, your fingers brushing lightly over his knuckles. “There’s no rush, baby. We can take our time.”
Spencer paused, meeting your gaze with a nervous but determined smile. His heart was pounding, but he trusted you—more than anything. “Yeah,” he said, giving you a small nod. His voice trembled slightly with nerves, but his eyes were soft with affection. “You showed me yours, I’ll show you mine, right?” He laughed, albeit a bit awkwardly, trying to lighten the tension.
You smiled back, your heart swelling with love for him. “Exactly,” you said softly. “But only if you’re ready.”
He nodded again, more confidently this time. “I’m ready.”
Once inside the bedroom, the atmosphere felt warmer, more intimate. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated the space, and as you stood in front of Spencer, you gently reached for the buttons on his shirt. His breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling quickly as you carefully unbuttoned the fabric, your fingers brushing over his skin as you went.
With each button undone, you let your hands glide over his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. You couldn’t resist the urge to lightly trace the curve of his sides, your touch featherlight as you tickled him just enough to make him giggle.
Spencer’s reaction was instant—his eyes squeezed shut as a small, surprised laugh escaped him, his hands quickly grabbing yours to still them. “Behave,” he playfully warned, his face flushed but full of affection.
You laughed softly, loving the way his guard was down, how he trusted you so completely in this moment. “Sorry,” you teased, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on his collarbone, your lips brushing against the smooth skin. “I couldn’t resist.”
He let out a soft hum, his fingers still holding yours but more gently now, as if to anchor himself. He was nervous, you could tell, but he was also present, allowing himself to be open with you in a way that made your heart swell.
As you helped him slip off his shirt completely, you took a step back, your eyes scanning his body with nothing but admiration. Spencer’s vulnerability in this moment only made you love him more. You could see the uncertainty in his eyes, but he was doing this for you, for both of you, and that meant the world.
“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, your voice sincere as you reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing lightly over his cheek. “You don’t have to be nervous with me, Spence. I love all of you.”
Spencer’s eyes softened, the tension in his body easing slightly as your words settled over him. He leaned into your touch, his hands resting gently on your waist as he let out a small, relieved breath. “I know,” he whispered, his voice full of gratitude and affection. “And I love you, too.”
Spencer took a deep breath as you carefully removed the last of his clothing, leaving him completely bare before you. The tension in the room was palpable, but you couldn't resist easing it with a light-hearted joke. “Can I look this time?” you asked with a teasing grin.
Spencer laughed, the sound nervous but genuine, and it was enough to break the heavy silence hanging over you both. “Yes,” he replied, his voice still a bit shaky. “You can look.”
So look you did, your eyes trailing down his body with genuine admiration. And when your gaze settled, you couldn’t help but let out a playful gasp, your tone incredulous. “You’ve been hiding this from me? Are you kidding, Spencer?”
His eyes widened, panic flashing across his face for a brief second. “What? Is it… is it bad?” His voice trembled, the insecurities he’d tried so hard to suppress bubbling up to the surface again.
You immediately shook your head, moving closer to him, gently pushing him to lie back on the bed as you sat beside him. “No, baby, it’s not bad,” you reassured him softly. Your hand reached out, wrapping around him gently, and Spencer’s body tensed at the sensation. “It’s really not bad.”
“Ah—fuck, Y/N,” Spencer groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as his hips instinctively bucked upward. It was the first time he had ever felt someone else touch him like this, and the overwhelming sensation sent shivers through his entire body. His breath hitched, and his hands fisted in the sheets, the intensity of the moment almost too much for him.
You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction, your thumb gently brushing over his tip as you whispered, “You are so pretty, baby.”
Spencer’s heart pounded in his chest, his face flushing as he absorbed your words. The mix of vulnerability and pleasure left him almost speechless, his mind reeling as you continued to touch him, each movement slow and careful. He had never felt anything like this before, and the way you handled him with such care only made him fall even more in love with you.
As your hand moved with gentle strokes, you leaned down to press a soft kiss to his lips, whispering between kisses, “I’m so lucky to have you.”
Spencer’s groans turned softer, his body melting into the bed beneath you as he let go of his fear, letting himself trust in you completely. “I love you,” he murmured breathlessly, his voice laced with both awe and gratitude.
“And I love you,” you whispered back, knowing that this was more than just a physical connection—it was a moment of deep trust and love between you both.
You took your other hand, softly stroking Spencer's thighs, your fingers trailing gently over his strong, lean muscles. His body, always so unassuming beneath his clothes, was more beautiful than you ever could have imagined. The way his thighs tensed under your touch made your mouth water, a thrill running through you as you explored this new side of him.
“Your body is so beautiful, Spencer,” you murmured, your voice tender and full of affection. “I hope you never hide it from me again.”
Spencer’s breath hitched at your words, his face flushed as his eyes fluttered open to meet yours. There was a vulnerability in his gaze, but also a growing confidence, fueled by the love and desire you showered him with. “I-I didn’t know,” he whispered, his voice shaking slightly, “that you’d think that.”
You smiled, leaning down to kiss the top of his thigh, feeling his body tense beneath your lips. “Well, I do. And I always will.”
Spencer swallowed hard, his hand reaching out to grip your arm, needing something to ground himself as the intensity of your touch overwhelmed him. “You’re… amazing,” he breathed, his chest rising and falling rapidly as you continued to caress him.
You smiled against his skin, feeling a surge of warmth at his words. “I’m just showing you what you deserve, Spence.”
Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat as your hand shifted from his thigh to gently cup his balls, rolling them softly between your fingers. His breath stuttered, and his body instinctively arched off the bed, overwhelmed by the sudden surge of pleasure. His hands gripped the sheets tightly, knuckles white as he fought to hold on for just a moment longer, but it was no use. His back arched further, his hips jerking as he reached his peak, a loud, unrestrained moan escaping his lips as he came.
“There you go, baby,” you whispered softly, your voice soothing, filled with nothing but love and reassurance. “Let it go.”
Spencer let out a shaky breath, his body trembling as the waves of pleasure washed over him. He felt vulnerable, exposed, but not in the way that used to scare him. This time, it was different. This time, he felt safe with you, completely open and raw, knowing you wouldn’t judge him.
He tried not to feel embarrassed as the aftershocks pulsed through him, knowing full well he didn’t last long—especially not when it was you touching him like this. But there was something comforting in the way you held him, in the way your hands never faltered, even in moments like this. You didn’t mind.
And that reassurance made all the difference.
As he slowly came down from his high, Spencer let out a long, deep sigh, his body sinking into the bed beneath him. He blinked up at you, his cheeks still flushed, his breath still uneven. “I… I’m sorry I didn’t last long again,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, but there was less hesitation this time.
You smiled gently, brushing a hand through his messy hair and leaning down to kiss his forehead. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Spence,” you said softly, your tone full of affection. “You know I don’t mind. I love you exactly the way you are.”
Spencer’s heart swelled at your words, the lingering tension in his body slowly dissipating. He gave you a small, shy smile, his hand finding yours and squeezing it lightly. “I love you too,” he whispered, his voice full of sincerity.
You lay beside him, pulling him into your arms as his body finally relaxed, his breathing evening out. You continued to stroke his hair, the gentle rhythm calming him as you whispered sweet reassurances. And in that moment, Spencer realized just how lucky he was—to have you, to feel this safe, and to be loved in a way he had never known before.
—
It was the kind of lazy Sunday morning that begged you to stay in bed, curled up in soft blankets with no obligations pulling you away. The sun streamed lazily through the blinds, casting golden streaks across the room, but the promise of fresh pastries and coffee was too tempting to ignore. The two of you reluctantly peeled yourselves from the comfort of the bed, Spencer stretching languidly while you threw on something cozy for your impromptu breakfast outing.
The local bakery was a short walk away, and as you strolled hand-in-hand, the air crisp with a touch of autumn, you could smell the fresh bread and sweet confections wafting through the air long before you even arrived. The warm scent wrapped around you like a comforting hug, and Spencer squeezed your hand gently, smiling down at you as the two of you walked in step, enjoying the quiet simplicity of the moment.
Once you stepped inside, the small bakery was bustling, the display case filled with perfectly baked croissants, éclairs, and muffins, each one more enticing than the last. You and Spencer made your way to the counter, excitedly picking out a selection of pastries along with two steaming cups of coffee.
After grabbing your tray of treats, you found a little table tucked in the corner by the window, where the morning light spilled across the tabletop, catching the powdered sugar that had already dusted the surface. You sat down, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you as the two of you settled into your seats, a quiet bubble of comfort surrounding you amidst the hum of the bakery.
The moment felt perfect, simple in its beauty, as you and Spencer started tearing into the pastries, the flaky layers scattering crumbs across the table. You picked up a piece of your croissant, the sweet filling spilling out, and with a playful grin, you held it up to Spencer’s lips.
“Here, try this,” you said, your eyes twinkling with amusement as you offered him the bite.
Spencer leaned forward, always eager to try something you loved, but as he took a bite, he purposefully let some of the creamy filling smear across his lips. You couldn’t help but burst into laughter, shaking your head as you leaned over the table to wipe it away with your thumb.
“Messy,” you teased, your voice full of affection as you swiped the pastry cream from his lips.
Spencer’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he watched you, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Oh, am I?” he said with a grin, and before you had a chance to react, he swiped some frosting from the sticky cinnamon roll and playfully dabbed it on your cheek.
“Now you’re messy,” he declared triumphantly, his smile widening as he watched your eyes go wide in surprise.
You gasped dramatically, reaching up to touch your cheek and finding the sticky frosting smeared across your skin. “Spencer!” you protested, laughing as you grabbed a napkin to clean yourself up, but not before flicking a tiny crumb in his direction in retaliation.
He laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright! No more food fights,” he said, though the grin on his face made it clear he was enjoying every second of your playful exchange.
The two of you dissolved into laughter, the kind of uninhibited joy that made your sides ache and your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the crumbs covering the table, not the frosting still clinging to your face, not even the curious glances from the other patrons. It was just the two of you, wrapped up in your own world of love, playfulness, and laughter.
—
The local library had always been Spencer's sanctuary, a place where he found comfort in the stillness, surrounded by shelves filled with knowledge, each book a portal to another world. He had spent countless hours there over the years, developing close bonds with the librarians who worked there. So, when the head librarian’s birthday party was being celebrated, Spencer was eager to bring you along, excited to introduce you to the people who had been a significant part of his life for so long.
As you walked through the library doors, Spencer’s hand tightly holding yours, you could sense how much this place meant to him. There was a sparkle in his eyes, a lightness in his step that spoke of his deep connection to this space. The library wasn’t just a building filled with books—it was part of his identity, a place where he found peace, knowledge, and belonging.
The event itself was small, intimate, just a gathering of close friends, staff, and patrons who knew the librarian well. Balloons were strung around the circulation desk, and a small table was set up with cupcakes and tea. The room buzzed softly with the chatter of people who clearly adored each other, and the air was filled with the smell of old books and sugary sweetness. It was simple, but it felt special, like you had stepped into a warm, welcoming corner of Spencer’s world.
As you entered, Spencer’s excitement was palpable. He gently tugged you along, his face beaming as he navigated the crowd with ease, weaving through the maze of bookshelves toward a small group of people near the front desk. The closer you got, the more you could feel his pride radiating from him.
Finally, you reached the librarian, a kind-faced woman in her sixties who immediately lit up when she saw Spencer. She welcomed him with open arms and a big smile. “Spencer!” she exclaimed warmly, her eyes twinkling with genuine affection. “I’m so glad you made it!”
Spencer smiled back, his hand never leaving yours as he took a step closer. “Of course,” he replied, his voice soft but full of enthusiasm. “I wouldn’t miss it.” Then, with a hint of excitement, he turned to you, his eyes sparkling with joy. “This is Y/N,” he said, his voice filled with love and pride as he introduced you. “I’ve been dying to introduce her to you.”
You could feel the weight of those words, how much it meant to him that you were there with him in this special place, sharing a piece of his world.
The librarian turned to you, her warm smile widening as she reached out to shake your hand. “We’ve heard so much about you,” she said with a knowing grin, her eyes flicking back to Spencer for a moment. “He never stops talking about how wonderful you are.”
Spencer blushed instantly, the pink flush creeping up his cheeks as he squeezed your hand just a little tighter, embarrassed but clearly proud at the same time. “She’s pretty amazing,” he said softly, glancing at you with such affection that it made your heart swell.
You couldn’t help but smile up at him, your chest fluttering with warmth and love. In that small, cozy room filled with Spencer’s friends and colleagues, you felt like you were truly a part of his world, welcomed into the parts of him that were private, cherished, and deeply personal.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in easy conversation, with Spencer introducing you to more of the people who had become like family to him over the years. You could see how much they cared for him, how deeply they admired his intelligence and gentle nature, and how excited they were to meet you. Every introduction was filled with kind words and warm smiles, and each time Spencer’s hand remained in yours, his grip a reassuring constant, a reminder that this moment was as important to him as it was to you.
Later, as you both stood by the cupcake table, Spencer absentmindedly brushing crumbs off your chin from the chocolate cupcake you’d indulged in, you caught him watching you with a soft, almost reverent expression. “What?” you asked, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks under his gaze.
He shook his head slightly, his lips curving into a tender smile. “I’m just really happy you’re here,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely audible above the low hum of chatter in the room.
You smiled, reaching up to brush a stray curl from his forehead. “I’m happy to be here,” you replied softly. “I love seeing this side of you, Spence.”
He leaned down and kissed you gently on the forehead, his thumb stroking your hand as he pulled back. “You’re a part of it now,” he whispered. “A part of all of this.”
And in that moment, you felt like you truly were. Spencer’s world, filled with books, warmth, and the people who had shaped him, now included you. You were building something beautiful together—slowly, steadily, and with every shared experience, you were growing closer, learning more about each other, and weaving your lives together in ways that felt as natural as breathing.
—
Spencer had returned to the nightclub feeling confident and secure in your relationship. After all the beautiful moments you had shared—bookstore dates, Sunday mornings filled with laughter and pastries, intimate nights spent wrapped in each other's arms—he thought nothing could come between you two. But as soon as he stepped back into the club, all of that confidence started to erode.
At first, Spencer tried to keep calm, to enjoy the night as just another visit to your world. He watched you from across the room, smiling and laughing with the staff and customers. But then his gaze landed on Sean, who was standing much too close to you, his body language too familiar, his laugh too casual and comfortable. Spencer’s stomach churned, but he kept it to himself, telling himself that it was just work—that Sean had no place in your personal life.
But then it happened.
Spencer saw Sean’s hand casually smack your ass. You had your back to Spencer, so you couldn’t see his reaction, but you laughed at Sean’s action, clearly finding it harmless. You didn't think twice about it, but Spencer's vision blurred with a sudden surge of anger. His blood boiled, his breath caught in his chest, and every rational thought flew out of his mind. The sight of someone else—Sean, of all people—touching you like that felt like a punch to his gut.
Before he could stop himself, Spencer stormed across the club, his footsteps heavy with intent. His jaw was clenched, his hands balled into tight fists as he closed the distance between you and Sean. He didn’t care about the crowd or how it might look. All he could see was red—his insecurities and fears bubbling up to the surface with a force he hadn’t expected.
By the time he reached you, Sean was laughing, clearly oblivious to the brewing storm that was Spencer. Without a word, Spencer grabbed Sean by the collar, pulling him toward him with more aggression than he’d ever shown before. The music in the club seemed to dim in Spencer’s ears, and the people around him faded into the background.
“Don’t you ever touch her like that again,” Spencer growled, his voice low and dangerous, the words spilling out before he could even process them.
Your eyes widened in shock, your heart leaping into your throat as you turned to see Spencer—his face twisted in anger, his usually calm and collected demeanor gone. You had never seen him like this before, never seen him this furious, this close to losing control. You quickly stepped between them, putting a hand on Spencer’s chest to stop him from doing something he’d regret.
“Spencer, stop!” you exclaimed, your voice laced with confusion and concern. “What are you doing?”
But Spencer’s gaze was locked on Sean, his grip on the bartender’s collar tight. Sean, for his part, looked stunned but didn’t fight back, raising his hands in defense.
“I didn’t mean anything by it, man,” Sean stammered, trying to defuse the situation. “It was just a joke.”
But to Spencer, it wasn’t a joke. It was a direct assault on everything he feared—the fear of not being enough, the insecurity that had been festering inside him since the day he first saw Sean. And now, all that pent-up jealousy and anger was pouring out in one destructive moment.
You could feel Spencer’s chest heaving beneath your hand, his breathing ragged as he stood there, frozen in his fury. Your heart raced, and you knew you needed to stop this before it escalated any further.
“Spence,” you said softly, trying to get through to him. “Baby, please let go. This isn’t you.”
For a long moment, it seemed like he hadn’t heard you, his eyes still boring into Sean’s. But then, slowly, the tension in Spencer’s body began to ease. His grip on Sean’s collar loosened, and finally, he let go, stepping back and running a shaky hand through his hair. His face was still flushed with anger, but the look in your eyes—hurt, confused, pleading—cut through the haze of his rage.
Spencer glanced between you and Sean, suddenly aware of what he’d done, of how far he’d let things go. Guilt washed over him like a cold wave, and he took a step back, his hands trembling as the adrenaline began to fade.
“I—I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible over the thumping music. “I didn’t mean to…”
But the damage was done. You stood there, still in shock, trying to process what had just happened, while Sean backed away, clearly wanting to put some distance between himself and the situation.
You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to make sense of what had just unfolded. Spencer—your Spencer—had never acted like this before. And as much as you wanted to reassure him, to tell him it was okay, you couldn’t ignore the heaviness in your chest, the weight of what had just happened.
Spencer looked at you, his eyes wide with regret, but all you could do was stare back, unsure of what to say, unsure of what came next.
The tension in the air was palpable as security started making their way over, eyes locked on Spencer with the clear intent of handling the situation. Your heart sank even further, realizing that this night had spiraled so far out of control. Before you could say anything, Sean held up a hand to stop them. “It’s fine, Steve,” Sean sighed, shaking his head. “We’re good.”
But his words didn’t ease the knot in your chest. You looked at Sean, “Are you?” Then at Spencer, who stood there looking lost and ashamed. “Are we?” you muttered, your voice heavy with sadness. Without waiting for an answer, you turned on your heel and walked away, unable to even look at Spencer right now. The weight of his actions, of what had just happened, was too much to process in that moment.
Spencer’s heart dropped as he watched you walk away, the pit in his stomach growing deeper with every step you took. “Y/N! Please wait!” he called after you, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You were too overwhelmed, too upset. He chased after you, his feet moving quicker as the panic set in. “Sweetheart, please!” Spencer begged, following you all the way back into your office.
You stepped inside, your hands shaking as you slammed the door shut behind you. The lock clicked into place, but before Spencer could say another word, you whirled around, the anger and frustration bubbling over.
“He’s fucking gay, Spencer!” you yelled, the words coming out with a mix of hurt and exasperation.
Spencer froze, his face falling in utter confusion. “What?” he stammered, blinking rapidly as he tried to make sense of what you just said.
“I didn’t tell you because it’s not my place,” you continued, your voice trembling with the weight of the emotions swirling inside you. “And frankly, it doesn’t fucking matter, but Jesus, Spencer!” You raised your hands in disbelief, the frustration too much to contain.
Spencer stood there, his mind racing as he tried to grasp what you were saying. “I—I’m sorry,” he managed, his voice weak, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know… I just, he slapped your—your butt, and I saw red. I lost control.”
You ran a hand over your arm, trying to calm yourself down, trying to make sense of why this had gotten so out of hand. Your voice softened, but the hurt was still there as you asked, “Spencer, you’ve seen my friends do it all the time. Hell, your team smacks your ass, and it’s all in good fun. How is it different?”
Spencer’s breath hitched, his eyes dropping to the floor as guilt washed over him. He didn’t have an answer—at least not one that made sense. The truth was, it wasn’t different. But somewhere in the haze of his jealousy and insecurity, he had convinced himself that Sean was a threat. That somehow, Sean’s friendship with you, the easy banter and playfulness between you two, meant he had something Spencer didn’t. And tonight, all of that had come crashing down in the worst way.
“I don’t know,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his shame. “I—I guess I just got scared. I got jealous. I didn’t think.”
You shook your head, tears of frustration welling up in your eyes as you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “You didn’t think at all,” you muttered, your voice tinged with disappointment. “You didn’t trust me.”
Spencer winced at your words, the truth of them hitting him harder than any reprimand could. “I do trust you,” he said quickly, stepping forward, his hand reaching out for yours. “I trust you more than anyone. I just… I let my insecurities get the best of me. I know it was wrong, and I’m so sorry.”
You closed your eyes for a moment, rubbing your temple as you tried to process everything. You wanted to believe him, to believe that this was just a one-time mistake, but the hurt still lingered. “Spencer, I love you,” you began, your voice softer now, but still firm. “But you can’t keep letting your insecurities drive you. I’ve told you time and time again—there’s no one else. No one but you.”
“I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I know that, I do. But when I saw that… when I saw him touch you, it just—everything I’ve been feeling came to the surface. And I’m so sorry I didn’t handle it better.”
You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned back against the desk, still trying to calm your racing heart. “You scared me, Spencer. I’ve never seen you act like that.”
He stepped closer, his face full of regret, his hand reaching out again as he spoke. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to scare you. I just… I messed up. I know I did. Please, sweetheart, I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. Just… don’t walk away from me.”
You looked at him, his eyes filled with guilt and desperation, and you knew he meant every word. Spencer was never one to lash out like this, never one to let his emotions get the best of him. But tonight, his insecurities had taken over, and now you both were left picking up the pieces.
After a long moment, you took a deep breath and nodded, your voice steady but still firm. “You need to work on this, Spencer. This jealousy, this need to protect me from something that isn’t even there. We can’t have this happen again.”
“I will,” he promised, stepping closer and taking your hands in his. “I swear to you, I’ll work on it. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just please… forgive me.”
"You need to go apologize to Sean," you said, your tone firm but not unkind. "And maybe... maybe you should think about seeing a therapist or counselor. This—this kind of insecurity, it’s not healthy for you or for us."
Spencer nodded, his head hanging low as he absorbed your words. He knew you were right. He had let his own fears and jealousy take control, and now he was faced with the aftermath. "You're right," he repeated, his voice tired and remorseful. "You’re absolutely right."
He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair, trying to gather himself. His mind was racing, filled with guilt and the weight of what he had done. He knew he had crossed a line, and it hurt to think that he had not only disrespected Sean but also hurt you in the process.
"I’ll go apologize right now," Spencer said, his voice steady, though there was a slight tremble beneath the surface. He looked at you, his eyes filled with regret, but also determination. He wanted to make this right. Not just for you, but for himself.
You gave him a small, encouraging nod, knowing that this was a step in the right direction. "Good," you replied quietly. "But Spence, don’t just apologize for what you did—make sure you understand why you did it. That’s the only way this is going to get better."
"I know," he said softly, his hand reaching out to take yours, squeezing gently. "I’ll fix this. I swear."
You watched as Spencer turned and walked toward the door, his shoulders slightly slumped with the weight of everything he had to face. As he left the office, you let out a long breath, hoping that this moment would be a turning point. For both of you.
Spencer walked up to the bar with hesitant steps, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the weight of what he needed to do, the guilt and embarrassment swirling together in a tight knot in his stomach. As he reached the bar, he stood there for a moment, awkwardly waiting for Sean to notice him. His palms were sweaty, and he rubbed them against his jeans, trying to calm himself.
Finally, Sean approached, clearly still a bit shaken from the earlier confrontation, but his expression was guarded, more curious than angry. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for Spencer to speak.
“H–hi, Sean,” Spencer stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes flicked up to meet Sean’s briefly before dropping back to the floor, the guilt weighing heavily on him. “I… I am so sorry for what I did earlier.”
Sean’s face softened slightly, though his guard didn’t completely drop. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter, waiting for Spencer to continue.
“I completely overreacted,” Spencer admitted, his voice trembling as he spoke. “I let my jealousy get the best of me, and I said and did things I never should have. You didn’t deserve that. I didn’t… I didn’t even know the whole story, and I just assumed the worst.”
Sean stayed quiet for a moment, studying Spencer. He could see the sincerity in Spencer’s eyes, the regret etched in every line of his face. Finally, Sean let out a soft sigh, uncrossing his arms.
“Look, man,” Sean began, his tone more understanding than Spencer had anticipated. “I get it. I’ve seen guys lose it over jealousy before. But that doesn’t make what you did okay.”
Spencer nodded quickly, swallowing hard. “I know,” he said, his voice strained. “It’s not okay, and I regret it. Y/N means everything to me, and I let my insecurities cloud my judgment. I’m not trying to make excuses… I just wanted to apologize.”
Sean leaned back slightly, his arms resting on the bar as he gave Spencer a small, almost sympathetic smile. “I appreciate the apology,” he said. “Just… maybe work on not jumping to conclusions next time, alright?”
Spencer nodded vigorously, his heart still racing but relieved that Sean hadn’t completely written him off. “I will,” he promised, his voice soft but filled with sincerity. “I’m going to talk to someone about it. I’m… I know I need to deal with this.”
Sean nodded, his expression easing a little more. “Good. And just so you know, man, I’m not interested in Y/N. Like, at all.” He gave Spencer a meaningful look, letting the words sink in.
Spencer blushed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah… I, uh, I know now. I’m sorry I ever thought otherwise.”
Sean let out a small chuckle, shaking his head and gave Spencer a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “We’re good. Just don’t make a habit of it.”
Spencer breathed out a sigh of relief, his shoulders finally relaxing. “Thank you, Sean,” he said quietly, feeling a weight lift from his chest. “I really appreciate it.”
Sean offered a small smile in return. “No problem. Take care of her, alright?”
Spencer nodded again, his heart swelling with a renewed sense of determination. “I will,” he promised, meaning every word.
And with that, Spencer turned away from the bar, feeling lighter than he had when he’d first walked up. He still had a lot of work to do, but this was a start—a step in the right direction.
—
Spencer navigated his way carefully through the hallway, dodging the maze of moving boxes that now cluttered the apartment. The feeling of excitement from his therapy breakthrough still thrummed inside him as he called out for you.
“Y/N!” he shouted, eager to share his day.
“In the bedroom!” your voice echoed back warmly.
As he pushed past the last of the boxes, Spencer entered the bedroom and found you sitting cross-legged on the floor. A box of printed photos lay open in front of you, and scattered around were dozens of pictures, some slightly faded with time, others bright and new. You looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, your cheeks glowing from a mixture of nostalgia and emotion.
“What do you have there, sweetheart?” Spencer asked gently, his voice filled with warmth as he crouched down beside you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
You sniffled and smiled, holding up one of the photos—a snapshot of the two of you from a Sunday morning at the bakery, crumbs on your faces, laughing uncontrollably. “All of our memories,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “I found this box while I was packing. I didn’t realize we had so many photos together.”
Spencer’s heart swelled at the sight of the old pictures and the happy tears in your eyes. He gently took the photo from your hand and studied it for a moment, the joy from that day flooding back to him. He remembered the way you had fed him pastries, how you had teased him for getting frosting on his nose, how perfect the world had felt in those little moments.
He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “We’ve made a lot of good memories, haven’t we?” he murmured, his fingers brushing lightly over the scattered photos.
You nodded, blinking back the tears as you picked up another picture—one from the bookstore, where you had sneakily snapped a photo of him deep in thought, completely absorbed in the world of books. “I never want to forget any of this,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of everything the photos represented.
Spencer sat down beside you, his heart full as he looked over the memories you had collected. “Hey,” He said softly, taking your hand in his. “I had a breakthrough at therapy today.”
You looked up at him, your tear-filled eyes widening with interest. “You did?”
He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “Yeah. I think I’m finally starting to understand where all that insecurity came from… and how to manage it better. I’ve still got a lot of work to do, but… I’m getting there.”
Your smile widened as you squeezed his hand, pride swelling in your chest. “Spence, that’s amazing,” you said, your voice filled with love and encouragement.
He squeezed your hand back, his heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he admitted quietly. “You’ve been so patient with me, even when I wasn’t always patient with myself.”
Your eyes widened at his words, the weight of the question sinking in as you looked up at Spencer. The room seemed to still for a moment, the sound of your breath catching in your throat the only noise breaking the silence. You blinked, trying to process what he had just asked, your heart racing in your chest.
“Will you marry me?” Spencer repeated, his voice softer this time, but no less certain. His eyes were filled with love, vulnerability, and a touch of nervousness, as if he’d been carrying this question for a while, waiting for the right moment to let it out.
Tears welled up in your eyes again, this time from pure joy. You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you took in the sincerity of his expression. He wasn’t just asking for a promise—he was asking to continue writing the rest of your story together, side by side, forever.
You cupped his face with your hands, your heart swelling with love and excitement. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “Yes, Spencer, I’ll marry you.”
Spencer let out a breath he was holding, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears as he pulled you into a deep, heartfelt kiss. Relief, joy, and love coursed through him all at once, making the moment feel surreal. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, as if he never wanted to let you go.
When you finally pulled away, both of you were laughing through the tears, caught up in the magic of the moment.
“You really want to marry me?” you teased gently, your forehead pressed against his, your fingers lightly brushing his cheek.
“More than anything in this world,” Spencer said, his voice full of conviction. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
Your heart felt like it might burst as you nodded, still in awe of how this moment had unfolded. “I want that too,” you whispered, “forever.”
Spencer kissed you again, slower this time, savoring the sweetness of the moment, the promise of a future filled with more memories, more laughter, more love. And as you sat there, surrounded by the snapshots of your shared past, you couldn’t help but feel excited for all that was yet to come.
You pulled back from the kiss, a playful glint in your eyes. “And hey,” you teased, running a hand through his hair, “maybe you can wear white at the wedding.” Your smirk deepened as you watched Spencer’s expression shift from one of love to amusement.
Spencer threw his head back, laughing loudly, the sound filling the room and making your heart flutter. You always loved how his laugh could light up any space. “I have one problem with your plan,” he said, still chuckling, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Oh yeah? What’s that, honey?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, fully enjoying the banter between you two.
Spencer leaned in closer, his voice low and full of playful confidence as he said, “I don’t plan on being pure for much longer.”
You burst into laughter, your cheeks flushed from both the teasing and the thrill of the moment. “Oh, is that so?” you teased, leaning into him, your fingers trailing down his chest. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to do something about that, won’t we?”
Spencer grinned, his blush deepening as he kissed you again, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you closer. “I guess we will,” he murmured against your lips, his tone both playful and full of promise.
The two of you stayed wrapped in each other’s arms, the lightness of the moment mingling with the deep love you shared. It was another memory added to the many you had created together, and you couldn’t help but feel that your future, together as partners, was only just beginning.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
tag list <333 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle @cynbx @danielle143 @katemusic @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @laurakirsten0502 @geepinky @mxlviaa @libraprincessfairy @fortheloveofgubler @super-nerd22 @k-illdarlings @softestqueeen @eliscannotdance
#doctor spencer reid#dr spencer reid#spencer reid#criminal minds#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fic#spencer reid x reader#bau team#criminal minds fandom#bau family#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid criminal minds#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid smut#spencer reid x you#spencer reid angst#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid x y/n#criminal minds fluff#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds smut#criminal minds x reader#bau x reader#bau
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
hey, are you still there? ⟢ LN4
PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader
SUMMARY: you know yourself that it’s sad that you settled on being a backburner, but you didn’t mind crisping up on lando’s backburner as long as he still think of you.
REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.
WARNINGS: no use of y/n, unrequited love(?), open ending, insecurities, reader being treated as a backburner, childhood best friends, christmas angst, luisa, typos, and few grammatical errors.
WORD COUNT: 4.6k
AUTHOR’S NOTE: i had always wanted to write this for so long, but i’m not sure how to pen it, but finally, here it is! so far, i’m satisfied. i don’t know much about luisa, but i’m sorry that luisa is kind of villainized in this 🥲 i’m sorry. this is like another christmas one shot, sooo haha i intentionally made it as an open ending bc i want to leave the ending to you, and let me apologize now bc this one shot won’t have a part 2. it just felt right for me to leave it as an open ending and leave the ending up to you. so i hope you’ll enjoy this one!
The glow of the snowy afternoon sun filtered through your apartment windows, casting long, golden shadows across the floor as you sat cross-legged amidst a pile of forgotten keepsakes.
Your plan was simple, really. To declutter, toss out what no longer sparked happiness, and finally reclaim some much-needed space in your small New York apartment. But simplicity soon faded the moment you stumbled upon a memory box that was buried beneath old blankets in the closet. You hadn’t thought about it in years, the worn out wooden edges now slightly faded, but just holding the box again made you feel something deep in your chest.
Sliding the lid of the box open, the faint scent of nostalgia greeted you. There was a mixture of paper and dust that carried you back to another time, another place. Polaroid photographs, ticket stubs, concert tickets, and tiny trinkets spilled out as you began to sift through the box’s contents, fingers brushing against fragments of a life you had once shared with someone who knew you better than anyone. Then you saw it—the camcorder.
It sat nestled at the bottom of the box, its black casing slightly scuffed but still intact, as though it had been waiting for you all these years. The sight of it made your breath catch, fingers hesitant as they wrapped around the familiar shape. A small laugh escaped you, soft and bittersweet, as a wave of memories washed over you.
The camcorder had been a gift from your parents, given to you when you were just a teen. At the time, you had rolled your eyes at the thought of having a camcorder. You were not exactly the type to obsess over gadgets or record everything, but your parents had insisted, saying something along the lines of making memories worth keeping.
You hadn’t even opened the box properly before you had told him about it. Lando had always had a thing for photography, an almost childlike fascination with capturing the world around him. Naturally, he had lit up at the mention of the camcorder. You remembered the way his face had brightened, how he had practically snatched it from your hands when he saw it, excitement radiating from him like it was Christmas morning.
“Trust me,” he said, voice brimming with certainty as he flipped the device open with ease. “This is going to be so much fun, you’ll see.”
And it was.
The camcorder had quickly become his, in everything but name. Lando had used it more than you ever had, his artistic streak shining through in the way he would capture the smallest, most mundane moments and make them feel extraordinary. But what stood out the most was his favorite subject. You.
Every time you hung out, or visited a new place, his focus would inevitably turn to you. At first, you had protested, laughing and batting the camcorder away, but over time, it became a rhythm of sorts. Lando, behind the lens, coaxing your laughter and teasing your smile, and you, rolling your eyes but secretly loving the way he saw you. Through the lens, even the quietest days seemed to feel alive.
You traced a finger along the camcorder’s edges, the faint outline of his fingerprints etched invisibly into its surface. Four years. It had been four years since you had left the UK—four years since you had left him. You told yourself that what you did was for the best, that you needed to grow, chase bigger dreams.
Part of it all was true, but the other part, the one which you didn’t say out loud, was the reason why your chest tightened even now. Was because Lando made you feel too much, and you were not sure you could bear it any longer.
You grabbed your laptop, briefly hesitated over the laptop’s keyboard before finally connecting the camcorder. The familiar chime of recognition echoed through the room as your laptop detected the device, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of nervous anticipation.
It had been years since you last thought about these videos, let alone watched them. As the files began to load, thumbnails filled the screen—tiny, burry windows into the past. You clicked on the first one, and the second is the screen lit up with a younger version of yourself, smiling awkwardly into the lens. Lando’s voice filled the room almost immediately.
“Come on, you can smile better than that!” he teased from behind the camera, chuckling.
Without even realizing it, a small smile tugged at your lips as you watched. The video playing one after another, each one showed a snapshot of your lives back then. There were clips of you on spontaneous trips—forests, city streets, karting, and endless car rides with Lando singing loudly and off-key while you laughed at him.
There were also quieter moments—rainy afternoon when you were sat by your bedroom window, lost in thought, while he filmed you from across the room, calling it aesthetic. Lando captured everything, from the highs to the lows.
The memories felt vivid, almost too vivid, as if you could reach through the screen and relieve those moments. It was the year he had started his Formula 1 career, and the first time you saw him truly chasing his dreams with everything he had, and were beyond proud of him. At the same time, it was also the year you were filling out endless applications to universities in America, unsure of where you wanted to go or what you wanted to do in life. It was like you were both standing on the edge of something new, something big, and it was both thrilling and terrifying.
It was also the year you finally admitted to yourself that what you felt for Lando was no longer just friendship. You had been so close for so long that the shift felt almost imperceptible at first—lingering glance here, flutter in your chest there. But you acknowledged it, there was no going back.
You found yourself looking at him differently, noticing the little things about him that had always been there but suddenly felt so significant. The way how his eyes crinkled when he laughed, his curly hair, aquamarine eyes, the quiet focus he had when working on something he cared about, and most of all, the way he always seemed to know exactly what to say to make you feel better.
But you kept it to yourself. You couldn’t tell Lando, not when he had told you so casually, like it was nothing that he liked someone.
“I don’t even know if she feels the same,” he had said, voice laced with uncertainty.
For a brief moment, a hope sparked in you. Maybe after all this time, Lando felt the same way about you. Maybe this was the moment that you had finally been waiting for.
But that hope shattered almost immediately when he pulled out his phone and showed you a photo. The girl’s name was Luisa, and she was stunning. She was everything that you were not—model, successful, gorgeous, has a radiant smile and a presence that seemed magnetic. Luisa was exactly Lando’s type, and you knew it.
The realization hit you harder than you had expected. You felt dumb and foolish, for even thinking one second that Lando could ever see you that way. You were not like Luisa, you were not the kind of girl who turned heads or made people stop in their tracks. You were just…you. Lando’s best friend. The person he could have a joke with, confide in, and lean on, but will never see you anything as more.
So you stayed quiet. Buried your feelings deep, gaslighting yourself that everything was better the way it is. The less you talk, the less you risked losing him. Maybe if you kept on pretending that everything was fine, you could learn to let him go.
A new clip began to play. You were seated on the edge of a bench, face scrunched in frustration as you ran a hand through your hair. The sound of Lando’s laughter crackled through the speakers, light and teasing, as he zoomed in on your expression from behind the camera.
“You’re such a drama queen,” he said, voice laced with amusement.
It was clear that from that clip that he was trying to cheer you up. It had been one of those moments when everything felt overwhelming. Your plans, future, and feelings. Yet, even in your frustration, Lando had managed to make you laugh. He always did. Watching it now, you couldn’t help but chuckle softly at how young and naïve you looked.
But the video carried more weight than just a frustration afternoon. That day, you had a front-row seat to another chapter in Lando’s pursuit of Luisa. It was the day he told you that he finally confessed his feeling to her, and you could still remember how his voice sounded. It was a mix of hope and vulnerability as he recounted every detail, but his excitement had quickly dimmed when Lando explained how his confession had met an uncertainty from Luisa, not really sure how she felt about Lando.
You remembered how that hurt him, even if he tried to hide it behind his usual bravado. It was one of the few times you had seen Lando genuinely shaken, his confidence chipped away by a single sentence. Still, it did not stop him, if anything, it only made him more determined to win her over.
This is exactly what Lando is—relentless, persistent, unwilling to let go of something he wanted.
Then there was you, caught in the orbit of it all. A pattern had started to form, one you did not want to acknowledge but couldn’t ignore. Whenever Luisa turned her back on him, when his texts went unanswered, or her attention drifted elsewhere, Lando would always find his way to you. His calls would come late at night, voice low and tinged with sadness as he stumbled through excuses to keep you on the line, and you, despite knowing better, would always answer.
Those were the moments you chastised yourself for loving. When Lando was hurt, when he felt small and alone, he always came to you. You were the person he confided in, one he leaned on. It almost felt like you mattered to him in the way you wanted to. Even if you knew, deep down, that it was not that. That it was temporary, a band-aid for his bruised ego—you couldn’t help but savor the attention.
But then, inevitably, Luisa would give him the smallest bit of her time, and you would become invisible to him again. The calls would stop, texts would taper off, and Lando would be lost in the glow of her half-hearted affection. You would feel the ache of being left behind, sting of knowing you were nothing more than a safety net, a placeholder, a convenient fallback plan.
It was a never ending cycle you despised, one that made you look at yourself with pity as you played into it. But whether it was out of hope or some cruel sense of inevitability, you stayed. You let it happen. Time and time again, picking up the pieces when Lando fell apart, only to watch him hand them back to her the moment she glanced his way.
It was always like this. It had always been like this, and somehow, despite everything, you definitely hadn’t learned your lesson.
The video continued to play, the faint static of old footage mixing with Lando’s voice can be heard, his laughter like a distant echo from another life. As you watched yourself on the screen—smiling, frowning, existing in a world where everything felt so much simpler—memories came rushing back, faster and heavier than you had expected. They were not just simple memories of moments, they were reminders of how deeply you felt, how much your life revolved around Lando without you even realizing it.
Your feelings for him had always been the silent undercurrent of your friendship, unspoken but ever-present. You had spent so much time trying to convince yourself that it was just a phase, that you would grow out of it, but you never did.
Instead, those feelings rooted themselves deeper, becoming a part of you. You wondered if the reason you hadn’t moved on was not because you could not, but because you hadn’t really tried at all. Maybe you were afraid, maybe life felt easier when you let it stay messy, undefined—when you clung to the hope that Lando might see you differently someday.
But the reality of it all was far less romantic. You had become his backburner, a place he turned to only when he had nowhere else to go, and the most pathetic part? You didn’t even mind. You let yourself burn quietly on his backburner, knowing full well you would never be the main thing in his life.
No matter how many times you say to yourself that it was okay, that you could handle it, deep down it ate you. There wasn’t anyone else you wanted, there hadn’t been for years. It was always him, it will always be Lando—his laugh, his voice, his stupid smile that made you forget the pain he caused by just being himself. You hated it, and yet you couldn’t even let it go.
Your memory reeled in to that one particular night, a night etched into your memory like a scar. Lando had called you on facetime, his face illuminated by the glow of his phone. His eyes were red, voice trembling with raw emotions as he told you what happened with Luisa.
She had hurt him again, made him feel small in a way that he couldn’t quite put into words. Lando looked so broken, so unlike himself, that it made your heart twist in ways that you did not want to admit.
And yet, you couldn’t help but tease him. You told him how he looked ugly when he cried, masking your own hurt with humor. But inside, there was a flicker of something else—something cruel and selfish. You felt happy that he thought of you in that moment, that you were the person he called when everything else in his life fell apart. It was sick and twisted, and you couldn’t have hated yourself more for it, but it was the truth.
At the same time, you felt conflicted, torn between two versions of yourself. Part of you wanted to scream at him, to tell him how much he had hurt you by treating you like an afterthought. But the other part of you, the part that still believed in him, in the friendship you had shared since you were kids—wanted to comfort him, to be there for him even if it meant breaking yourself in the process.
You always knew how it would go. In a week or so, Lando would be back on his feet, back in Luisa’s orbit, and you would fade into the background again. He would stop calling, texting, and you would be left alone again, waiting for the next time he needed you. You wished you could stop caring, that you could let him go and just move on, but you couldn’t. You cared too much, loved him too deeply, and it was destroying you.
You stayed. You stayed because even though it hurt, even though it made you feel small and invisible, there was still a part of you that believed in him. In the boy who had once held your camcorder, laughing as he filmed you spinning in circles in the park. In the friend who had always been there, even when it felt like the rest of the world wasn’t. You believed in him, even if it meant you couldn’t believe in yourself.
You checked the timestamp on the video and realized it was nearing the end. The final clips began to play, taking you back to a day you remembered so clearly—the beach trip. The screen filled with bright sunlight and sand, camera jerking slightly as Lando filmed you running along the shoreline, wearing one of his bucket hats and sunglasses, your laughter ringing out over the crashing waves.
You watched yourself as if through someone else’s eyes—carefree, alive, darting back and forth like a puppy with boundless energy. Lando’s voice came from behind the camera, teasing you for your antics, and you couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the memory.
It was one of those days you had hoped would change everything. Lando wasn’t thinking about Luisa then. He was with you, laughing, joking, making you feel like maybe you mattered more to him than you let yourself believe. You had clung to that slight flicker of hope every time he drifted back into your orbit, telling yourself that the moments he spent with you would eventually outweigh the hold Luisa had over him. But you know then, deep down, you knew better. You had always known better.
The last clip began to play. The two of you were in one of his cars, the camera shakily capturing the scene as he handed it to you. Lando had insisted you try driving it, grinning with the kind of reckless confidence that was so quintessentially him. You know that he hated someone driving him, especially that it was his car, but he didn’t even hesitated when it came to you.
The video was cut to him standing outside, filming you through the windshield as you tried to maneuver his car into a parking spot, and it was a disaster. He zoomed in on your face, flushed and irritated, as you waved frantically at him to get back inside of his car and help you. Your lips moved as you shouted something at him, your expression twisted in mock anger, but it only made him laugh.
That sound, the sound of his laughter—echoed through the room as you watched yourself scowling at him, completely oblivious to how the moment would look years later.
When the video finally faded to black, you sat there in silence, staring at the black screen of your laptop. A heavy sigh escaped your lips as a sad smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. The memories left a bittersweet feeling in their wake, filling your chest with an ache that never really went away.
You always knew the truth. You would always be in Lando’s corner, even when it felt like he had forgotten you existed. You would stay, waiting in the shadows, knowing full well you were his second choice, or maybe not even a choice at all. Yet, you couldn’t really bring yourself to care, you had settled on being Lando’s backburner long ago, content to exist where he had placed you, because even the smallest scraps of his attention felt like more than you deserved. You knew it would never be enough, but it was all you had.
When you left the UK, you had never properly said goodbye to Lando. You couldn’t face him—not after everything. It had been the hardest thing you had ever done, leaving the place where you grew up and leaving the person that mattered to you the most.
The day you were about to board the plane to America was supposed to be the start of something new for you. But it also turned out to be the same day Lando and Luisa had finally gotten together. It didn’t make sense at first, you had been too wrapped up in your own plans to notice anything strange.
You were so focused on your own future, dreams, and adventure that lay ahead. But the moment you realized what had really happened, the gut-wrenching truth hit you all at once. Despite everything, despite all the years of friendship, despite the deep feelings you had kept buried, Lando had never said a word to you.
The first sign came two weeks before your departure, when you noticed he had not contacted you. Not once. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had spoken, and then, one evening, it hit you. While youwere scrolling through instagram, lost in the sea of photos and videos, you saw it.
Lando and Luisa standing together in a sunlit paradise. They were everywhere—clinging to each other, smiling like they had always been this happy. Their arms wrapped around each other, looking like the couple everyone thought they were meant to be, living out the kind of romance you had always imagined for yourself—only, it was not with you.
It stung more that you could have imagined. It felt like a cruel grip and punch to the stomach—seeing them together, seeing him in a way you never thought you would. There they were, living life, having fun in Dubai, while you had been silently fading into the background, unable to say anything, unable to be anything more than just a shadow.
It suddenly made the decision easier for you. Maybe it was petty, or childish. But at that moment, it felt like it was the only way to protect yourself. You didn’t need to say goodbye, or talk to him again. You didn’t think that talking or saying goodbye to him would even change anything. You didn’t want to face the truth anymore—didn’t want to admit how much it hurts to be forgotten, be pushed aside while he moved on.
So, you did what you had to do. You packed up everything, every piece of your life that had been tangled with Lando’s, and left. You left without a word, without any explanation. The silence between you felt so final, so complete, as if you were never even meant to matter.
When you landed in America, you didn’t waste any second. You changed your number, blocked him on social media, deleted every trace of him from your phone, from your mind, from your life. It was easier that way, right? No more reminders of what you could never have. No more wondering if he still thought about you. It was better to start fresh, even if starting over meant leaving everything you knew behind. You never looked back, at least that’s what you told yourself.
You gently closed your laptop, the soft click of the screen snapping shut, and disconnected the camcorder. You wanted to throw it away, erase it from your life entirely, but something stopped you. Maybe it was the hope that one day, you could look at it without all the pain attached to it, or maybe it was the attachment to something that had once meant so much.
With a deep sigh, you placed it back in the memory box, careful not to let it settle to heavily among the other momentos you had packed away. You knew you wouldn’t be able to part with it—not yet at least. Instead, you pushed the box deeper into your storage room, where it would sit quietly for now, out of sight but never far from your mind.
You stood there for a moment, staring at the box as if it might somehow speak to you, but all it did was remain silent, like everything else in your life that you had tried to put behind you. The soft sound of snow falling outside caught your attention, and you moved toward the window, your gaze drawn to the soft flurry of while blanketing the streets below.
Christmas was approaching in just a week, and for a brief moment, you wished you could go home, back to your family, to the familiar comfort of the holiday season. But the thought quickly passed. Home felt too far now, and you had your own life to navigate, a life in New York that, for all its challenges, had become a place you had grown to love.
You turned away from the window and began to change, pulling on warm clothes fit for the snow outside. It wasn’t much, just a quick errand to stock up on groceries before it got too dark. You didn’t mind the task, it gave you a reason to get out, to take in the city and its wintry charm. The air was fresh and crisp as you made your way out of your apartment, locking the door behind you with a soft click.
The world around you was calm as you stepped out into the quiet of the snowy streets, snowflakes falling gently around you, almost like a veil between you and the hustle of city life. New York felt different in the winter, quieter somehow, even as the holiday decorations began to shine brighter. Streetlights casting long shadows across the snow, and you admired the festive cheer that the city wore like a second skin. You had seen the Christmas tree lighting at the New Haven Green just last week, a tradition that always brought a sense of warmth despite the chill in the air.
Walking through the snow, you felt a small sense of contentment, something you had been searching for but hadn’t fully realized was within reach. The lights, crisp air—all of it made you feel like you had carved out a space of your own here. You hoped that it would stay that way, that the peace you had found wouldn’t be disturbed, even as the holiday season and all its chaos loomed on the horizon.
The grocery store was just a few blocks away, but your thoughts drifted to other things—nothing too heavy, just the soft hum of city life. It had been a peaceful walk, but then, you froze.
Your eyes caught a glimpse of something, or rather someone, someone so familiar in the distance. Curly hair that you could picture in your sleep. At first, you thought it was a trick of the light, a resemblance that your mind conjured up after hours of rewatching old videos. You quickly dismissed the thought, trying to shake it off. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t be here.
But then, as if the universe had conspired to pull the past back into your life. The person looked up, and everything in your world stopped. It was him.
Your heart pounded in your chest, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. The air around you seemed to thicken, sounds of the city dimming in the background as you took in the sight of him. Lando. In New York. Of all places he can be in right now, why was he here?
It had taken a long time to convince yourself, year after year, that you were fine, that you had moved on, that everything was better this way. Yet here he was, standing only a few meters away from you, the same familiar figure that had been a part of your life for so long.
You both stood there, frozen in place, just staring at each other as people around passed you by. Neither of you moved, as if the moment held too much weight to let anything else happen. It was like time had bent around you, your mind racing, questions swirling, but none of them found their way to your lips. You couldn’t speak, you weren’t even sure you could breathe.
Lando stood there too, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that everything else feel irrelevant. You knew he hadn’t expected to see you. Not here, not like this. Yet, there he was—right in front of you, a ghost from your past made flesh, making the familiar ache in your chest resurface.
You had thought you were done with him, that you had moved on, but standing here, with him so close and yet so far, you realized that maybe you had not moved on as much as you thought.
The world around you seemed to hold its breath.
#Spotify#f1#formula 1#formula one#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 x reader#lando norris#lando norris 4#ln4#lando norris x female!reader#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris x y/n#lando norris fic#lando norris one shot#lando norris fanfic#lando norris imagine#ln4 x y/n#ln4 x reader#ln4 x you#ln4 one shot#ln4 imagine#ln4 fic#ln4 angst#lando norris angst
690 notes
·
View notes
Text
✑ 𝓉𝓎𝓅𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒷𝑜𝓎𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝜗𝜚 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒
· ─────── ⋆⋅♤⋅⋆ ─────── ·
So, since Crowe is definitely my fave, so I just had to write more about him! Mostly focus on relationship canons, but shoutout to @i90o3 for the inspo!
𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions.
I also threw in a bunch of my own general headcanons because honestly, Crowe has so much lore that I could talk about him forever (I won’t; it’ll be too damn long.)
He's got this whole backstory and vibe that I can't get enough of. Plus, I’m all about fleshing out his character even more, so I added a few of my personal twists on how I see him in different situations, especially when it comes to relationships.
He's such a layered character, and it's fun to dive deep into his personality.
Okay, so let's talk about Crowe as a boyfriend. Honestly, he's everything—the perfect mix of charm, attention, and emotional depth. If you're the type of person who wants a relationship that's all about connection, balance, and growing together, Crowe is that guy.
He's basically the definition of a dream guy—like, he’s got that old-school chivalry thing down, a fucking prince, but it's not forced or anything. It just comes naturally to him. He’s thoughtful in ways that’ll make you smile, like he’s always paying attention to what you need and finding ways to show you he cares. The affection? Relentless, in the best way possible. He’ll make you feel like the center of his universe without hesitation.
And if you’re someone who thinks love can’t be that over-the-top, grand, movie-romance type, Crowe is out here proving everyone wrong. He’s the type to sweep you off your feet with the little things and make every moment together feel like an wonderful love story.
✑ The Gentleman Extraordinaire
GENTLEMAN, GENTLEMAN, GENTLEMAN. DEAR LORD! Okay, okay, hear me out—Like, I started playing the game for Sol—I was all in for Sol, but then Crowe shows up, and suddenly I’m sitting here like, "Sol, who?" Crowe doesn’t just win your heart—he walks in, takes it, and leaves you wondering how you ever lived without him. He’s that boyfriend who ruins all other boyfriends because he’s not trying to compete—he’s just naturally that good at loving you.
He’s got this smooth, polished vibe, like a real-life Prince Charming, but not in some cheesy, over-the-top way. No, Crowe’s the kind of charming that feels real because it is He’s not all about appearances—there’s this kindness and humility that just grounds him. He’s perfect, but not in an intimidating way; he’s perfect in a “why this man doesn’t exist?” way. T-T
You know when he shows up to meet your friends or family? Game over. He’s got that effortless grace, that charisma that makes everyone around him feel special. Your friends are like, "Wow, he’s amazing," and your mom is already planning the wedding. But here’s the thing—Crowe doesn’t care about impressing everyone. He just cares about you, His whole vibe screams, “I’m here to love you and make your life amazing.” And he does.
He doesn’t wait around asking, “When are you free?” Nope. Crowe says, “Meet me outside in 20,” and next thing you know, you’re at this secret little café, or on a picnic in some perfect, out-of-the-way spot, or just laying on the grass, looking up at the stars that somehow feels magical—not odd because he’s there. And everything he does feels so intentional—like, this man doesn’t try to be romantic; he is romantic.
He’s that guy who makes opening doors and pulling out chairs look like an art form. Like, you could be wearing sweats, but somehow when you’re out with him, the whole scene feels like it belongs in a movie.
Date night with Crowe? Babe, you’re not just going out for a night—you’re straight-up walking into a fashion shoot without even trying. This man is obsessed with matching outfits, but not in a cheesy way. Nah, it’s all about that subtle, cohesive vibe—same color schemes, the same textures.
And when you’re brainstorming outfits together? That’s part of the fun! It's like a mini fashion show before the actual date. And don’t even get me started on how he lets you borrow his clothes. You know this man is elite when his clothes smell like pure heaven and still fit you like a glove. Yall see how that man is built.
Crowe isn’t just boyfriend material, he’s the whole soulmate package. Like, seriously—he’s everything. I’m not even making this up, this man is next level.
✑ The Romantic Idealist
Crowe loves you like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and he’s not shy about it—like, at all. His love is this big, bold, cinematic thing, but also these soft, quiet moments that hit just as hard. It’s like he’s figured out how to be a walking rom-com and your comfort person all at once.
And Prince? Oh, Prince is charming for sure, but let’s be real: he’s more of a mother hen than some storybook prince. Brittney nailed it when she said that. He’s got that whole “nagging but with love” vibe, plus the way he carries himself. It’s giving “protective energy” more than “royal decree.”
And, Oh, you’ll never be unsure about how he feels. The man says, “I love you,” like it’s second nature—like he doesn’t even realize it’s slipping out half the time. And the way he looks at you? You know, the kind of gaze that makes your knees forget how to function? Yeah, that.
Then there are the little surprises: handwritten notes that are so sweet they feel illegal, gifts that aren’t just thoughtful but feel like they were plucked straight from your Pinterest board, and dates planned around stuff you didn’t even realize you’d mentioned. He’s not just big on the show of it; he’s big on knowing you, like, really knowing you.
And if you’re having a bad day or feeling some type of way? Crowe is on it. Insecurity? What’s that? Because he’s about to drop a forehead kiss, some whispered reassurances or even a whole TED Talk about why you’re literally the best human being alive. He’s not stopping until you believe it.
Lastly, flowers? Don’t even get me started. Crowe’s the kind of guy who gives flowers just because it’s Tuesday, and he definitely knows flower language. Like, he’ll bring you a bouquet and casually mention the meaning behind every bloom. It’s all very “main character in a dating sim.” even though he’s very much a second lead energy. You know exactly what I mean.
✑ Intimacy, Comfort, and Softness
Okay, so Crowe’s whole vibe is just… ugh, so comforting, in the way he shows up physically and emotionally.
Like, this man has a gift for making you feel safe and treasured, but also a little breathless. It’s the way he reads you, you know? He picks up on even the tiniest mood shifts and is right there—whether it’s to hold you, help you, or just let you vent without even asking for it.
And communication? Oh, he’s the king of creating that safe little bubble where you can spill your guts and not feel judged.
Oh, but don’t let that fool you—this man is such a tease. He loves getting under your skin in that playful, flirty way that has you pouting and glaring at him, and he’s just standing there with this little smirk. And honestly? You’d swear you catch him blushing every now and then when you pout back, but it’s so subtle you almost gaslight yourself into thinking it’s the lighting.
Now, THE HAIR. His Hair ™ deserves its own spotlight.
It’s a masterpiece, okay? Always soft, always smelling faintly of lavender or jasmine or some other magical scent that just makes you wanna dive face-first into it and never leave. Like, what’s his secret? Witchcraft? Angels? I don’t even care—it’s perfect.
And the texture? Bruh, it’s so smooth it’s unreal. Like, you run your fingers through it once, and suddenly you’re hooked. I’m talking brushing it, styling it, or just running your hands through it like it’s your job. Don’t even get me started.
But here’s the kicker: when you start massaging his scalp? Game over. This man is so sensitive, like his entire soul leaves his body. But wait, I’m not even close to done. His hair has its own little personality, just radiating vibes that scream, “Take care of me, love me, worship me.” And you do. Because you have to.
And if you dare to tug on his hair—ohhh, let me tell you, it’s a wrap. He just melts, full-on turns into a puddle with those big heart eyes, looking at you like you’re the only person in the universe. And the way he’s silently begging for more? Sir. Sir. You’re playing a dangerous game, Crowe.
Soft words, soft touches—the whole package. He’s the kind of person who will cup your face like you're the most important thing in the world and just whisper how incredible you are.
Or he’ll casually tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear while you’re talking like it’s no big deal, but it makes you feel like you're wrapped up in this cozy, gentle bubble. Honestly, it’s the kind of affection that just melts you.
You’d have him all peaceful and chill, just resting on your chest, no worries. It’s like his version of a personal reset button. I can’t even deal with how perfect that sounds.
Oh yeah! Let’s talk about his sleep, though. Crowe sleeps like a freaking Disney princess. Aurora who? Like, imagine the most peaceful, beautiful sleeping face ever. And okay, yeah, there’s a bit of a “corpse but make it art” vibe, because how can anyone look that good just… lying there? I’m so sorry, couldn't help it.
Crowe is all about that closeness, like, he loves resting his head on you. Whether it’s on the top of your head or just leaning on your shoulder, he thrives on that kind of support. It’s like his way of saying he trusts you with his energy.
And if you smell nice? Oh, he’s all about it. Like, if you're wearing something musky, floral, or have a hint of perfume, he’s in heaven. It’s like his little sensory heaven, and he’ll lean in a little closer just to get that extra whiff.
When it comes to hugs, it’s a mutual effort—you both kinda have this rhythm after learning each other’s boundaries. But when you do hug, Crowe’s hands usually find their way to your waist, not your chest or neck. It’s like this cozy, grounded thing where he wants to feel close but also be respectful of space.
If you’re feeling extra chill with him, he’d probably fall asleep in your arms, no questions asked. This boy just needs rest, and you’re the perfect pillow. But if he does fall asleep while hugging you? Good luck getting those arms to move. It’s like they’re made of steel or something—they’re not going anywhere. And honestly, who would want them to? It feels so good being wrapped up in his arms.
Seriously, though, his hugs are just addictive. Like, once you get one, you just want more. It’s warm, comforting, and feels like a personal little world just between the two of you. Just shower him with hugs in return—he’s craving it, trust me, especially when it’s just the two of you, behind closed doors. You’re honestly doing him a favor. But the only thing that could top his hugs? His kisses, hands down.
Like, don’t even get me started with his kisses—UGHH.
Crowe is ALL about them. Need kisses? Boom. Hands, cheeks, forehead, neck—whatever you want, he’s got you covered, babe. And if you’re cool with a PDA? Honey, he’s laying it on thick.
Like, smooches in front of everyone if anyone even thinks about making you jealous. But if you’re not into PDA, he’s got this smooth way of keeping you close—hand on your waist, pulling you into conversations, constantly checking in with those little glances that just scream, you’re my world.
And when it comes to love? Crowe doesn’t do things halfway. Do you need reassurance? He’s sitting you down for the most real heart-to-heart. Do you want more kisses? Babe, he’s already on it, no hesitation. If you’re the jealous type? Oh, he’s not just telling you he loves you; he’s showing it, making it crystal clear to everyone else, too.
And the pet names? My love, my dove, my heart—he’s laying them on THICK with a capital T; I swear to god, those aren’t the exact nicknames from the game itself, more like examples as I want you guys to see for yourself as I’m not lying!—I was eating it up every single time.
✑ The Ultimate Hype Man
Crowe is that person who’s just built to hype you up. Like, your wins? Automatically his wins. He’s out here making sure everyone and their mama knows just how proud he is of you.
But he has serious Cheerleader Energy—like, it’s not even casual. You finally ate today without forgetting, and this guy is acting like you just won Best Picture at the Oscars. Got a good grade on your test? He’s probably already planning a parade route through your neighborhood.
And if you failed that test? No worries—he’s showing up with your favorite snacks, ready to hype you up like, “It’s one test; you’re still a genius, obviously.” Honestly, I could’ve used that kind of energy after finals this year because…wow, the struggle. T-T
But it’s not just about the hype with Crowe. Oh no, he’s deeper than that. He’s the guy who’s like, “What’s your passion? Let’s chase it down,” and he actually has good advice, not just “follow your dreams” fluff. Like, practical, actionable stuff that makes you feel like you can actually do the thing. And the best part? He’s not just clapping for the big wins; he’s cheering for every little step you take, even the awkward ones.
Crowe’s that boyfriend—even friend who celebrates you while also making sure you’re constantly leveling up—and honestly, we all need a Crowe in our lives.
And oh, the reliability? Unmatched. Whether you need someone to hash out a problem, cheer you through a tough time, or just sit there as your unshakable rock, he’s there. No doubts, no drama. You can count on him to show up, fully present—both physically and emotionally.
Also, let’s talk about his socials. They’re basically a love letter to you. Couple pics, goofy candids, and those long, heartfelt stories where he’s just out here spilling about how lucky he is? Crowe’s all about letting the world know how much he adores you.
✑ Tailored to You
Crowe’s love language? All of them. He's like a walking, talking Swiss Army knife of affection, but with a twist: “I will become whatever you need me to be.” It's honestly wild. His default? Quality Time and Acts of Service, no question. He's the type of guy to be like, "I love you, and here's how I’m going to prove it." But the real magic happens when he adjusts based on whatever makes you happy. Do you like something? Oh, bet. He’ll be all over it, mastering it just for you.
��� Physical Touch?
Crowe's all about that. Like, he will hold your hand just because, mess with your hair while you're chilling, and literally just hug the life out of you. It’s not some half-hearted stuff either—it’s the kind of touch that screams, “You are my world, and I’ll keep you close.”
— Acts of Service?
If you think you’re doing anything on your own, think again. Crowe's the guy who’s like, “Need help with your assignments? I’ll be your tutor, even if I don’t understand the material, I’ll pay someone or learn it myself. Running errands? I’ve got it covered.” He's all in on making your life easier, and that’s his way of showing love. He’ll get you that coffee you like without even asking.
— Words of Affirmation?
Man, if you thought he was shy with his words, you clearly don't know Crowe. He’s got this endless list of compliments, and he’s not shy about throwing them your way. “You’re amazing, you’re perfect, here’s why—let me list it out for you.” And let’s be real, he can’t stop talking about how great you are. Like, you’ll be sitting with him and next thing you know, he's telling his friends, “They are literally the best person ever,” and his friends just like, “Okay, we get it, you’re in love.”
— Quality Time?
When he’s with you, every second matters. Doesn’t matter if you’re just hanging out, watching a movie, or even just sitting there. He makes everything feel intentional like this moment right now is the only one that matters. He’s not just there, he’s fully present, and that makes everything feel special.
— Gift Giving?
This man doesn't just grab anything random. Oh no, every gift is like a peek into his brain where he’s thought about what would make you smile. It’s always something meaningful that shows he’s paying attention to what you care about. It’s like he can see straight into your soul and get you exactly what you didn’t even know you wanted.
✑ Tailored to Him
When it comes to receiving love for himself, though? Crowe’s all about Words of Affirmation and Quality Time, with a little sprinkle of Physical Touch in there. And honestly, it makes sense because (okay, I’m guessing here), but he definitely has some emotional trauma—like, maybe growing up too fast? Like he’s so independent… I NEED more into his backstory because something made him this way.
— Words of Affirmation?
They’re everything to him. Sometimes he just needs you to remind him that he’s doing okay. Tell him he’s not a failure, that he’s enough, and watch him melt. Like, imagine gently cupping his face and whispering, “You’re amazing, Crowe.” Boom. He’s soft, he’s vulnerable, and he’s all yours.
— Quality Time?
With his hectic schedule (hello, Student Council energy), any second you spend with him is like gold. And don’t even get me started on the fact that If you ask to hang out? Instant heart eyes. And the man STARES, okay? Like a full-on, unapologetic admiration station. Whether you’re looking back at him or not, he’s just soaking you in because, in his eyes, you’re an his actual deity.
— Physical Touch?
Okay, so picture this: when you’re out in public with Crowe, there’s always some kind of touching happening, and it’s the softest, most consistent thing ever. Like, dude’s got this constant need to feel you’re there, but it’s not over-the-top—it’s just perfect. Holding hands? That’s a given. Arm brushing as you walk side by side? Absolutely. Waist-hugging? Oh, for sure.
And you know what? Let’s throw in pinky-holding because I feel like he’s the type who’d totally be into that—like, tell me that wouldn’t be the cutest thing ever! Ugh, I’ve always wanted to try that. My heart can’t take it T-T. If there’s a way to be close to you, he’s doing it.
Crowe’s basically the poster child for “can’t get enough of you” energy, but somehow it’s not overwhelming? Just... natural, like breathing?
Now, alone time? Oh man, let me tell you, this guy is so touch-starved, and it’s the sweetest thing ever. It’s not like he’s clingy—no, it’s way softer than that. It’s more like this quiet, unspoken please in his body language, like, “I just need you to hold me right now, and maybe, maybe for always.” And when he’s in that space, when he wraps himself up in you, it’s so clear he craves it—but not in a way that feels desperate.
It’s more like he’s letting himself finally believe he deserves to be cared for like this. And oh my god, the kisses. When Crowe kisses you, holding you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to the world? It’s not just a kiss, okay? It’s an entire moment, a whole event. Like, “Shut up and take my soul, I guess this is my life now” kind of kiss. It’s breathtaking. You can’t just walk away from that; it stays with you.
Imagine this: you're just chilling on Crowe's bed, right? Lying there, talking about the most random stuff, maybe arguing over whether pineapple belongs on pizza or spiraling into some deep existential question. Just vibing, you know?
And then… THEN, you start noticing the way he’s looking at you. Like, he’s not just glancing—he’s doing that triangle method thing. His eyes flick from yours to your lips and back again, and you’re like, “Oh… oh he wants to kiss me. Like, RIGHT NOW.” You can feel it. It’s so obvious. He’s got that look, like you’re the only thing in the world he could possibly care about in this moment.
And it’s so soft at first. You both kind of lean in, and his lips just barely brush yours, like he’s scared he’ll mess it up if he moves too fast. And let me tell you—his lips? SO soft, like pillowy clouds. They’re full and perfect, and the way he kisses you? It’s like he thinks you’re made of glass, like he’s handling the most delicate, precious thing in the entire universe.
But then… something changes.
Like, something inside him snaps. It’s not just a kiss anymore—it’s a KISS. There’s this desperation, but not in a bad way. It’s like he’s been holding all these feelings in for so long, and now they’re just spilling out, like words he doesn’t know how to say with anything other than this kiss. His lips move with this crazy mix of hunger and tenderness like he’s trying to tell you without words how much you mean to him, how long he’s been waiting for this.
And the wild part? You can feel it. Every ounce of longing, every stolen glance, every unsaid word—it’s all in that kiss. It’s sweet and fiery at the same time, like he’s savoring every second, but also like he’s terrified it’ll all just vanish if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.
And then when he pulls away? Oh my god. The way he looks at you. Those deep blue eyes of his just lock onto you, and it’s like the entire universe shrinks down to just the two of you. He rests his forehead against yours, catching his breath, and he doesn’t even have to say anything. It’s just there, written all over his face. That look that says, I’m gone for you. Completely, hopelessly yours.
Also, his hands? Oh, his hands tell their own story. They’re soft and deliberate, cupping your face like you’re his whole world, his thumbs gently brushing over your cheekbones. Sometimes, his fingers hold your hair, pulling you just a little closer like he can’t get enough. Other times, his hands settle on your waist, grounding him, but there’s this light tremble—like even touching you sends a wave of overwhelming affection through him.
✑ Flaws? Hardly. But…
Crowe’s not perfect, but that’s the thing—his flaws are part of his charm, you know?
Like, he’s this guy who’ll go out of his way to keep the peace. He’s not about unnecessary drama and will dodge a tough conversation if he can. But here’s the thing—his love for you? It’s bigger than his fear of awkwardness or confrontation. He’ll choose to work through it for the sake of the relationship every time.
Take how he probably freaked out about confessing to you. Terrified.
I bet he couldn’t stop thinking about how much he didn’t want to ruin what you two already had. But when push comes to shove, he’d face that fear head-on because, for him, it’s worth it. And don’t even get me started on what happens if someone dares to hurt or disrespect you.
Sweet, peace-loving Crowe? Gone. You’ll see this bold, fiery version of him who’ll stand up for you without hesitation.
The thing about Crowe is he’ll do everything to make you happy, but sometimes he forgets about himself in the process. He’s so busy putting everyone else first that he can burn out or feel underappreciated, especially if he doesn’t see the same effort coming back. So yeah, remind him now and then that you’ve got his back too. He’ll probably act all humble about it, but he needs it.
And let’s be real—he’s not used to being the one cared for. Crowe’s always been the caretaker, so letting you in? Yeah, he’ll need a little nudge. (Cue those moments where he low-key deflects when it gets too real—classic fanfic material)
His conflict-avoidance thing? That’s where it gets tricky. Like, he won’t let you walk away from an argument upset—no chance. He’ll bend over backward to smooth things over because he has to see you happy. But if the shoe’s on the other foot? Spoiler alert: he might not just come out and say what’s bothering him. Instead, he’ll hit you with questions, all casual-like, about stuff that might be bugging him. It’s almost sneaky, but it’s totally him trying to figure things out without making it a thing.
And oh, my God, the romance. Crowe HAS TO BE extra af. Grand gestures, public displays—he’s all in, and everyone around you is swooning or jealous. It’s cute, don’t get me wrong, but if you’re the shy type?
Yeah, good luck with that.
✑ Thoughts + Ranting
So, disclaimer upfront: none of this is canon, just my thoughts and headcanons. A lot of these ideas come from some scenes in the game (spoilers ahead) and his character profile, which I'll share at the end for context.
Okay, so something about Crowe just screams "rich kid" to me. I know, it’s probably obvious to some people, but hear me out. In the game, he lives on the other side of town, right? And, spoilers, there’s that scene where he has a driver pick him up on the second day when you two get caught in the rain and at the end of the night, he has to go home.
Like, come on, rich people don’t just walk in the rain, they have drivers. Then let's talk about his clothes for a second. His shirts, especially that purple one, are super fancy. Like, where do you even buy a button-up shirt with that many buttons, and in that exact shade of purple? Not from a fast fashion store. I’m no expert on high-end clothes, but I’m pretty sure those are designer.
Anyway, he’s definitely got a backstory in the whole “rich hierarchy” world, though I think he’s dropped down a peg or two. After all creator said so herself that Crowe story will be pretty rocky.
There are two ways you can lose that high-ranking rich status: either you flunk out of a class or you do something big that gets you kicked out.
And with Crowe? I feel like it’s the second option. He’s definitely got that chip on his shoulder like he’s got something to prove, you know? That intense drive to show everyone that he’s more than just whatever they think of him.
— Example One! First-day scene.
So, if you choose the option (though, if I remember correctly, I think you’d become all overwhelmed), you end up having a little cry fest because you’re so worried about being too much for Crowe.
You’re thinking you’re being overbearing, like maybe you’ve crossed a line, and it’s all too much. So, you’re crying up on the roof—classic, right? But after that, you dry those tears, pull yourself together, and go off to your next class. And, of course, Crowe finds you. And you know what? He’s already comforting you because he can see right through the tired, tear-streaked face and knows exactly what went down.
But then, just when you think it’s a nice moment, someone from the student council shows up, searching for Crowe. They say he’s been looking for you all over the place, and they need him right now. And Crowe’s response?
“I don’t fucking care…” Honestly, that moment threw me off guard, but also—like, low-key swoony? Like, you don’t see that kind of attitude every day, and it was kinda hot.
— Then Crowe’s library scene—oh man.
So, Crowe kinda tests you there. He asks if you’d still stick by “Marie Antoinette” (which I think he’s talking about mom in metaphor) even with all the nasty rumors flying around about her. He’s basically asking if you’d trust her, or if you’d believe all the gossip from both the rich and poor folks alike. And the way he reacts if you choose to stay loyal to her?
Tears in his eyes. Earn points. It’s heartbreaking, honestly. You can tell he’s got so much riding on that trust like it really means the world to him.
But if you fall for the rumors and go with what everyone else says, Crowe’s visibly upset, and you lose points for it. It’s a tough call, right? Like, on one hand, the rumors could be true, but on the other, I feel like you should trust the person you know best. Trust is everything to him, and it’s hard not to see that.
Also, I’m pretty sure Crowe is an only child. I’m just feeling that vibe, you know? I headcanon that his mom (or both parents, but mostly his mom) are always off working or traveling for work, leaving him alone for long stretches of time. So, he probably spends a lot of time by himself.
That means he does all the household chores and probably picks up a lot of cooking skills, but here’s the thing: I don’t think he actually eats what he makes that often. He’s probably so used to being alone that he just makes meals for himself but ends up bringing the food to campus for you instead. It’s like a weirdly thoughtful gesture, even if it’s a little lonely at its core.
— Okay, so I have to add to this because of the new Crowe update?
Literally a chef's kiss. I just played it recently since I’ve been swamped with finals, so I’m a little behind, but omg. I’m so here for it. Like, I can't wait to see how the story unfolds and especially how Sol’s gonna react to everything. Dammit, creator, why make us wait for it? But honestly, I’ll wait. It’s gonna be worth it, I’m sure.
And, so before the update, Crowe was kinda just... there. Like, we all knew we had a crush on him, but there wasn’t really much to grab onto, you know? But this update? Oh my god, it’s like they gave him a whole new personality and I’m living for it. He’s such a dreamboat prince now, I just wanna smother him in kisses! Like, mwah, mwah, mwah—someone stops me before I turn into a full-on fangirl. Or Sol himself.
For real, I was laughing the whole time, twirling my hair like some cheesy romcom character. He’s got this whole new charm that’s completely irresistible, and I’m just here for all of it. His vibes are adorable, lowkey a lil freak. If you know, you know.
Like, how did they make him so adorable all of a sudden? He’s the good boy we never knew we needed; he’s out here winning hearts left and right.
Seriously, how can you not love him now?
· ─────── ⋆⋅♤⋅⋆ ─────── ·
#tkatb crowe#tkatb#the kid at the back crowe#the kid at the back vn#the kid at the back x reader#the kid at the back head canons#tkatb vn#tkatb head canons#crowe x reader#jericho crowe ichabod#crowe ichabod
407 notes
·
View notes
Text
OLD GRUDGES (part 1)
A/N: wooohoooo im bringing something new!!! i feel like it happens so rarely it's like a miracle lol anyway, this will be hopefully a couple of parts (probably about 3) and lets all pray i will actually finish it lol
WORD COUNT: 3.7k
WARNING: sexual content
SUMMARY: Harry and Y/N go way back. Working together was like a dream when 1D was still going strong. Now, years later, when they end up working together again, things are very different. Mostly because Y/N seems to be hating Harry passionately. But he has not idea why.
MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST
Everyone loves Harry Styles. It’s a known fact, not just amongst the people who actually know him, but all around the world. He is known as one of the most unproblematic celebrities, someone who gives just as much if not even more respect as he gets, always kind and patient with others, rarely loses his temper. It’s hard to imagine that there is anyone walking this planet who doesn’t see him as a lovable, sweet man.
Well, it might be hard to imagine, but there is actually one person who has a very different opinion when it comes to the british popstar.
And that person is music producer, Y/N.
The interesting thing is that their history goes way back into his 1D days. Y/N was an up and coming name in the industry, just started working with bigger names when she got the chance to produce several songs on the band’s third studio album. Harry remembers her as a bubbly, funny girl who is passionate about her job and is also excellent in it. Working with her was easy and motivating, she was always eager to perfect songs to an extent Harry couldn’t even imagine and that’s why songs like Story Of My Life, You & I and Midnight Memories were such hits. Y/N put her heart and soul into them, which eventually earned all the recognition they deserved.
Harry loved working with Y/N and she was in talks of working on their fourth album as well, but the deal ended up ditched and she went on to do other projects and they somehow had a fallout. It was a shame, but he hoped his path would cross hers again.
Years and years went by and so much changed by the time their professional ways finally met again. Jeff brought her name up when Harry just started writing for his fourth solo album and Harry gave him the go to do whatever it takes to get her on the project. A few weeks passed and Harry didn’t get any confirmation about her and just when he was about to bring it up to Jeff, he hit him with the news.
“Y/N is in for five songs. Contract should be signed by Wednesday and you can start working next week.”
Harry wondered why it took so long to get her on board, but he brushed it off because he knew she was a big name now herself and had plenty of offers from which she could choose from. He was excited to work with her and simply see her again.
It was utter shock for him when she was the complete opposite of what he remembered. Okay, that might be an overstatement, but Harry could feel something was off instantly.
She was still bubbly and fun, but for some reason, she had a certain iciness and bitter attitude whenever her focus was on Harry. To anyone else it was unnoticable, Harry knows, because he asked Jeff about it.
“What are you talking about? She is awesome,” the manager said with a shrug and Harry tried to tell himself it was all in his head, because if Jeff doesn’t see it, it’s not real.
But it kept happening and it felt even stronger when it was just him and her in a room. Sometimes she even pretended like he wasn’t there, sometimes her snarky comments were all he got and they just strengthened him in his belief.
He wanted to ask her about it, he tried, several times, but his attempts just bounced right off her icy behavior so eventually, he gave up and there was only one thing left for him to do.
Return what he was getting.
Yes, it is childish, but he felt like he needed to deal with her unreasonable hatred towards him somehow and this was the easiest way. Was it a smart idea to practically become enemies when working together on his album? Of course not. But it just happened.
And going against each other became their thing.
They were great in arguing, disagreeing even when they could easily compromise, riling each other up and lashing out on each other when the tension had been building up for hours. It got to the point where others started to notice that something was off between the two of them and when Jeff questioned Harry about it, he couldn’t give him a reasonable explanation.
“She started it,” he said and instantly felt like a kid, telling on his classmate at school. But this is all he could say, because he had no idea why she was acting this way. And he has to live with it while they work together.
Something is off. Harry knows it. Something about the melody… or the guitar… or is it the lyrics? He can’t tell, he has listened to the recording a million times so it all melts in his ears and he can’t identify what’s setting him off every time he hears it.
“Why don’t we take a break?” Jack, the technician suggests, turning in his chair. “Y/N will be here in twenty, I’m sure she’ll–”
“Okay,” Harry snaps, just so he doesn’t finish. He knows what he wanted to say.
She’ll know what’s wrong and will correct it in a second.
Y/N always knows what’s wrong and most of the time it’s a perk, of course it is, but today, Harry feels like it’s gonna make him want to crawl out of his body. Maybe it’s because he’s been in the studio for five hours and he got nowhere or maybe because Mitch will have his first ever solo gig tonight and Harry has been worried his fame or relation to him might ruin this experience for him.
Either way, today he is just extra pissed by the fact that Y/N will be the one to solve this mystery.
“I’m gonna grab a coffee,” he clears his throat, standing up from his seat. “Do you want one?” he offers, feeling a bit guilty he snapped at Jack.
“Uh, yeah, just an espresso is fine, thanks man.”
“Sure, I’ll be right back.”
Putting on his headphone, Harry jogs across the street to the tiny coffee shop he’s been a regular at. He likes the place because they are discreet and their coffee is just simply amazing, though they swear there’s nothing extra in it.
He waits for the two coffees at the end of the counter and scrolls on his phone in the meantime. Emails, messages, there’s always something to answer to. He sends out a few replies before he ends up in his calendar. It’s neatly color coded and he takes pride in keeping it up-to-date all the time so he can always be on top of his game, no matter what.
His eyes land on one particular date. Five weeks from now Y/N’s contract expires and if the five songs are done by then, she’ll be out of Harry’s life again. Seeing how the work is going, she’ll easily outdo that number so there won’t be any reason for talk about an extension.
An unsettling feeling spreads in his stomach as he stares at the date but he doesn’t have time to figure it out because he is snapped out of his thoughts when the two paper cups are placed in front of him. He is trying his best to keep a positive mindset as he returns to the studio’s building. With the two coffee cups in his hands he makes a right turn and then stops at the door, seeing Y/N sitting where he did previously, already listening to the recording with Jack with a critical expression on her face.
Harry doesn’t interrupt them, just stays put and waits for her feedback. When she is done listening, she leans back in her seat.
“It’s the bass. Or more specifically the lack of it. Can you double it? Let’s see how it changes.”
Jack is quick to do as she asked and then he starts the song again and…
Harry wants to scream and laugh in bliss at the same time, because it’s perfect now. He’s mad he couldn’t spot such an obvious thing, but he is also happy it’s finally sorted out. It’s just a shame Y/N was the one to do it and not him.
“Great, so this is done then,” he makes himself noticed as he walks into the studio and hands over one of the cups to Jack.
When he looks at Y/N he can see that familiar, irritated look on her face that’s almost always there when he’s around. He hasn’t decided if he wants to physically wipe it off, or…
“Thanks for bringing one for me,” she comments in a bored tone, turning back towards the screen.
“You weren’t here when I went out.”
“But you knew I was coming.”
Harry opens his mouth, but then closes it, because this time she is kind of right. And it irks him even more today.
It’s gonna be a challenging session today, Harry thinks as he takes a seat.
It’s always exciting for Harry to be behind the stage when he’s not the star of the show. Kind of like a whole different world.
He hasn’t been here for long, but he’s been trying his best to stay as unnoticed as possible and let Mitch take the spotlight. Just a few minutes ago Sarah put him on Scout-duty which he gladly took up on, he’s always happy to spend time with the little guy. This time he is letting him explore freely and he’s just following him around to make sure he’s safe. Scout seemingly enjoys the adventure with uncle Harry, who doesn’t really pay attention where he is heading.
That’s how they end up in the green room where Y/N is.
Y/N and Sarah have worked together a while ago, which is a random coincidence how they are connected outside of Harry. Because of their history, Y/N is often where they are, however she was never around when Sarah and Mitch were playing for Harry.
Scout runs up to Y/N, arms in the air, asking to be picked up and Harry stops a few steps away from them when he realizes who he just found.
“Hey there, little guy! Are you all by yourself?” Y/N asks, settling the boy on her hip.
She’s changed since they parted ways in the studio. Harry has always admired her sense of style, which mostly consists of basic pieces, almost like a capsule wardrobe, but there’s always something extra, something vibrant on her that makes her sets interesting. Tonight she is wearing a simple black dress with a rather low back cut, simple heels, simple makeup, but she added a silky scarf with vivid colors and shapes around her neck that brings Harry’s attention to the curve of her neck and collarbones, almost as a cheeky invitation for his eyes to her naked skin.
He has to fight the urge to touch her.
Despite the spiteful relationship they’ve been sporting lately, Harry had to deal with a rather unreasonable desire for Y/N in a physical way.
Unreasonable, because he never thought he could be attracted to someone who pisses him off so easily, yet there’s been plenty of occasions when Harry found himself imagining scenarios he could never admit to her, not when she hates him with such obvious passion.
Tonight it’s not just the outfit, but also the way she’s handling Scout. It’s not just women who find it incredibly hot when the opposite sex is great with kids, Harry can definitely feel something inside him moving as he watches Y/N sway from side to side with the little boy in his arms.
“Uncle Hazza is here!” Scout points at him, answering her previous question. Y/N looks up and because Harry was already looking at him, he catches a slipping moment where there’s no irritation on her face, but it returns quite fast when her gaze settles on him.
“Ah, hi,” she says, lips pressed together as she nods, acknowledging his presence.
“Hey. Long time no see.”
As soon as the words leave his mouth he regrets it. Who says that? Why did he even say anything else other than hi? He smacks himself in his mind.
Part of him expects her to say something like ‘not long enough’ but she just keeps quiet and turns all her attention to Scout. Harry feels out of place, he is supposed to be babysitting, but Y/N is taking care of Scout, Harry knows he is in good hands but Sarah asked him to watch over him. Should he leave? Or just keep standing there awkwardly?
“You can go, I’ll watch him,” Y/N says, as if she could read his mind.
“You sure?”
“I’m pretty sure I can take care of him until Sarah is back.” Her reply is not just dry, kind of offended, nothing Harry wouldn’t expect from her, but it’s still irking him.
“I didn’t say you’re not capable, I just–”
“I’m not in the mood for this,” she cuts him off with an icy look. Harry is too stunned to reply, just watches Y/N walk away with Scout.
He almost finds it amusing how easily she can piss him off, not many people have been able to do that, in fact, Harry thinks she does it the best.
Clenching his jaw he takes a deep breath to calm his nerves and then just lets it all go.
The after party is always kind of Harry’s favorite. The stress is over, it’s just the relief and celebration that is left.
Mitch’s show went well, that’s what Harry expected, but it’s still great he was right. Seeing his friend be the star of the show was an experience he is glad he could be part of. Now that the core of the group has moved to a nearby bar, Harry has loosened up thanks to the couple of drinks he’s had.
He’s been mostly sticking to the familiar faces he knows, rotating between the same few people while enjoying how under the radar he is currently.
The more drinks he has had, the less he’s been able to control where his gaze goes. To be exact, he’s been finding himself looking Y/N’s way the past hour or so. That damn dress and scarf, it’s like she’s put a spell on him that forces him to keep wanting to look at her.
Harry is not experienced with feeling like this. Being attracted to someone who he hates, it’s such an ambivalent impulse, he can’t think straight. Or maybe it’s the amount of tequila he has drunk tonight, either way, it’s getting a rise out of him.
From the corner of his eye he sees her slip out to the back where the smoking area is, he hesitates, shifts his weight from one leg to the other before making the leap and heading after her. He has no plan, no idea what he wants to ro will say to her, but he just feels like he has to talk to her.
Stepping out to the dimly lit back alley he is met with a few people scattered around, having a cigarette with drinks in hand, talking or scrolling on their phone and then he spots Y/N on the left, standing by the wall, cigarette in one hand, the remaining of her drink in the other as she stares ahead of her.
She doesn’t smoke regularly, but she does enjoy one in certain social settings or when she’s had a few drinks. Harry knows it from years ago, because they shared a cigarette at a party, back then she seemed thrilled to spend time with him, he remembers all the conversations they had while working together, telling each other stories, sharing their plans, Harry truly thought they would remain good friends on this extraordinary journey, yet they ended up here.
As Harry walks towards her, she notices him and he sees her lips twitch in annoyance.
“Care if I join?” he asks and she just shrugs without a word, avoiding to look at him.
They stand there in silence for a while, she is lazily puffing the smoke out from time to time.
“Is it still just an occasional thing?” he tries to strike up a conversation.
“Mhm,” is all he gets as a reply.
“Have you tried to put it down fully?”
“Why are you doing this?” she snaps at him, finally looking his way.
“What?”
“Why are you trying to chit-chat when we both know we don’t do that?”
“And why don’t we?” He challenges her. “Tell me why we are like this in the first place, because I have no idea.”
She stares at him for long moments and he awaits her answer like nothing before, but then she shakes her head and turns to the pin beside her, puts the cigarette out and flicks it into the bin. Then, without another word she is already heading back inside.
It takes a moment for Harry to start moving again, but he is quick to catch up with her in the hall that leads to the restrooms.
“Y/N, give me a fucking answer!” he demands, grabbing her wrist to pull her back before she could escape, but she shakes his hand off as she comes to a stop, turning towards him.
“I owe you nothing!” she hisses at him. “I owe you no one, but especially you!”
“What the fuck does that suppose to mean?! I never thought you owe me anything!”
“I’m not doing this, Harry, leave me the fuck alone,” she growls and tries to leave, but Harry pulls her back again, determined to get an answer this time.
“Don’t think I will just swallow everything down forever. I will get to the bottom of this, whether you like it or not. It’s your choice if you make it hard on both of us.”
She is looking back at him with wide eyes, this time his hand remains on her arm as they stare each other down in the empty hallway. Neither of them knows what will be their next move, the tension is so thick, it’s almost suffocating.
But then it all changes.
If someone asked who moved first, they wouldn’t know. One moment they are standing like stone statues, barely even breathing, then the next moment they are kissing like there’s no tomorrow.
It doesn’t take long until Harry has her pressed up against the wall, his hands roaming her body, feeling her up the way he fantasized about before, they are both rough and impatient, she is clawing at him, moaning into his mouth when his hips press against hers and she feels how hard he’s gotten already.
Blindly, Harry pushes the closest door open which happens to be the staff’s bathroom that someone left unlocked, lucky for them. Still glued together they stumble inside, Y/N kicks the door open before Harry pushes her against it and he locks it before his hand returns to her tempting body.
He has never acted like this when it comes to sex. He does like to spice things up sometimes, but the way he’s biting her lips or unbuttoning his pants or reaches under her dress to pull her underwear down is just so out of character for him, yet so freeing.
Nothing is said, but when her hands pull his hard, leaking dick out of his pants, there’s a fleeting look they exchange that says it all, just how much they both want it.
It’s the fastest pace he’s ever experienced, yet the most passionate too. They moan at the same time when Harry pushes into her and starts moving in a rush, desperate for relief. She’s panting and whining for more, the only form of speaking she is able to as she holds onto Harry who is focused on keeping up his quick and steady pace while holding her left leg up to ensure the perfect angle.
The animalistic need is there for them both, making them act like this is what they must do to stay alive. It’s messy, fast and mind-blowing and they don’t need much time to reach the peak. As she comes her nails dig into her shoulder and she bites into his bottom lip so harshly it draws blood, but he doesn’t care, only follows her into bliss just a second later. With the last bit of his consciousness Harry pulls out right before he comes, covering her thigh with the white, sticky evidence of just how much he enjoyed the past minutes.
They are breathing heavily and Harry feels like a thick haze is still lingering around his head, stopping him from realizing what just happened. Y/N however is ahead of him and when reality comes crashing down on her, her instinct to flee kicks right in. Harry is still trying to clear his mind when she grabs a paper towel and cleans herself up as fast as possible and Harry only snaps out of his trance when she is already unlocking the door.
“Y/N, what the— wait!” He can’t go after her as she slips out of the room because he is still pretty indecent, so he has to pull his pants up and can only rush out then, but by that time she is already gone.
He’s quite frantic as he tries to find her in the bar, but she is nowhere to be seen. Harry returns to the rest of their group, hoping to catch her somewhere but she has vanished into thin air.
“Hey, have you seen Y/N?” he asks Mitch, his eyes still roaming the place.
“Nah, haven’t seen her since she went out to smoke.”
Harry groans and makes his way outside, maybe she’s there waiting for a car, but as he steps out to the street he sees no trace of her. Fishing his phone out of his pocket he doesn’t hesitate before dialing her number. The line rings once, twice and then… it goes to voicemail.
“Hey, this is Y/N. Do whatever you want after the beep.”
“Fuck!” Harry ends the call and he has to stop himself from throwing it against the nearest wall.
This is not how he planned. Well, he didn’t plan any of it, especially not fucking Y/N like a horny teenager. He wanted to solve this whole issue between the two of them but instead he just created another one.
A stupid, giant one.
NEXT PART
Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!
#harry#styles#harry styles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fanfic#harry styles oneshot#harry styles one shot#harry styles fluff#harry styles x you#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x reader#harry styles blurb#harry styles smut
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
Could you write a story where the reader is an F1 reporter who gets along well with everyone? She’s a close friend, and everyone considers her like a “sister” (or maybe even more for some… I don’t know, let me be delulu here!) and when she gets pregnant, they all become super protective and take extra care of her. For example, if she’s struggling with the heat, they make sure she’s comfortable. Thank you!
golden child of the paddock (all drivers)
✦ pairing - all drivers x female!reader (platonic), carlos sainz x female!driver (non platonic)
✦ genre - protective drivers, romance
The first time Y/N stepped into the F1 paddock as a young, starry-eyed reporter, she felt a blend of excitement and nerves. She was new to the sport, young, and a little out of her depth, but she knew her passion for racing and her natural curiosity would be enough to keep her going. Still, when she looked around at the towering motorhomes, the thrumming of engines, and the throng of seasoned journalists, it was hard not to feel like she was in over her head.
"First day on the job?" a voice came from her side. She turned to see none other than Daniel Ricciardo, grinning with that trademark mischievous smile. He’d noticed her as she was nervously adjusting her press badge.
"Uh, yeah," she admitted, trying to sound more confident than she felt. "Guess it's pretty obvious."
Daniel laughed and gave her a friendly nudge. "You’ll be fine. Just stick around us drivers; we’re way more fun than those old journos anyway."
Just then, a few other drivers came over, drawn by the new face in the crowd. Lando Norris was quick to introduce himself, already full of playful questions.
"So, Y/N, are you here to keep an eye on me?" he teased, giving her a wink. "Because, let’s be honest, I’m the only interesting one on the grid."
"Right," Y/N said, unable to help the laugh that escaped. "I’ll try to keep my focus on you, Lando."
Max Verstappen raised an eyebrow with a smirk. "Good luck with that. But hey, if you ever want the real story, you know who to ask."
Y/N quickly felt herself relaxing as the drivers bantered with her, making her feel more at home. Soon, the entire paddock was buzzing with news of the young, friendly reporter. And the drivers? Well, they seemed determined to keep her close.
Over the next few weeks, Y/N found herself almost part of the F1 family. She’d interview the drivers in the press pen, and somehow, every single one of them found a way to add a bit of personal advice or a subtle check-in.
"Did you eat today?" Lewis Hamilton asked her once, holding out an extra protein bar during a post-practice interview.
"Oh, I… yeah, I grabbed something earlier," she stammered, a little caught off guard.
He nodded, handing her the bar anyway. "You’re going to need the energy. Trust me. This job doesn’t slow down."
Even Sebastian Vettel would occasionally pause to check in on her. Once, he found her frowning at her notes during a practice session. "Don’t worry too much about getting every detail perfect, Y/N," he said kindly. "You’re doing great. Just be yourself—that’s what people connect with."
"Thanks, Seb," she said, feeling a bit of relief wash over her. "I guess I’m just… I don’t want to mess up."
Seb gave her a reassuring smile. "You won’t. Just remember, we’re all here to help if you need it."
Then, there was Carlos Sainz. Unlike the others, his way of protecting her was a bit more… personal. The first time she interviewed him, he was warm and polite, but as the weeks passed, his demeanor shifted ever so slightly. He’d always look at her with this glint in his eye, his smile lingering a second longer than necessary.
"Amor," he greeted her one morning, his Spanish accent adding a warmth to the word that made her cheeks heat up. "You’re looking stressed. Are they working you too hard?"
She blinked, feeling a little flustered. "Carlos, I’m fine, really. Just part of the job."
Carlos tilted his head, giving her a small, teasing smile. "Maybe. But if you need a break, you let me know, sí? Can’t have you running around too much."
The way he looked at her, the gentle tone of his voice, and the pet names—amor, cariño—all of it made her feel a little thrill each time they spoke.
As the season continued, it became clear to everyone in the paddock that Y/N was something special. Not just another reporter but someone who cared about them, respected them, and brought a certain brightness with her wherever she went. And as they got closer, the drivers each took on their own version of ‘big brother’ with her.
One afternoon, she was struggling with some heavy equipment when Pierre Gasly spotted her and practically sprinted over.
"Whoa, whoa, no way, Y/N. We’re not doing this," he said, taking the bag off her shoulder. "You’re not carrying anything if we’re around, okay?"
"Pierre, I can handle it, seriously," she tried to argue, but Pierre just shook his head.
"Not happening. You’re stuck with all of us now, so get used to it."
She had barely gotten over Pierre’s chivalrous intervention when she felt someone tap her shoulder. Turning around, she found Charles Leclerc standing with a concerned frown.
"Y/N, I saw you trip on the stairs earlier. You didn’t hurt yourself, right?"
She laughed, brushing it off. "I’m fine, Charles. Just a little stumble."
He crossed his arms, clearly not convinced. "Alright, well, just… watch your step, okay?"
Everywhere she went, there seemed to be a driver looking out for her. They’d bring her water bottles when it was hot, extra snacks when she looked tired, and Carlos, of course, was always there to check on her, calling her mi vida and making sure she never felt alone.
One evening, after a particularly long day, Carlos found her sitting on a low wall by the track, staring out over the circuit, lost in thought.
"Mind if I join you, cariño?" he asked, his voice soft.
"Not at all," she smiled as he sat beside her.
They sat in companionable silence for a while before Carlos spoke. "You know, everyone here thinks of you as a sister."
Y/N laughed. "Yeah, I’ve noticed. I can’t even carry my own things anymore!"
Carlos chuckled, his fingers brushing her arm. "It’s because we care about you. And some of us…" He paused, his gaze turning serious. "Some of us more than others."
Her heart skipped a beat as she looked at him. "Carlos…"
He gave her a shy smile, something rare for the usually confident driver. "I just want you to know, Y/N. You’re not alone here."
She nodded, a soft blush spreading across her cheeks. "I know. Thanks, Carlos."
Just then, Max passed by, smirking. "Hey, Carlos, not hogging Y/N, are we?"
Carlos shot him a look. "Can’t a man have a moment, Max?"
Max grinned, winking at Y/N. "Don’t worry, Y/N. If he’s bothering you, just let us know."
As Max walked off, Carlos rolled his eyes, but his hand found hers, squeezing gently. "They’ll never leave you alone now, mi amor. Better get used to us all."
Y/N smiled, looking out over the track, feeling for the first time that she truly belonged. Surrounded by a family of drivers, each one ready to support, protect, and care for her, she knew this would be the beginning of something wonderful.
--
It was the last night of the race weekend, and the paddock was almost deserted. Only a few lights remained on, casting a soft glow over the empty garages and tents. Y/N lingered by the trackside, her heart racing in her chest. She had made up her mind—she couldn’t keep pretending she didn’t feel anything for Carlos. But she didn’t think she’d be standing here, ready to confess her feelings in such a big way.
"You got this, Y/N," Lando said, giving her a little nudge of encouragement. The rest of the drivers had banded together, helping her plot the perfect confession for the man who had her heart.
"But what if he… I don’t know, laughs?" Y/N wrung her hands nervously, feeling her cheeks flush. "What if he doesn’t feel the same way?"
"Then he’s an idiot," Pierre chimed in with a grin, his arm around her shoulder. "But trust me, he’s not that dumb. I mean, he calls you cariño every day. I’m pretty sure he’s already halfway in love with you."
Sebastian, who had come along to witness the moment, chuckled. "You’ve grown up so fast, Y/N. Look at you—confessing your feelings like a true professional."
"Just… be yourself," Charles added, giving her an encouraging smile. "Carlos would be lucky to have you."
"Really?" she whispered, looking at her friends with wide eyes. They all nodded emphatically, giving her the strength she needed to take the leap.
As she waited, Y/N glanced back at her team of ‘brothers,’ who were hiding in the shadows with poorly concealed excitement. George and Alex were practically bouncing on their toes, and even Max was grinning.
Finally, she saw Carlos walking towards her, his hair still a little messy from the day, his eyes bright despite the late hour. "Y/N?" he asked, his brows raised in surprise. "What’s going on?"
She took a deep breath, willing herself not to lose her nerve. "Carlos, there’s something I need to tell you. And, um… please just listen, okay? Don’t say anything until I’m finished."
Carlos’s smile softened as he nodded. "Of course, mi vida."
"Right, okay…" She took another breath, staring at the ground, feeling her heart pounding against her ribs. "So, ever since I started here, you’ve… you’ve been one of the best parts of my job. The way you tease me, how you’re always looking out for me, calling me all those sweet names…" She laughed, slightly embarrassed. "At first, I thought it was just you being nice. But then… I realized it’s more than that for me. I… I really like you, Carlos. A lot."
There was a soft gasp from somewhere behind her, probably Lando, but Y/N kept her eyes on Carlos, who looked utterly stunned.
"I just couldn’t go on pretending I didn’t feel this way," she continued, her voice trembling. "And if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I just… I needed you to know."
Carlos took a step closer, his gaze intense, and she could see a flicker of emotion in his eyes that made her heart swell. "Y/N," he murmured, reaching for her hands. "You have no idea how much I wanted to hear you say that. I was so sure… so sure you only saw me as a friend."
Her cheeks flushed a deep red. "Carlos, I’ve had the biggest crush on you for months. You call me cariño, amor—it’s impossible not to fall for you."
He laughed softly, pulling her closer. "Well, in that case, let me say it properly." His voice softened, his gaze never leaving hers. "Te quiero, Y/N. I want you, too."
A mix of squeals and cheers erupted from the shadows as the other drivers stepped out, clapping and wiping away mock tears.
"Finally!" Daniel shouted, throwing his hands up dramatically. "Our little Y/N is all grown up!"
George pretended to dab at his eyes. "I’m not crying… it’s just… allergies."
Pierre gave her an affectionate grin, giving Carlos a nod of approval. "You better take care of her, Sainz."
Carlos laughed, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her into his side. "Don’t worry. I’ll treat her like the queen she deserves to be."
Max crossed his arms, his smile warm. "Good answer, mate. We’ve been waiting for this moment forever."
Y/N looked around at her friends, her cheeks sore from smiling. "Thank you, all of you. I couldn’t have done it without you."
Sebastian raised a pretend glass, grinning. "To Y/N and Carlos. And to all the big brothers who made this night possible."
Lando cleared his throat, looking almost sentimental as he pulled her into a quick hug. "We’re really happy for you, Y/N. But remember, if Carlos gives you any trouble, we’ll be right here."
Carlos chuckled, looking down at her with a playful smirk. "I think I have more to worry about than you do, cariño. With all these guys watching out for you, I’ll have to be on my best behavior."
"And that," Y/N said, squeezing his hand, "is exactly how I want it."
Surrounded by her friends—her family—she felt an overwhelming wave of happiness wash over her. As she looked up at Carlos, the rest of the world faded away, leaving only the warmth of his gaze and the knowledge that she was exactly where she belonged.
--
A few years down the road, Y/N had cemented her place as the paddock’s heart and soul. Fans adored her interviews, and the teams always lit up when she was around. Being married to Carlos only added to the love everyone felt for her, and for Carlos, it made him proud—and fiercely protective.
The first few months of her pregnancy, however, had been kept tightly under wraps. Only she and Carlos knew, and they were still basking in the news in secret. But now, as she tried to hide her growing morning sickness and Carlos’s over-attentive concern, things were getting harder to keep quiet.
One morning in the paddock, Max Verstappen happened to pass by and saw Y/N doubled over, looking pale as she sat on a crate outside the Red Bull garage.
"Hey, Y/N, you okay?" Max asked, concerned, immediately handing her his water bottle. "You don’t look too great."
Y/N tried to wave him off with a weak smile. "Oh, it’s nothing, Max, I just… I think it was something I ate."
"Something you ate?" he repeated, narrowing his eyes. "You’ve been saying that a lot lately."
"Just bad luck, I guess," she said, but the nausea hit her again, and she had to lean over to steady herself.
Max’s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped as he pieced it together. "No way. No way. Y/N—are you…"
Y/N’s face flushed, but she couldn’t deny it, her weak smile giving her away.
"Oh my god." Max’s mouth fell open as he processed it. "Carlos got you pregnant?!"
“Shh!” Y/N whispered, glancing around in a panic. "Max, keep it down! We’re not telling people yet!"
Max clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes filling with tears. "Oh my god. Y/N, you’re pregnant." He blinked rapidly, his lips quivering as he tried to hold it together. "You’re gonna have a little Sainz?"
She bit her lip and nodded, smiling softly. “Yes. But you can’t tell anyone yet.”
Max was silent for a moment, his eyes shimmering. Then he let out a choked laugh and pulled her into a gentle hug, whispering, “I’m so happy for you. You’re gonna be the best mom, Y/N. I can already see it.”
Y/N laughed as he let her go, but not before he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Stop crying, Max,” she teased. “You’re making me want to cry, too!”
“I can’t help it,” he sniffled, looking sheepish. “This is huge! And now I have to protect you and the baby?”
“You don’t have to,” she laughed, but Max was already shaking his head.
“No, no, you don’t understand. I’m not letting you lift a finger,” he said, his face suddenly serious. “And I’m making sure Carlos does the same. You’ll have every single driver looking out for you.”
Just then, Carlos approached, his brow furrowing as he saw Max wiping at his eyes. “Max, what’s going on?”
Max pointed a stern finger at Carlos. “You, Sainz, have one job. You better take care of her and the little one. Or else…”
Carlos raised his hands, amused but wary. “I am taking care of her, Verstappen. Trust me.”
“No, not enough!” Max argued, his voice almost panicked. “She was just sitting here, pale as a ghost, and you weren’t even around!”
Y/N stifled a laugh, but Carlos just smirked, nodding in understanding. “Alright, alright, I’ll keep an even closer eye on her. Promise.”
Max softened a bit, but he wasn’t letting up. “Good. Because if anything happens to Y/N or the baby, anything, you’re answering to me. And Lando, and Pierre, and basically every guy in this paddock who cares about her.”
“Max, I think Carlos knows what he’s doing,” Y/N said, a smile playing on her lips.
Max looked between them, then grinned, his face softening. “Fine, but I’m still watching you both.” He took a deep breath, then pulled her into another hug. “I’m so, so happy for you, Y/N.”
“Thank you, Max,” she whispered, hugging him back. “I think we’ll need you and the others looking out for us.”
Carlos wrapped an arm around her shoulder, giving Max a nod of gratitude. “Gracias, amigo. She’ll have all the protection she needs.”
“Good.” Max wiped his eyes one last time, giving them both a fierce nod. “Because we’re all family. And now… we’re growing.”
--
The Singapore Grand Prix was notorious for its blistering heat, and this year was no exception. The sweltering air clung to everyone, and for Y/N, who was visibly and heavily pregnant, it was nearly unbearable. But duty called, and the FIA insisted that she continue her scheduled interviews.
As she was setting up for another interview, the heat making her dizzy, she heard a familiar voice behind her. “Y/N, what are you doing here?” Lewis Hamilton approached her with a look of disbelief, glancing at her with concern. “You should be sitting in an air-conditioned room right now, not out here in this heat.”
“Lewis, it’s fine,” she said with a weak smile, though she was struggling. “It’s just a few interviews.”
Before he could respond, Max and Oscar joined them, both looking equally shocked.
“Are they out of their minds?” Max muttered, his face turning red with anger. “You shouldn’t be out here like this!”
“Seriously, Y/N,” Oscar added, frowning. “This isn’t safe. You’re not a machine.”
Y/N tried to brush them off, but she felt another wave of dizziness hit her. She steadied herself, but Charles had already noticed, his eyes narrowing. “That’s it,” he said firmly. “This is ridiculous. They can’t make you do this.”
“It’s okay, really—” she began, but the drivers were not having it.
Lewis crossed his arms, looking around with a sharp glare. “Who do we need to talk to? This isn’t happening, not today.”
As if on cue, a member of the FIA walked over, clipboard in hand. “Y/N, are we ready for the next interview?”
Max stepped in front of her before she could answer, his voice low and menacing. “She’s not doing any more interviews. Send someone else.”
The official frowned, clearly taken aback. “Excuse me? This is her job—”
“Yeah, and her job shouldn’t put her or her baby in danger,” Charles interjected angrily. “She’s done for the day.”
Oscar nodded in agreement. “Get someone else. This isn’t up for discussion.”
The FIA official looked bewildered, glancing at Y/N, but Lewis shot him a glare that would have stopped anyone in their tracks. “You have plenty of other reporters. Don’t make us get security involved.”
Seeing no way around it, the official nodded reluctantly. “Fine. She can go. But this will be reported.”
The drivers didn’t care; they were already surrounding Y/N protectively, guiding her towards the paddock lounge.
“Thank you, guys,” she murmured, touched by their concern. “But I can handle this, really—”
“No way,” Max cut her off, shaking his head. “Carlos would kill us if we let you stay out there in this heat.”
As they led her to the lounge, Carlos appeared, having just gotten word of what happened. His expression was a mix of relief and anger as he approached the group. “Qué demonios? Y/N, why didn’t you call me?”
Y/N shrugged, looking sheepish. “I didn’t want to bother you…”
Carlos looked ready to explode, turning to the FIA official who had followed them, probably to try and salvage the situation. “You made her work out there, in this heat, while she’s pregnant? Are you insane?”
The official held up his hands defensively. “We were just following standard protocol—”
“To hell with your protocol!” Carlos shouted, his face flushed with anger. “She’s carrying our child, and you’re risking her health for some interviews?”
“Mr. Sainz, please calm down—”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Carlos snapped, switching to rapid Spanish that the official clearly didn’t understand, though the tone left no doubts about what he was saying. “This is unacceptable. Inaceptable!”
“Carlos, you’re going to get fined,” Lewis warned quietly, though he was smirking a little, clearly pleased to see someone giving the FIA a piece of their mind.
“Fine me, I don’t care,” Carlos shot back. “It’ll be worth every cent if it means they treat her properly.”
The official quickly left, muttering something about reporting this to higher-ups, but the drivers didn’t care. They were all clustered around Y/N, making sure she was comfortable as they brought her a cold towel and water.
As soon as she was settled in, Max crouched beside her, giving her a warm but firm look. “From now on, you call us if they try to make you do anything stupid again, alright?”
Y/N chuckled, touched by their fierce protectiveness. “I promise.”
Carlos sat beside her, still fuming, but his hand gently rested on her stomach, protective and calming. “If they pull anything like this again, they’ll have to deal with all of us,” he said, his tone softer but no less serious.
That night, news of Carlos’s outburst—and his subsequent fine—spread like wildfire across social media. Fans took to Twitter, trending hashtags like #ProtectY/N and #JusticeForY/N. Clips of the drivers banding together to protect her from the heat circulated, and the internet quickly turned it into a rallying cry against the FIA’s treatment of Y/N.
@F1Fanatic: "Carlos got fined for standing up for his pregnant wife, and I’m here for it. #ProtectY/N 💪🔥"
@PaddockPrincess: "Seeing all the drivers look out for Y/N is the purest thing ever. She deserves all the love 🥹❤️ #FamilyGoals #ProtectY/N"
@F1Daily: "We all knew Carlos was protective, but the way he went off on the FIA? ICONIC. #JusticeForY/N"
Y/N couldn’t help but smile as she scrolled through the support from fans, all of whom felt like an extended family. With Carlos by her side, and a whole paddock of brothers watching over her, she knew she and her baby would be safe, no matter what.
#formula 1#f1 imagine#formula one#y/n#lando norris#red bull racing#charles leclerc#carlos sainz#ava speaks#requests#sir lewis hamilton#george russell#carlos sainz one shot#carlos sainz x you#carlos sainz x reader#cs55 fluff#cs55 x you#cs55 imagine#cs55 x reader#cs55 fic#cs55#charles lecrelc#scuderia ferrari
773 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ad Experimentum
Yandere Dr. Ratio x Reader
Veritas catches you reading one of your dirty books.
Warnings: Implied kidnapping, forced imprisonment, NSFW scenes being read aloud, Dr. Ratio being a dick as always
Within the confines of Veritas’s home, you feel like a mouse in a maze, reduced to a caged animal, always under scrutiny and experimentation.
Escape is impossible. Dr. Ratio has ensured that you’re never out of his reach, even though he acts as if you are the burden and he didn’t kidnap you and imprison you in his home. Sometimes you wonder why he even keeps you; surely he has better things to do than to quip at your inadequacy or lack of genius. But alas, the pretentious prick seems keen on pushing every one of your buttons to see how you tick. You might even call it intimacy if he wasn’t so clinical and judgmental about it all.
Because physical escape is impossible, you’ve turned to escaping within the confines of your own mind.
Books provided the perfect retreat. You’ve since abandoned any non-fiction to focus on fantasy, to worlds that effortlessly whisk you away. Novels that depict true, romantic love, not the twisted ownership you’ve grown used to. Like you’re some pet to be controlled and prodded at, like Pavlov’s dog, waiting and drooling for its master’s hand at the ring of a bell.
So, in your hopes to feel something real, you’ve started to delve into stories that are a bit…spicier.
With the latest read in your hand, your eyes skim hungrily over the pages as the tension between the protagonists builds. The lovers begin to undress each other, the one spreading his partner’s pussy as she grinds into his hand—
Veritas effortlessly plucks the book from your hands, earning a cry of protest. You try to snatch it back, but, with the help of his towering height, he dangles it just out of reach. “What in the heavens is this?”
The way he holds the book between his thumb and pointer finger, as if merely touching it would taint his self-proclaimed perfect set of knowledge, was almost comedic. You would laugh if he wasn’t such a condescending asshole.
Instead, you scowl. “Give it back.”
He merely hums and turns the novel in his hands, inspecting the cover. Licking his thumb, he flips to your bookmarked page and begins reading aloud. “My hand caressed her core as I speared her with two, thick fingers. She moaned and arched into my palm in response, causing my cock to twitch in anticipation. God, I wanted to taste her arousal. Her pussy was perfect, so wet and tight and ready for me to claim, to fuck.”
Embarrassment rages across your cheeks like a burn. You fling yourself at him, pounding your fists against his chest when he lifts the book out of your reach easily. “Stop, just stop.”
Amused, Dr. Ratio continues to narrate the scene in painstaking detail. “I lowered my head, letting my tongue swirl around her clit and rendering her voice to nothing but pitiful mewls. She tasted like heaven, like my own personal feast. I buried my tongue in her, then, and held her hips as she bucked into my mouth, begging for release—”
“I will do anything,” you beg, face in your palms, “just please stop.”
Finally, mercifully, Veritas closes the book and lowers it down enough for you to snatch it back. You cradle it against your chest, heart pounding and palms sweaty with a chaotic blend of shame, anger, and relief that it was over.
“This is what you indulge in while I’m working? Though you are hardly an intellectual exception, I believed you to be above this brain-rotting nonsense, (Y/n).”
In spite of your embarrassment, you boldly meet his golden eyes. “And what do you care? I enjoy it, and it’s not meant for you. Go stick your nose in a dictionary for all I care.”
“At least I’d be learning something,” he sneers in return, looking down his nose at you. He sniffs, tilting his chin up. “What do those books have that I can’t offer you?”
You still, observing his features. Now that the fun of teasing you has worn off, his eyes flare with loathing. With a jolt, you realize it is not aimed at you but at…the book?
Wordlessly, you glance between Dr. Ratio and your novel. Then, a stilted laugh escapes your lips. “Wait.. Are you seriously jealous of a book?”
“Don’t be preposterous,” he scoffs, though you notice his white-knuckled grip against the back of the armchair you were previously lounging in. “I would never stoop so low as to associate myself with that plebeian filth. I simply wanted to ascertain your reaction to it being read aloud.”
You resist the desperate urge to roll your eyes. “Fine, then. Please leave me to my uneducated filth.” You spin around, intent on finding a new place to finish your reading.
“Not so fast.” Veritas is on you quicker than a cobra, large hands gripping both your shoulders. “Perhaps all is not lost. We may yet transform this circumstance into an educational opportunity for you.”
A chill runs down your spine at the heavy touch, and a sudden sense of foreboding warns you to run. You’re all too aware you’re the mouse being fed to the snake in this moment.
Veritas spins you to face him, eyes slowly trailing down your form, as if taking you in with a new perspective. “I believe an experiment is due.”
You go rigid. “I’m sorry?”
“If you’re so intent on reading about all those fantasies in your books, let’s go ahead and put them to the test, shall we?”
At his clear implication, you yelp and make a run for it. In that moment Veritas strikes, fisting your hair with one hand and cupping your chin with the other as he presses your body flush against his own. You can already feel his hard desire digging into your back.
“Here���s my hypothesis,” he purrs in your ear. “I predict that by the end of tonight, you too will be begging for my cum, whether you want to or not.”
His theory, as always, was proven to be correct.
#yandere dr ratio#yandere honkai star rail#yandere hsr#yandere#honaki star rail#hsr dr ratio#hsr drabbles#dr ratio#dr ratio x reader#veritas ratio#hsr veritas#veritas x reader#yandere veritas ratio
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
⭒ㅤnot gonna lie !
premise. pov prefect opens a ngl, except! the story they shared it from can only be viewed... by one person!
characters. first years
ace
not gonna lie ! smash tbh
unironically pretends that he never sent one when you start bombarding him.
uniquewhere: i didn't even see ur story
shrimp: [attatchment]
uniquewhere: i have no wifi to see that sorry not sorry
vehement denial is actually the most effective defense according to him. even if it bypasses all forms of realism, it's not real if he doesn't believe it to be! <- real life advice from ace trappola guys.
if you haven’t already guessed, he can indeed see the picture you just sent and just assumes his very first form of defense… no amount of proof will remove him from his little ball of: “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”
you gotta prepare some kind of miscrosoft presentation, and sit him down. though he will 100% do that thing where he plugs his ears in with his fingers pretending he doesn’t hear anything even though it doesn’t block out you reading out the words.
“here is the real, actual screenshot of my replies—”
“I NEVER EVEN SAW YOUR STORY.”
“ah, good! next slide after this is the views of the story!”
deuce
not gonna lie ! i like you
very demure, very straight to the point is deuce.
he would've written some long ass paragraph in all honesty but he just can't because he sees what he writes, deletes it, then cringes to himself.
atleast with that one he has the excuse for whichever scenario that might randomly ask about it.. (yes, he's thinking that far) weird flex but ok
1. "you ever confessed to your crush?" someone asking
2. "yeah sorta....." deuce
3. "???" someone confused
he was feeling reaaallyyy proud of himself. the anxiousness finally settles down, alongside with his rapidly beating heart. even if it isn't a real, confession it still brings him a bit of peace.
shrimp: I know what you did
tokyodefenders: WHAT?
there goes his heart rate.
like, you did not offer context to any of that but he's still gonna think you somehow, actually do know even if you didn't provide an explanation to... whatever it is you know about him!
tokyodefenders: whaTEVER IT IS IS NKT TRUE
shrimp: please, ur breaking my heart
shrimp: I like u too :(
heart? ascended
he's not even gonna question it. all his braincells got dumped out, and all he can focus on is that particular message. he isn't even gonna remember backtracking about the ngl cause he's gonna be like:
how did they hack my keyboard.. are they tracking it?! LOL
"I'm a mastermind,"
"HOW DID YOU KNOW?!?!" <- deuce, scared for his life.
jack
not gonna lie ! stop getting into trouble. I'm not always there to pull you out
is concerned with how many times you've managed to unknowingly walk into trouble, jack had been lucky enough (yes, him. not you, cause knowing you, you wouldn't be too phased) to be a near constant presence when the shenanigans during the tournament concluded, he stuck to you then.
as in reluctantly following around you like a tail. narrowing his eyes at the less than friendly faces often wore around you, that you were... well, amazingly oblivious to. or maybe you acted like you didn't know, the carriage didn't pick you up for nothing if you were here in nrc.
shrimp: do u rlly think I'm a troublemaker?
iheldheroncejacob: yes
the random topic being brought up went completely over his head. jack probably had forgotten he'd given the link to your story the time of your day, in all honesty
shrimp: well maybe I keep getting in trouble so u can rush in, and pull me out?
iheldheroncejacob: you're a terrible friend then
shrimp: :(
in retrospect jack is able to keep up with joking around, usually. but it's so hard to take you seriously that he takes whatever you say with a grain of salt, you're almost always tipping between flat sarcasm, or calm nonchalance between your words. it almost always has something to do with the people you're with.
the heartslabyul prefect for example, you take a kind, subtle undertone of teasing to (which is crazy, because you're scarily tame in the presence of the vice-dorm head.) and then you're all stony faced when you're with someone you don't like.
^ and you obviously don't dislike jack, if the little selfish, presumptuous nrc part of him would like to claim confidently so... would you really be joking?
only does jack realize the connection between your text, and the ask he sent when he's just finished his laps.
"I'm not your guard dog! why would you even get in trouble for that, next time I'm not even gonna spare you the time cause—"
"what a pee brain."
"what? don't compare my brain to a tiny pee—"
epel
not gonna lie ! CAN I PLS TRANSFER TO RAMSHACKLE AHHHH
you've never met anyone who's disliked being sorted into whatever the dark mirror fitted their 'soul' into as much as epel.
even without the private story only limited to his response, you're sure you could pick out his message and put a face to it.
epel, in his defense, still has savanaclaw as number one in his heart. though upon asking jack if it was possible to transfer there, the latter confirmed but it was... a tedious process, and suggested asking rook, who literally came from savanaclaw!
the boy only spared his friend a side glance before scurrying away. no use traipsing around that...
but of course, getting away from pomefiore is only a goal! always being near your proximity was a biiiiig bonus!
shrimp: hey I need ur files for the dorm transfer
catchwhathands: [escapeplan.jpg]
catchwhathands: I knew u wanted me in ur dorm!!
shrimp: actually I don't. ur the one that asked ;)
catchwhathands: who cares. I'm finally getting out of this hell YEAHHHH!!
shrimp: who said I was gonna use the files you sent?
okay, admittedly the moment he'd sent over the files, epel shut his phone, and quite literally did a victory lap around his room. making sure to frolic so vil has less chances of hearing his chaos...
the dorm leader woke up so easily from noises that you'd think rook was the reason he developed such a habit.
probably.
epel was already planning the plan! he could see the vision! maybe he could plant around ramshackle since it is a pretty big area. you guys would be together for the remainder of the year—and he'd finally bump the adeuce duo from their pedestal!
*ping*
"AGHHHHH STUPID FRIGGIN'—"
"epel!"
"sorry..."
sebek
not gonna lie ! since it is a request for unbridled honesty, I shall deliver what you've requested. you have done so without much thought, clearly! if you've given such leeway for... criticism! you, human, could use a lot more educating in terms of the glory of our eternal lord, the glorious malleus! in accordance to your previous, description of our relationship. the farthest I can give is acquaintance, but I shall only call you a companion (AKA friend) if you are atleast educated about my interests! as the good companion you desire to be!
woo, alright. he really wrote all that...
oh, uh oh.. you just got another ask from him, maybe even longer..?
shrimp: what would that make silver then
rizzvolt: my brother in arms!
shrimp: but hey, actually I do want to know
rizzvolt: ah! finally! I knew you atleast have some common decency, and sense. for that I shall agree for your request in our friendship! these are the most accurate ones pertaining the great lord malleus' biography! [link] [link] [link]
rizzvolt: is that enough? I will send you more, but only if you finish these three. I will test you rigorously to confirm that you are indeed genuine in your interest!
why he has all that, you have no idea.. if only he displayed that much dedication for his studies...
shrimp: I don't wanna learn about malleus
shrimp: I want to learn about you
rizzley: how dare you! the lord's name should only be addressed with a: 'lord', 'the great', 'the
...
sebek stares at his screen, just in the process of finishing his... educating sentence, because even in text, malleus should only be treated with the highest form of respect!
have you no integrity?! he wonders.
only then does he focus on your response, does he make a rather... dubious sound of shock? sebek doesn't know why he breaks into a cold sweat as he runs the sentence through his mind a hundred times in the span of a minute.
what is this... some sort of human illness? or maybe love—
of course he'd never even consider such a thing! (just did bro)
shrimp: sooo.. since you sent me an ask, does that mean you actually like me?
shrimp: sebeeeeekk.. did you actually read?
with the speed of lightning (and the adrenaline maybe, what else could this frantic pounding of his chest explain besides that you are indeed, dangerous!) he opens the story on your media
'send me an ask if you like meeee :)'
sebek promptly falls over.
#ㅤ◜◡◝ . . signed !#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#twst#twst fluff#twisted wonderland imagines#twisted wonderland scenarios#twisted wonderland headcanons#ace trappola x reader#ace x reader#deuce spade x reader#deuce x reader#jack howl x reader#jack x reader#epel felmier x reader#epel x reader#sebek zigvolt x reader#sebek x reader#gender neutral reader
441 notes
·
View notes
Text
✿—✧SPACE BETWEEN US✧—✿
Pairing: Jungkook X Reader
Genre: college au, friends to lovers, fluffy (?), angst
Trigger warning: it's super cringe!
Word count: 9k
Summary: You have been in love with Jungkook for ages but never said anything. When a surprise date turns into a dramatic showdown, his hidden feelings come crashing to the surface.
a/n: The characters and situations depicted in this chapter are fictional and are intended for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The portrayal of emotions and interpersonal dynamics is a creative interpretation and should not be taken as a reflection of real-life relationships or events.a/n: Do not use this story as your own. I don't allow translations or reposting of my work on any platform, including YouTube.
a/n: Yes, you're probably experiencing déjà vu—I'm reposting this without a single edit. After my last account got suspended for reasons beyond my control, I figured what better way to kick off my return than by sharing one of my cringiest fanfics? Honestly, it's pretty on-brand for me, don't you think?
All Rights Reserved ©
@kookiewithluv 2024
You sat in your classroom, the hum of idle chatter around you barely registering. The lecture wouldn’t start for another thirty minutes, but you couldn’t care less. You just needed to be alone. The weight of recent events pressed down on you like a suffocating blanket, leaving you numb and confused. Your mind raced, thoughts tangled in a mess you couldn’t unravel.
Your phone vibrated on the desk, the screen lighting up with notifications. You glanced at it: 200+ texts and 28 missed calls from Jungkook. Without a second thought, you picked up the phone, turned it off, and set it back down. You didn’t want to deal with it, with him, with anything. Time seemed to blur as you sat there, your heart aching, your eyes glassy. But the tears wouldn’t come. They just sat there, stuck, like everything else inside you.
“Blush? Blush, are you okay?” Jungkook’s voice was soft, almost hesitant, as he spoke beside you.
You flinched, startled out of your thoughts. You hadn’t even noticed him sit down. Turning to face him, you were met with a sight that made your chest tighten. He looked so soft, so pretty in that moment—his pink lips curved into a worried pout, his hair falling messily over his forehead, half-covering those big doe eyes that seemed to shine even more because of it.
He reached out, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder, and called your name again. “Blush,” he said, the nickname rolling off his tongue like a quiet prayer. But you knew better. You did.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice filled with concern. You just shook your head and forced a small smile, turning away. What were you supposed to say? That you were what was wrong? That you’d fallen for him, knowing he’d never be there to catch you? The words were right there, lodged in your throat, but you swallowed them down, feeling them settle heavy and painful in your stomach. The ache clawed at your insides, begging for release, but you took a deep breath, holding everything in.
Jungkook was still watching you, his gaze piercing through the walls you were trying so hard to build. He gently cupped your face, turning you back to look at him. “Eyes on me. I’m talking,” he said, his tone soft but firm. The way his thumb brushed your cheek was so tender it almost broke you.
“You should—” he began, but the classroom door creaked open, and students started to file in, breaking the moment. He pulled back, checking the time, and you followed his gaze. Just as you both expected, Professor Min walked in, signaling the start of class. Relief washed over you, grateful for the distraction, for the escape. You silently thanked Mr. Min for his impeccable timing.
As the lesson began, you tried to focus, but your mind kept drifting back to Jungkook, to the conversation you’d narrowly avoided. Your chest felt tight, your heart heavy, but you pushed it all down, forcing yourself to stay composed.
The class went on, but all you could think about was how close you’d come to spilling everything. And how you still couldn’t bring yourself to do it.
Class ended earlier than expected. Mr. Min had cut the lecture short, saying he had something urgent to attend to. The moment his words left the room, you were already packing up, hands moving frantically as you stuffed your notebook and pens into your bag. Your movements were jerky, almost desperate, as if the faster you moved, the quicker you could escape.
Jungkook was right beside you, his presence heavy like a storm cloud about to break. You didn’t look at him, but you could feel his gaze, those eyes you usually found so comforting now burning holes into you. As you zipped up your bag, you felt his fingers twitch, like he was about to reach out, but you didn’t give him the chance.
You bolted for the door, your steps quick and purposeful. Just as you reached the threshold, his voice—a smooth, velvety sound that usually made your heart skip—called out your name.
“Blush,” he said, soft and hopeful.
But you didn’t stop. You didn’t turn around. You didn’t even acknowledge him. For the first time, you ran away from him. Your heart hammered in your chest, each beat a painful reminder of what you were doing, but you couldn’t stop.
The hallway blurred as you hurried through it, eyes fixed straight ahead, refusing to look back. You knew he was still there, standing in the doorway, probably confused, maybe even hurt. But you couldn’t deal with that now. You just needed to be alone.
When you reached the canteen, you went straight to the farthest corner, away from the clusters of students laughing and chatting. You dropped into a chair, slumping down as you pulled the hood of Jungkook’s hoodie over your head, trying to hide from the world. Your hands fiddled with the hem of the hoodie, twisting and tugging at the fabric as if it could somehow ground you, make everything go away.
You curled in on yourself, your head bowed low, eyes fixed on your trembling hands. The familiar scent of Jungkook still clung to the hoodie, but instead of comfort, it brought a fresh wave of pain. You bit your lip, fighting the tears that were threatening to spill over.
In that moment, the bustling canteen felt a million miles away. All you could focus on was the way your heart ached, the way it felt like something inside you was slowly breaking apart. You wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything to release the pressure building up inside you, but instead, you just sat there, hiding beneath the hoodie that was his, trying to hold yourself together, trying to breathe.
You were drowning in your thoughts, the noise around you fading into nothingness. A voice yanked you back to reality, snapping the delicate thread of your spiralling mind. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
A light touch on your shoulder—soft, almost hesitant—tried to pull your attention. She already had it, though she didn’t realize it, because you still hadn’t looked at her. She stood to your left, leaning in slightly.
“Are you okay?” Lilith asked, her voice laced with concern. You kept your eyes down, refusing to meet hers.
Lilith. The campus beauty queen. The girl everyone adored. The girl who loved Jungkook. And everyone knew it, too. They rooted for them to be together, whispering about how perfect they’d be. The thought made your stomach churn, a bitter taste rising in your mouth. You hated it.
She continued, her tone gentle but insistent. “Jungkookie is worried about you. He was searching everywhere for you. You should talk to him. Should I call him—”
Your blood boiled at the sound of that nickname. Jungkookie. He hated that name, had told you so many times how much he despised it but never her. she kept calling him that, oblivious or maybe just indifferent. You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms as you struggled to keep your anger in check.
“No,” you practically yelled, the word bursting out before you could stop it. Lilith flinched, her eyes wide with shock. She pulled her hand back, her fingers twitching nervously. But you didn’t care. You didn’t feel guilty. All you felt was anger—anger at yourself for losing control, and a burning hatred for her.
Without another word, you grabbed your bag, roughly shoving it over your shoulder as you pushed past her. She stumbled back slightly, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something, but you didn’t give her the chance. You stormed out of the canteen, your chest heaving with frustration.
The fresh air outside did little to calm you. You headed straight for the parking area, your steps quick and determined, each one pounding out the anger inside you. When you reached your car, you spotted it immediately and hurried over, yanking the door open.
You slid into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut behind you. For a moment, you just sat there, your breathing harsh and uneven. Then, with a frustrated groan, you tossed your bag onto the passenger seat, not caring where it landed. Everything felt too tight, too overwhelming. You buried your face in your hands, your fingers curling into your hair as you tried to steady yourself.
But the anger wouldn’t leave, wouldn’t let go. It bubbled just beneath the surface, a constant, throbbing ache that wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t ease. And all you could think about was how much you wished it would just disappear. How much you wished everything would just disappear.
Taking a deep breath, you gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to push all the swirling thoughts out of your head. With a quick motion, you pressed down on the accelerator, and the car roared to life beneath you. You didn’t hesitate as you started driving, focusing on the road ahead, wanting to leave everything behind.
But as you drove away, something caught your eye in the rearview mirror. Jungkook. He was running after your car, his face a mix of desperation and panic. You could see his mouth moving, probably yelling your name, but the sound was lost to the roar of the engine and the rush of blood in your ears. You didn’t stop. You didn’t even slow down. You just kept going, watching as he grew smaller and smaller in the mirror until he disappeared from view.
The ride home was anything but peaceful. The guilt gnawed at you, sinking its claws deeper with every passing mile. You tried to push it away, to convince yourself that you were right to leave, that you needed space. But the image of Jungkook’s face, the way he’d run after you, wouldn’t leave your mind. You’d ignored him all day, and you knew it must’ve hurt him. But you shook your head, refusing to dwell on it. You couldn’t handle that right now.
When you finally pulled into the driveway, the silence of your empty house greeted you. You parked the car in the garage, the engine’s hum dying down as you cut the power. The quiet was suffocating as you walked into the house, the echo of your footsteps bouncing off the walls. Your parents weren’t home. Again. Even though they had promised they would be. You let out a bitter chuckle, shaking your head at your own foolishness. Why did I even believe them? you thought. It was your birthday tomorrow, and once again, they weren’t there. Meetings, parties—whatever it was, it was always more important.
You made your way to the living room and sank down onto the couch, turning on the TV in a half-hearted attempt to distract yourself. But nothing on the screen held your attention. The images blurred together, the voices just white noise in the background. Your mind was too cluttered, too full of everything that had happened today, to make sense of anything playing out in front of you.
Frustrated, you got up and headed to your room, the emptiness of the house pressing down on you with every step. You didn’t have the energy to cook, the thought of food making your stomach twist. “Guess I’ll sleep hungry tonight,” you muttered to yourself, a hollow laugh escaping your lips.
You collapsed onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. The silence was deafening, broken only by the sound of your own breathing. But sleep didn’t come. No matter how much you tossed and turned, your mind wouldn’t quiet down. Thoughts of Jungkook, your parents, the loneliness that seemed to cling to you like a shadow—it all kept swirling in your head, refusing to let you rest.
You curled up under the covers, pulling them tightly around you as if they could shield you from the thoughts that wouldn’t leave you alone. But no matter how hard you tried, the weight of the day wouldn’t let you go. And so, you lay there, eyes wide open, the darkness around you feeling like a reflection of the emptiness inside.
You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as the room was cloaked in darkness. The silence around you was heavy, oppressive, and as the memory of the day crashed down on you, the tears began to flow uncontrollably, streaming down your face at an unusual speed.
Tomorrow was supposed to be special—your birthday. Even if your parents weren’t around, you’d convinced yourself that Jungkook’s presence would make it memorable. This morning, you’d been brimming with excitement. But all of that shattered the moment you stepped onto the college campus.
The crowd had been the first thing you noticed—a sea of students gathered in an unusually large cluster. Your curiosity had drawn you toward it, and you’d squeezed through the masses, pushing past eager onlookers until you reached the front. What you saw made your heart sink.
Lilith and Jungkook stood there, framed by the throng of students. Lilith held a bouquet of flowers, her face radiant with a hopeful smile as she offered it to him. The sight was enough to tell you what was happening. She was proposing. Your heart twisted with a mix of dread and hope as you watched Jungkook. He looked visibly distressed, his hands trembling slightly as he took the bouquet. A flicker of hope ignited in you that he might reject her, but the moment he accepted the flowers, that hope was dashed. The crowd erupted in cheers, and your heart shattered into pieces.
As if the scene couldn't get any worse, it did. The crowd began chanting, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The noise was deafening, each cheer driving the knife of betrayal deeper into your heart. Jungkook’s face flushed with a mix of frustration and embarrassment. He grabbed Lilith’s hand and tugged her away from the crowd, leading her toward a more private corner. You knew it wasn’t about him not wanting to kiss her in public; it was about him wanting to keep those private moments just for himself, away from prying eyes.
Recalling the memory now, as tears flowed freely and uncontrollably, your heart felt like it was being squeezed tight. The image of Jungkook’s nervous expression and Lilith’s hopeful eyes replayed in your mind, each scene a fresh cut. The darkness of your room mirrored the darkness in your heart, the weight of the day’s events pressing down on you with crushing force.
You clutched the pillow to your chest, your sobs muffled but relentless. Each breath came in shaky bursts, and you could feel the tears soaking through the fabric. The tears and the pain were all-consuming, leaving you with nothing but the hollow ache of rejection and betrayal. The silence of the room was deafening, broken only by the sound of your own brokenhearted sobs.
It’s funny how quickly things change. The person who once made your heart flutter with joy now seemed to be the source of all your misery. But it wasn’t his fault. He had no idea of your feelings. You never told him, and now you were left with nothing but regret.
The minutes dragged on with torturous slowness. The clock still hadn’t hit 10, and you were restless, your body aching from the weight of your emotions. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and closed your eyes, hoping to find some semblance of peace. Yet, amid the turmoil, a small spark of hope flickered within you. Maybe, just maybe, Jungkook would call when the clock struck midnight. Maybe, as he had done in the past, he would stand on your doorstep with a big bouquet of daisies, because he knew how much you loved them.
Hope brought with it a tangled mess of uncertainty and fear. Part of you desperately wished for him to come, to see him standing there with that familiar, warm smile. But another part of you feared what that would mean. If he showed up, you knew you might not be able to hold yourself back. The thought of begging him to love you, to confess your feelings, terrified you. You wanted nothing more than to be happy for your best friend, the one you loved with all your heart, without letting your own desires ruin his moment.
As these conflicting thoughts swirled in your mind, you became increasingly aware of the exhaustion that weighed down on you. Your body, worn out from the emotional rollercoaster, finally succumbed to sleep. You hadn’t noticed when the weariness took over, but soon you were drifting off, your breathing evening out as the turbulent storm of your mind began to settle into a restless slumber.
The harsh buzz of the alarm clock jolted you awake. You reached out with a groggy hand to silence it, grumbling under your breath. As you blinked your eyes open, a dull ache throbbed in your head, and you winced at the sting of light. Your eyes felt like they were weighed down by sandbags, red and swollen from hours of restless sleep.
With a groan, you rolled out of bed, stumbling toward the bathroom. Each step felt heavy, your body dragging as if weighed down by an invisible burden. You shuffled into the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror with a sense of numb resignation. The sight that met you was far from flattering. Your hair was a tangled mess, and your face was puffy and pale. You let out a shaky breath, your reflection mocking you. "Happy birthday, ugly," you muttered to yourself, bitterness lacing your voice.
You turned on the faucet and splashed cold water onto your face, hoping to wash away the remnants of the night’s tears. The brisk water was invigorating but did little to lift the fog in your mind. You brushed your teeth mechanically, the familiar routine providing a small comfort. As you stepped into the shower, the warm water hit your skin, but it did little to soothe the ache inside you.
Your thoughts kept drifting back to Jungkook. You’d hoped he’d come by, as he used to, or at least send a message. But as the minutes ticked by, it became clear you were wrong. You chuckled bitterly at your own foolishness.
He hadn’t called.
Not even a text.
It was as if you’d been erased from his life, replaced by someone new.
Finishing up in the shower, you turned off the water and stepped out, feeling cold despite the warmth of the steam. You walked to your closet with a heavy heart and pulled on a simple white tee and blue baggy jeans. You chose a pair of Jordan shoes, not because you don't felt like dressing up, but because you couldn’t muster the energy for anything more. The effort felt pointless when it seemed no one remembered or cared about your birthday.
You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as you dressed, and the image reflected the hollow ache you felt inside. With a resigned sigh, you walked out of your room, ready to face another day, feeling like a forgotten afterthought.
You hurried out of your house, barely pausing to lock the door behind you. The cold morning air bit at your cheeks as you slid into the driver's seat of your car. Your movements were mechanical, driven by a deep-seated weariness. You started the engine and pulled out of the driveway, the rumble of the car filling the silence of your thoughts.
As you drove to college, Jungkook’s image was a persistent shadow in your mind. Each turn of the wheel seemed to echo with memories of him—his laughter, his smile, and the sting of his absence. You gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white, as you fought to keep your emotions in check. There was an undercurrent of nervousness you couldn’t quite place, a fluttering uncertainty that made your heart race for reasons you couldn’t define.
The drive felt endless, each minute dragging by as you replayed yesterday’s events. By the time you pulled into the college parking lot, you were nearly suffocating with frustration and sadness. You parked your car with swift, jerky movements, almost slamming the gearshift into park.
Stepping out of the car, you took a deep breath, trying to shake off the melancholy that clung to you. The walk from the parking lot to the campus felt like a trek through a fog. Your eyes were downcast, your footsteps heavy as you made your way through the bustling campus. You barely registered the chatter and movement around you, lost in your own turmoil.
You finally reached the canteen, its familiar smell of coffee and breakfast foods mixing with the lingering bitterness in your heart. As you pushed through the doors, the chatter and clatter of trays and dishes surrounded you, but you barely noticed. You moved through the crowded room, shoulders hunched, eyes focused on the path ahead. Finding a spot at a table, you sank into a chair, tossing your bag on the table, feeling the weight of your emotions pressing down on you, as if the whole world was a muted blur around you.
You took a deep breath, getting up and walking to the counter, eyes scanning the options in front of you. The canteen menu was as uninspiring as ever, but hunger gnawed at your stomach, reminding you of your own laziness for not cooking anything. With a resigned sigh, you grabbed a plate of waffles and a cup of coffee, the safest bets in this lackluster spread. After paying, you turned to head back to your table, but something made you freeze mid-step.
There he was—Jungkook. His eyes darted anxiously around the canteen, scanning faces, moving with a restless urgency that made your heart skip a beat. For a brief moment, the urge to bolt gripped you, to just turn around and leave before he spotted you. But you shook your head, grounding yourself. He wasn't looking for you. He was probably searching for his new girlfriend, Lilith. The thought stung, but you swallowed it down and continued back to your table.
You set the plate and coffee down with a soft clatter, sinking into your seat. Just as you lifted the cup to your lips, ready to lose yourself in the warmth of the coffee, you heard it—his voice cutting through the chatter of the canteen.
"Blush. Blush."
His nickname for you.
His footsteps followed, growing louder as they neared. Your breath caught in your throat as you set the cup back down, unable to take that sip.
In no time, Jungkook was standing right in front of you, his presence commanding, and something was different. You forced yourself to look up at him, your eyes meeting his, only to be met with an expression that sent a shiver down your spine.
Anger? Why did he look angry?
His brow was furrowed, jaw tight, and his eyes—those usually warm, comforting eyes—were now darkened with frustration. You couldn't understand it. What did he have to be angry about? Confusion churned in your gut, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, words failing you. The air between you felt charged, heavy with unspoken tension, and you could feel the weight of his gaze bearing down on you, waiting for an explanation you didn't have.
"Why are you ignoring me?" Jungkook’s voice softened as he gazed at you, the anger in his eyes fading into something that looked like sadness. He tossed his bag onto the table beside yours with a thud, then crouched down in front of you, his gaze never leaving your face.
Before you could react, he reached out, grabbing the sides of your chair and turning it to face him. His hands found yours, gripping them tightly, as if afraid you might slip away. The intensity of his touch sent a jolt through you, weakening your resolve. It was a good thing you were already sitting, or your legs might have given out beneath you.
"Blush," he whispered, his voice so soft it barely reached your ears. The sound of your nickname on his lips made your heart clench painfully. God, you loved him—so much it hurt. But what did it matter? You couldn’t tell him. He had a girlfriend now. You reminded yourself of this bitter truth, feeling the familiar ache of heartbreak settling in your chest.
You closed your eyes, trying to steady your racing heart. Taking a deep breath, you attempted to pull your hands away from his, but he only held on tighter, his grip almost desperate. It was as if he feared losing you, like you were the one thing keeping him grounded. The intensity of his hold made your heart ache even more. Could it be? No, you must be imagining things.
"Why?" he asked, his voice breaking slightly. "Why are you doing this? I’m trying to talk to you, and you’re just… not talking to me. You ignored me yesterday too."
His words hung in the air, heavy with confusion and hurt. You stared down at your intertwined hands, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. What could you say? There were no words that could fix this. The truth was too painful to speak. You just wanted to disappear, to be anywhere but here. The realization that he didn’t even remember your birthday only twisted the knife deeper. You felt like crumbling into pieces, but you stayed silent, holding back the storm of emotions threatening to escape.
You wanted to ask him if he even remembered it was your birthday. Did he really forget you in just one day after getting a girlfriend? It wasn’t about him not loving you or you loving him—that was a secret you’d buried deep. But you were best friends. Did he forget that too? How could he stand here, blaming you, while he acted like nothing was wrong?
But you didn’t ask any of those questions. The words that escaped your lips were far different, softer, weaker. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.
Jungkook’s gaze locked onto yours, searching for something—maybe an explanation, maybe an apology. You couldn't tell.
“I was just… It’s… My parents aren’t home. And I was feeling sad and lonely,” you lied, trying to force a convincing smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes.
For a moment, his eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders easing. He seemed to believe you, and that only made your heart crack a little more. Where had that Jungkook gone? The one who could see through your smiles, who always knew when something was wrong even before you did. The boy who used to notice the sadness hidden behind your laughter was gone, replaced by someone who couldn’t even spot the lie on your lips.
He nodded, his grip on your hands loosening slightly. “I get it,” he said, his voice softer now, more understanding. But he didn’t get it. Not really. He didn’t see the pain you were hiding, the way your heart was shattering piece by piece.
You swallowed hard, biting back the words you wanted to scream. Instead, you just nodded, letting him believe the lie, even though it tore you apart inside.
Jungkook stood up and gently patted your head, his touch warm but distant. "It will be okay, hmm?" he said, his voice soft, almost comforting. You nodded, feeling like a fool. Will it ever be okay? No, it won’t. It can never be okay. You loved him too much for things to be okay. This love was too deep, too consuming to ever fade. The only way for it to end would be for you to end, or else this love would live on inside you forever. That thought terrified you—the idea of loving him for eternity, never being able to touch him, while time made him forget you. And yet, you'd be left with nothing but memories, trapped in a loop of unrequited feelings.
“Blush?” His voice pulled you back to the present, soft and filled with concern. He smiled at you, that sweet smile he always reserved just for you. But now, that smile only reminded you that he wasn’t yours anymore—if he ever truly was. Nothing about him belonged to you, and maybe it never did. You were just fooling yourself, weren’t you?
“Don’t think much. It’ll be fine. I promise.” His fingers brushed your face, his thumb tracing lightly over your nose—a gesture that used to make you laugh, that used to light up your world. But now, it only made you want to cry.
You forced a smile, the corners of your mouth lifting just enough to convince him, even though your heart was breaking inside. His touch, his words—they were meant to soothe you, but they only made the ache worse. You wanted to believe him, to cling to the hope he offered, but deep down, you knew better. Nothing would ever be the same again.
Jungkook smiled, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he pulled a chair closer to you and sat down. His happiness was infectious, but it only added to the heaviness in your chest.
"I have something for you," he said, his voice laced with excitement. "want to see it?"
You didn’t really want to see it. The weight of exhaustion was already pressing down on you, making you feel dizzy and drained. All you wanted was for him to leave, for this feeling of doom to pass. But you nodded anyway, forcing yourself to respond.
When his eyes lit up at your response, a small part of you felt a flicker of happiness. You watched as he reached for his bag, your gaze following the movements of his hands, wondering what he was up to.
He pulled out a large box of chocolates, and a genuine smile finally touched your lips. For a moment, the weight in your heart lightened just a little. You looked up at him, trying to match his enthusiasm.
"I know you love these," he said, holding the box out to you, "and I thought you were angry at me, so I needed to make it up to you."
You took the box from him, managing a laugh. "I wasn’t angry, but thanks," you said, your voice a mix of gratitude and something else—something you couldn’t quite name. He reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture tender and familiar, making your heart ache even more.
But despite the sweetness of the gesture, the happiness didn’t quite reach your heart. A box of chocolates wasn’t enough to make up for what you really wanted—a simple “Happy Birthday” from him. Yet, you pushed those thoughts aside and leaned forward, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug, thanking him for the gift.
As he patted your head soothingly, you closed your eyes, willing yourself to feel the comfort he was trying to offer. But deep down, you knew that nothing could fill the emptiness inside you—not the chocolates, not his touch, not even the sound of his heartbeat close to yours.
You pulled back from the hug, your eyes lingering on his, those big doe eyes that seemed to hold the universe in them. He was everything you could ever want, the very definition of perfection. And maybe that’s why you couldn’t have him. He deserved someone better—someone like her.
He smiled at you, a warm, affectionate smile, and playfully squeezed your cheeks. Just as he was about to say something, a voice interrupted from behind.
“Jungkookie!” Lilith’s voice, sickly sweet and sharp, pierced through the air, making you wince.
Jungkook’s head snapped around, and he smiled at her, his entire demeanor shifting in an instant. She came striding towards you both, her high heels clicking loudly on the floor. Jungkook’s eyes widened in surprise, and even you felt a twinge of concern that she might stumble and fall flat on her face. But she didn’t.
And as much as you hated to admit it, a small part of you was disappointed that she didn’t fall. You wanted her to.
In no time, she was standing in front of Jungkook, her hand sliding into his as she pulled him to his feet. It all happened so quickly, like a flash of lightning. One moment he was sitting with you, his hands gently cupping your cheeks, and the next, he was standing beside her, her arms wrapped possessively around his left arm.
He brushed her arms away, his expression softening as he bent down to your level. “Look, I’ve got to go now. I… I have something important to do. Take care and eat the chocolates, okay?”
And just like that, he was gone, leaving you with nothing but a box of chocolates and the emptiness gnawing at your chest.
You stared at the chocolates, the sweetness now a bitter reminder of everything you wanted but couldn’t have. It wasn’t the chocolates you craved—it was him. But all you got was this, while she… she had everything you wanted.
You turned deliberately back to your food, your appetite gone, but you forced yourself to eat anyway. The food tasted like ash in your mouth, but you swallowed it down, trying to fill the void that only seemed to grow with each bite.
The day dragged on, each hour blurring into the next. You didn’t see Jungkook again—not that you expected to. He was probably busy with his new girlfriend, and though you told yourself you didn’t care, the truth was harder to swallow. You cared. You cared too much. But you were tired of admitting it, even to yourself.
Finally, the day came to an end. You packed up your things, barely aware of your surroundings as you walked down the corridor, out of the building, and into the parking lot. Spotting your car, you headed straight for it, tossing your bag onto the passenger seat with a sigh.
Just as you were about to start the engine, you heard someone call your name. You glanced out the window and saw a guy waving at you. When your eyes met, he jogged over to your car, his expression nervous but determined.
Standing beside your car, he smiled awkwardly. “Hey! You probably know me…”
You shook your head, and his face flushed a deep shade of red. “That’s okay, I’m Jay. We’re in the same class. Literature?”
You nodded, waiting for him to continue, feeling the weight of his nervous energy in the air. He took a deep breath, then suddenly blurted out, “Will you go on a date with me?”
For a moment, the world seemed to stop. His words hung in the air, and you processed them in stunned silence. But as you remained quiet, you saw the panic start to creep into his eyes, his breath quickening. Realizing he might be spiraling, you quickly stepped out of your car and placed a gentle hand on his arm, offering a reassuring smile.
“Hey, it’s okay,” you said softly, trying to ease his nerves. “You don’t need to worry.”
He looked at you, relief washing over his face, though he still seemed uncertain. “It’s fine if you don’t want to. I’ll understand. You—”
His eyes lit up, a mixture of surprise and happiness flashing across his face. “Perfect! I’ll pick you up at 7 from your house.”
Your smile faltered slightly, the thought of giving out your address making you uneasy. “No, it’s okay. I’ll meet you there. Just send me the address.”
You exchanged phone numbers, his excitement almost contagious as he nodded eagerly. You still didn’t know him well. But at least this was something different, something that might distract you from everything else.
As you drove home, your thoughts drifted back to Jungkook and the emptiness that had taken root in your heart. But maybe, just maybe, it was time to try something new. To have a little fun, even if it was just to forget the pain, even if only for a night.
Time blurred by, and before you knew it, the clock struck six. Your phone buzzed with a text from Jay, providing the address of the restaurant. You glanced at the message before quickly getting ready, slipping into a simple black dress—nothing fancy, but short enough to make an impression. With one last look in the mirror, you grabbed your keys and headed out.
The drive to the restaurant was uneventful, your mind wandering as you navigated the familiar streets. When you arrived, the small vintage-themed restaurant immediately caught your eye. It was charming, with a warm, inviting atmosphere that made you smile. You stepped inside, scanning the room until you spotted Jay sitting in the corner, waving at you enthusiastically. You had to stifle a laugh—waving seemed to be his signature move.
You walked over, and as you approached, he quickly stood up and pulled out your chair with a shy grin. “Quite a gentleman, aren’t you?” you teased, unable to resist. His cheeks flushed pink, and he mumbled, “You look really beautiful.”
Settling into your seat, you felt a small flutter of satisfaction at his compliment. He ordered food for both of you, and the conversation began to flow naturally. Jay was nice—easy to talk to, with a soft demeanor that made the evening pleasant.
But then, mid-conversation, you noticed his hand suddenly move toward yours. He placed it on top of your hand, his touch tentative and shy. The urge to laugh bubbled up again, but you forced it down, deciding to let it slide. It didn’t feel right, but you didn’t say anything, noticing how nervous he was.
However, Jay seemed to misinterpret your silence. A few moments later, he scooted his chair closer to yours, his face inching toward you with a look that was all too clear. Your eyes widened in alarm, and you instinctively leaned back, creating distance. But Jay didn’t get the message—he continued leaning in, oblivious to your discomfort.
You opened your mouth, ready to stop him, but the words never left your lips. In the blink of an eye, Jay was on the floor, groaning in pain, clutching his side as he struggled to catch his breath.
And standing above him, fists clenched and jaw tight, was Jungkook.
His chest heaved with barely restrained fury, his usual calm expression replaced with something darker, more intense. His eyes, usually warm and full of mischief, were now cold as they locked onto Jay, who was still writhing on the floor. Jungkook’s hand twitched as if he was ready to strike again, but he held back, his gaze shifting to you.
He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming, and your breath caught in your throat. His eyes hard and cold met yours, the anger in them abating just a bit, but his voice was soft when he spoke. “Are you okay?”
"Huh?" You asked, puzzled, and startled. For what really? In your head, you believed Jay didn't have any wrong intentions. But Did you say anything? No. You were too dumbfounded to pronounce a word.
"Blush, are you okay?" He repeated.
You nodded, though the shock was still coursing through your veins, making your limbs feel heavy. Jungkook’s eyes searched yours as if looking for any sign of distress, and when he seemed satisfied that you were unharmed, he turned his attention back to Jay, who was trying to scramble to his feet.
“Stay away from her,” Jungkook warned, his voice low and menacing. Jay paled, his eyes darting between you and Jungkook, clearly terrified.
You wanted to say something—to calm the situation down—but the words were stuck in your throat, tangled with the confusion and a hint of something else. Relief, perhaps? Or was it something more? Hope? But, for what?
Jungkook’s gaze hardened further as he looked at Jay and then again at you, his voice firm now. “Let’s go. You shouldn’t be here.” He held out his hand, and for a moment, you hesitated, glancing at Jay, who looked utterly defeated. But in the end, you placed your hand in Jungkook’s, letting him lead you away from the chaos he had just caused.
Jungkook grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of the restaurant with a force that left you stumbling to keep up. His grip was tight, almost painfully so, as he dragged you toward his car, his jaw set in a hard line. When you reached the car, he yanked the door open and practically shoved you inside, slamming the door shut with a sharp thud. You wanted to tell him that you’d driven yourself, but the words caught in your throat. Something in the way he moved, tense and angry, made you stay silent.
He climbed into the driver’s seat, his movements quick and stiff, and started the car without a word. The engine roared to life, and soon you were speeding down the dark streets, the silence between you heavy and oppressive. The air inside the car was thick with unspoken tension, and you found yourself nervously fidgeting with the hem of your dress, your heart pounding in your chest.
You could tell he was furious; the tight set of his jaw, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him from losing control. The cold night air seeped in through the cracked window, brushing against your bare skin and making you shiver. Despite his anger, Jungkook noticed. Without a word, he reached over and rolled up the window before flipping on the heater.
“My hoodie’s in the back seat,” he said harshly, his voice cutting through the silence. “Grab it and fucking wear it.”
The words were gruff, his tone filled with irritation, but the gesture was astonishingly thoughtful. You turned around to reach for the hoodie, and that’s when you noticed it—an enormous bouquet of daisies and a cake resting on the back seat. Your fingers froze mid-air as you stared at them, a mixture of confusion and curiosity swirling in your chest. Are they for me? Did he really? Your mind raced with these thoughts. You wanted to ask him about it, but when you glanced at his face, the sharp angles of his clenched jaw and the angry flicker in his eyes made you think twice.
Silently, you grabbed the hoodie and pulled it over your head, the fabric soft and warm against your skin. It was far too big, swallowing you up like a blanket, and his scent, a mix of something fresh and woodsy, surrounded you as you took a deep breath. For a brief moment, a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. He really was huge, you thought, but the smile faded quickly as you stole another glance at him, his expression still hard and unyielding.
The drive seemed to pass in a blur, the tension in the car making every second feel like an eternity. Finally, you reached your home, and before you could even reach for the door handle, Jungkook was out of the car, moving around to your side. He yanked the door open with a roughness that made you flinch and grabbed your arm, pulling you out onto the sidewalk. His grip was firm as he dragged you toward the front door, his steps quick and determined, leaving you no choice but to stumble along behind him.
Your mind was racing, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened, but before you could process it all, you were inside your house, the door closing with a sharp click behind you, and he was standing in front of you.
Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing like a drum in the tense silence that followed Jungkook’s outburst. The fear in your gut twisted tighter with every step he took toward you. You had never seen him this angry before. He was always the boy who had been your childhood friend, the one you fell for in middle school but never told. At first, it was fear of rejection, and later, the fear of losing him and your friendship kept your feelings hidden. But now, wasn’t he lost to you? Didn’t he belong to Lilith now?
“Why the fucking hell were you out with that idiotic being?” His voice was like a whip, harsh and cutting through the air. The force of his words made you flinch, your shoulders tensing as if trying to shield yourself from his anger. You caught a flicker of something in his eyes—was it regret?—but it was fleeting, quickly masked by his furious expression.
Before you could gather your thoughts or find the words to respond, he took two swift strides toward you, and suddenly you were face-to-face. The intensity of his gaze bore into you, a storm of hurt and pain swirling in his eyes. “Do you like him?” he demanded, his voice cracking with raw emotion. “Do you love him?” He didn’t wait for your answers, bombarding you with questions while his face remained inches from yours.
You tried to speak, but the words were trapped, your throat tightening. Jungkook's hands gripped your shoulders, his fingers digging in with a possessiveness that left you breathless. “Damnit, say something!” he shouted, shaking you slightly. “Why were you out with him?”
But instead of answering, you shot back a question of your own, desperation lacing your voice. “How did you know I was out with him, Jungkook? How did you even find me Jungkook?”
You didn't want to answer his question. Why should he care if you loved someone or not, when he had accepted Lilith’s proposal just the day before? Now he had a girlfriend. He had no right to demand answers from you.
His anger flared further, a deep scowl marring his features. “Does it matter?” he snapped. “Does it fucking matter?” His eyes were intense, demanding an answer, and he leaned in as if he might kiss you, his breath hot against your face. “Why don’t you answer me? Do you love him?”
The intensity of the moment, the way he was so close and yet so distant, made you tremble. “Yes, it matters! It matters to me!” you shouted, your voice breaking with the force of your emotions. You pushed him away, the shove more about your need for space than real anger.
Jungkook stumbled back, his eyes widening in shock. His face twisted with hurt, and tears began to well up, glistening in the harsh light of the room. He stared at you, his expression a mix of pain and confusion, as if your rejection was a blow he wasn’t prepared for. The sight of him—this person who had always been so sure and confident—crumbling in front of you left a sharp pang in your chest.
As you looked at his tear-filled eyes, a deep, gnawing guilt settled in your chest. Why did you still care so much about him? You wondered. Your love for him was consuming you, and it was tearing you apart. You opened your mouth to respond, but he spoke before you could.
“I came to your house to celebrate your birthday,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I wanted to surprise you. This time... I wanted to surprise you on your birthday, that's why I didn't wish you before. But. But when I got here, I saw you getting into your car; before I could stop you, you left, your car was already speeding up. I chased after you because I really wanted to make you happy. You were loo-looking sad all day. But, I lost you somewhere along the way, then sear-searched for your car for like forever. When I finally found it, it was parked outside that restaurant.” His voice rose with each word, and his eyes were wild with a mixture of frustration and hurt. “And the moment I walked in, I saw him trying to kiss you. You didn’t even stop him!”
The anger in his voice dissolved into tears. His shoulders shook as he struggled to breathe, the weight of his emotions crashing down on him. You could see the pain etched into his face, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.
You moved towards him, your own heart breaking at the sight of him in such distress.
You moved towards him and wrapped your arms around him tightly, hoping to offer some comfort. “Jungkook, what's wrong?” you murmured, your voice gentle. “why are you crying? Please, don’t cry.” But he pushed you away, his hands shoving you forcefully. His reaction stunned you, and a wave of realization hit you. So this is how he felt when you pushed him away.
You tried again, but he pushed you off once more, his eyes filled with anguish. “You love him, don’t you? How long? Huh?” he sobbed, his voice cracking with pain.
Determined not to give up, you moved towards him again. This time, when he tried to push you, you held your ground. You guided him to the couch and gently made him sit down, his shoulders shaking with each breath. You stood beside him, your hand soothingly stroking his back. “Please, don’t cry,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady.
He buried his face against your waist, his arms clinging to you. “Why do you love him and not me?” he asked, his voice muffled but full of hurt. “I thought you love me.”
For a moment, you were frozen, staring at him in disbelief, questions swirling in your head making your heart ache further. He knew. He knew you loved him, yet he chose her over you. Now, he was asking you this. How could he? How could he ask this when he was with Lilith? Did he expect you to chase him while he enjoyed his life with someone else?
With a mix of frustration and sorrow, you pushed his hands away from your waist. His crying intensified, but you no longer cared. “How can you say that?” you yelled, your voice breaking. “You accepted Lilith’s proposal yesterday! You’re dating her now! And you’re telling me not to love anyone else?”
Jungkook shook his head vigorously, trying to explain. “I— I didn’t... She... I... No. Please,” he started, but you cut him off.
“You knew. You knew I love you. You knew I was upset!” you continued, your voice rising. “still, you left me alone with those stupid chocolates while you went off with her!”
He tried to explain himself again, but you interrupted again, your anger spilling over. “I didn’t want those chocolates! I wanted you!” you shouted, your hand striking his chest. “You’re a heartless bastard. I’ve loved you for so long, and you never cared! Was it too hard to fall for me? And, why crying now?”
Jungkook’s face twisted with frustration, he knew you love him, he always did, his mouth opening to say something, but you cut him off once more. “You always stopped me from calling you ‘Jungkookie’ or ‘Kookie,’ but you never minded when other girls did it!”
He was growing increasingly agitated, his face reddening with frustration. Without fully realizing what he was doing, he grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you close. His lips crashed against yours, the urgency of the moment catching both of you by surprise.
For a brief second, you were frozen, his kiss demanding and intense. But then, you began to respond, your lips moving against his. The kiss was raw, filled with all the emotions neither of you could put into words.
He slowly pulled away, both of you breathing hard, your chests rising and falling rapidly. Your face was flushed, partly from the kiss and partly from the shyness creeping in. His eyes softened as he looked at you, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek. “I’m not dating her, Blush,” he whispered, using the nickname that made you feel like home for the first time in what felt like forever.
You blinked, your heart stuttering at his words. “What?”
“I’m not dating her,” he repeated, his voice steady yet full of regret. “Yes, she proposed, and I didn’t reject her immediately, but that was only because there were so many people around. I didn’t want to embarrass her in front of everyone.” His hand dropped to yours, holding it firmly. “I told her in private afterward that I love someone else. That I love you.”
Your breath hitched as he confessed, his gaze never leaving yours. “She said she needed help with a project, and after rejecting her, I couldn’t say no. So, I left with her, but I didn’t want to. I just... I’m sorry, Blush. I love you, and only you.”
You felt your heart skip a beat as his words sank in. He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “And those names,” he continued, his voice low, “I never liked them. It always felt like they were calling a baby, but I didn’t care enough to stop them because... well, they didn’t matter to me. The only person who matters is you.”
His words wrapped around your heart, squeezing it tight. You couldn’t hold back anymore. You grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down, crashing your lips against his. The kiss was urgent, desperate, full of everything you’d been holding back for so long. His arms wound around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.
After what felt like an eternity, you broke the kiss, both of you panting, foreheads pressed together. “I love you too, Jungkook,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.
His arms tightened around you, his face buried in the crook of your neck. “I’ve loved you for so long,” he murmured against your skin. “I was just too scared to lose you.”
You pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. “You won’t lose me,” you promised, your hand cupping his cheek. “Not now, not ever.”
He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing as if he were savouring the moment. “That's a good thing because... I'm planning to keep you forever and ever and ever. I’m never letting you go,” he vowed, his voice firm, and you knew he meant every word.
Jungkook’s arms wrapped tighter around you, pulling you even closer, as if afraid you might disappear. His forehead rested gently against yours, his breath warm on your skin. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he looked into your eyes, the intensity of his earlier emotions fading into something softer, something tender.
“Happy birthday, Blush,” he whispered, his voice filled with affection.
Before you could even respond, he suddenly scooped you up into his arms, making you squeal in surprise. He laughed, the sound full of joy, as he began to twirl you around. The world spun around you, the colours of the room blurring together, but all you could focus on was him. The way his eyes sparkled with happiness, the way his grip on you was firm yet gentle, and the way his laughter filled your heart with warmth.
“Jungkook!” you laughed, holding onto his shoulders, feeling like you were floating. “Put me down!”
“Never,” he teased, twirling you faster. “Not until I’ve spun you around enough to make up for all those tears.”
Your laughter mingled with his, and the room filled with the sound of your shared happiness. Finally, when he slowed to a stop, he carefully set you down, though his arms stayed wrapped around you, keeping you close. You were both a little dizzy, swaying slightly, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was being in his arms, feeling his warmth, and knowing that he loved you.
Jungkook’s hands gently cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he looked at you with a smile that made your heart melt. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he murmured. “I’ve imagined this moment a thousand times, but it’s so much better than I ever dreamed.”
You smiled back at him, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers. “This is the best birthday I’ve ever had,” you confessed softly.
He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss on your forehead. “I'm sorry for making you cry. I won't ever make you cry again,” he promised. “I always knew you love me I just... I was... I tried to tell you many times but everytime it felt like it's not the right time, I'm sorry my love. I promise I'll make up for all those tears I've caused you because of my stupidity. Gosh! I just love you so much, Blush.”
You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but they were happy tears. You leaned into his touch, feeling safe, loved, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like everything was going to be okay.
Jungkook’s arms slid around your waist again, and before you could say anything, he lifted you off your feet once more, spinning you around slowly this time, his smile wide and full of love.
“Happy birthday, my love,” he whispered as he twirled you gently.
Wow, you made it to the end! Honestly, that deserves a medal or maybe some serious painkillers. If you’re still breathing and not currently plotting my demise for making you read this—congrats, you’re a legend. If you’re crawling towards me with murder in your eyes, don’t worry, I get it. I cringed so hard writing this that I think I bruised a rib.
I know, I know. This is like a bad joke that just won’t end. I’m cringing harder than you are. But hey, sometimes you just need to unleash your inner masochist and share the pain. I posted it because I felt like it. So, let’s bond over this collective trauma, or you can just plot my demise in peace. Either way, thanks for sticking around and surviving this with me. Here’s to us—brave souls navigating the wreckage of my writing. Cheers!
a/n: Let me know what you think in any way you like—comments, messages, carrier pigeons, whatever! I'd love to hear!
#jeon jungkoooook#jungkook#jungkook jeon#jeon jungkook#bts army#bts#bts ff#bts ffs#jungkook fanfic#jungkook fiction#jungkook fluff#jungkook romance#jungkook imagine#jungkook oneshot#jungkook angst#jungkook scenarios#jungkook college au#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook smut#kookiewithluv#space between us
530 notes
·
View notes
Text
I made some designs of the lupgang if they were in the world of kirby, and attempted to draw them in the style of the KSSU's key artwork!
More tidbits about their story and design will be revealed after I show the art
beware it is very long
LUPIN DEE THIRD
Lupin, or Lupin Dee Third as I call this character, is a Key Dee, a class of Waddle Dees you commonly see in KRTDL carrying a key as part of a puzzle. The reason I chose this guy over the typical Waddle Dee is because he has the monki-est design out of all dees, and I find that the fact it holds a key for any gate is pretty fitting for Lupin since he can surpass any challenges, no matter how impossible it seems.
His jacket color can be any of the ones in canon, but I chose green to be the main color he sports since it's a good reflection of the Kirby series. A lot of the locations are taken from nature and the peaceful and joyful themes lends the green jacket fitting very nicely. Red is too much of an aggressive color, while pink and blue don't seem as fitting either. Also, I wanted the jacket to share the same color as the money in the illustration, it's much less work if there's less color...!
Lupin Dee Third is a famous thief that travels across different planets to steal whatever he pleases. Often it is extremely valuable objects belonging to very pretigious or powerful people, which makes him become one of the most wanted criminals in Gamble Galaxy. He stores all of the things he's stolen in a secret place where nobody has found yet.
His combat capabilities is not much to be desired, so he relies heavily on the other members of his team to fight for him. However, he has the special ability to take an ability from another person and use it himself. It is not to the extent of Kirby's ability where he can use it as long as he likes and has full mastery over it, but it comes in the form of short bursts such as pouring a stream of water using the Water ability, or propelling himself into the air for a short moment with the Jet ability. He has an arsenal of these abilities kept in his backpockets at all times, so whenever you think you've cornered him, he always has a last minute surprise for you.
MR. DOOMENSION
Jigen, or Mr. Doomension, is a Waddle Doo with a goofy beard. There wasn't much thought behind my decision to make him a Doo iirc, I saw that it would fit to have him be a species that is a counterpart of Lupin's, since in canon they have pretty similar designs. The one eye makes him more menacing and mysterious anyway so it kinda just works lol
Since I wanted his body to be black, his clothes had to be a different color to appear striking. Thus, I've chosen blue, since its a rightfully common color to use for Jigen, and the accent as orange, the complimentary color for blue. Lastly, the shoes being black and shiny makes him appear much more professional and cool than Lupin, which he totally is.
Mr. Doomension primarily fights with his gun instead of using his eyes to fire his beams. He's always had an affinity to them when he was young, as he claims it allows him to focus and fire more accurate and powerful shots. Though he does load bullets in them, he is able to channel his beams through these guns as well. I'd like to believe that Waddle Doos can channel their beams through other body parts or objects (like Kirby) but choose to use their eyes since it's the biggest part of their body, thus more convenient. Mr. Doomension is built different however.
Much like in canon, he first met Lupin during an attempt to assassinate him for money. In Lupin fashion he ends up befriending the person that tried to kill him and they became close partners in crime, with Jigen always backing him up even in the toughest situations.
COMET RONIN / GOEMON
Goemon Ishikawa's kirby design has multiple names. He is commonly referred to as the Comet Ronin, since a famous story told of him cutting a giant comet into pieces to save a town. His real name is Goemon, but few know this name- or anything about him for that matter. He travels alone from town to town, fully cloaked so no one can see his face, requests food and shelter for the night, and disappears the next day. It was like that for years, until Lupin stole something that caught his eye.
---
ayeee its goemon time. He has two versions of his design because he is that cool.
When first thinking of concepts, I knew I wanted to design him in a way where he is able to resemble one of Kirby's multiple knight characters, but also still be able to look like his friendly and cute manga design. I decided to lean much more into his ninja-ronin-like inspirations, since the kirby series very often likes to be straightforward with their designs. I gave him the straw hat that he wore in Fuma Conspiracy to cover his head, and made his hakama into a cape that he can use to cover the bottom half of his body. The rest are typical japanese stuff. The artwork I drew for his cloaked form tries make him look as imposing and mysterious as possible. You know nothing about him, you have no idea what he is capable of.
---
Lupin recently stole another priced object: The Ryusei, a sword forged by meteorites, an heirloom from a family long forgotten from history. It seems like an ordinary sword at first sight, but if a member from the family wield it, they would unlock the power to cut anything. It ended up being sealed away due to the fear of that power being end up in the wrong hands. Goemon's life mission was to reclaim that sword for his family for the greater good, and now that blasted thief has gotten it!!! From then on Lupin and Doomension were always being chased by the Comet Ronin for reasons completely unknown for them, and eventually the ronin succeeds in taking back that sword, along with taking out the thieves for good... or did he?
The two thieves thankfully survived, but their car did not!! It was sliced in half by the ronin, and now they will be the one coming to him with vengeance. Taking the opportunity to take back the sword while Goemon's guard is down, the two get to see his real face and both sides fight it out, unbridled with anger. Thankfully after pummeling each other with their little nubs, they talk it out and come to an understanding. Goemon gets his sword back and the gang gets some money to repair their car, and they become friends yayyyyy
---
So for Goemon's real form, I decided to have his body purple to match the color of Ninja Kirby from KSSU. His hair is a little nod to Discarded Character-kun (the hairball MP draws), and the eyes are much different than the usual type you see from puffball characters. I wanted him to still appear youthful and cute but have a determined look in his eyes, so I used the eyes that Bronto Burt and Burnin Leo has to better show that.
Also, he is supposed to have white wings with black tipped feather, but I sorta forgot to draw that so I might upload future sketches that go further into little details about their designs, where I'll draw his wings then.
If you read the entire thing- that's fucking wild dude this is so long, but thank you!!! and I hope you enjoyed it!! byebye
#kirby#lupin iii#lupin the third#peaterookie art#goemon ishikawa xiii#jigen daisuke#waddle dee#waddle doo#kirby fanart#peater rambles#peater oc#lupin au
223 notes
·
View notes
Text
Forever After All
Pairing: Javier Peña x female reader (fake dating/marriage)
Word Count: 3.2K
Summary: You and Javi have been working together for a few months and you can't deny that you like him...everything about him. And you know you're not imaginging the subtle flirting and lingering glances but when you have an assignment that puts you two closer than you've ever been before you find out what it all really means.
Author's Note: Pedro and his little Holiday getaway photos have been a gift and when I was talking to my lovely friend @lizette50 (thank you bunches for sharing your brain with me❤️🥰) she made an amazing note that he is giving Javi on vacation vibes. And while Javi isn't exactly on a vacation in this story...he's pretending to be- at least at first. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics Thank you Daisy! 🥰
PS I did leave the ending a bit open...maybe I'll do more. Maybe not lol Either way, fear not- you and Javi make out just fine (hehe get it)
Warnings: There's some tension and flirting and Steve is fun sidekick/meddler, feelings get involved, Javi can act a bit possessive and he's a great fucking kisser
Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist
“Why are you two looking at me like that?” Steve asks, his head on a swivel. “Do you not understand the assignment?”
His finger swings back and forth. “You two…just got married. Now you’re going on your honeymoon. Make it look believable, or we’re fucked.”
Javi swallows and the sound is audible in the silence that stretches between you. Finally, as you cross your arms over your chest and lift your chin, you say, “fine. I can manage that.”
Steve smiles and then shifts his eyes to Javi. “What about you? Because if you’re not up for it I sure as hell don’t mind switching places with you. You can do my job, and I’ll prance around the beach with this beauty.”
Steve throws you a wink and you smile sweetly but your stomach is in knots and you’re sweating under your shirt as you wait for Javi to say something.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” he says gruffly. “When do we leave.”
“Tonight,” Steve answers with a grin. “Packed and ready at 7pm.”
Javi nods and gives you one last glance, his eyes lingering just long enough to have your skin heat before he stalks off and shuts the door to his office.
You take a deep breath and square your shoulders.
“I’ll see you at the airport,” you tell Steve.
After the flight attendant checks the luggage above your head you settle into your seat, leaning closer to Steve since Javi has his legs spread like he’s the only person in the aisle.
“You could leave some room for the rest of us,” you grumble, letting your eyes run down Javi’s long legs.
He turns toward you, lifting a brow. “We should be all snuggled up anyway,” he smirks.
You roll your eyes and give Steve a pleading look.
“He’s right though,” Steve adds. “You two are going to have to look convincing if we’re going to pull this off. Might as well start getting cozy now.”
The flight isn’t too long but toward the last hour you start to feel your eyes droop and Javi’s warm body is so close. Before you realize what’s happening your head falls against his shoulder and your arm slips under his.
You feel him shift and maybe feel the slightest squeeze at your knee but you’re too sleepy to know if it’s real or a dream. He smells so good and feels even better and in minutes you’re fast asleep.
“Hey…pst. Come on angel, you gotta get up.”
You sit up with a start and rub at your eyes.
“Angel?” you ask. “Who’s that?”
Your eyes focus on Javi, and he smiles.
“That’s what I’m calling you. Get used to it.”
Your mouth opens to form an O shape.
“Let’s go. We just landed,” he says.
“How long was I out?”
Steve cuts in before Javi can answer.
“Long enough to fall asleep on your husband!” Steve says with vigor. “You two look cute.”
You push past Steve and miss the thumbs up he gives Javi, who ignores him completely.
The hotel is right on the beach, and you can smell the salty air before you even get to the double doors.
Once you’re checked in and settled in your room you’re ready to crash again. After a quick shower you wrap yourself up in the hotel bathrobe and crawl into bed, falling asleep to thoughts of Javi and how comfortable he was to sleep against.
Steve meets you at the outdoor bar on the beach the next day.
“How are my favorite liars doing?” he asks with a chuckle.
“I’m kinda nervous,” you whisper.
“You’re going to do great,” Steve assures you.
Javi remains characteristically quiet, his dark eyes assessing everything around him.
Steve hands Javi a drink. “She looks fucking gorgeous. You should really marry her.”
Javi’s eyes slide to you then down along your body slowly before stopping at your face.
He licks his lips and takes a long sip of his drink but doesn’t respond.
You spend some time at the bar, taking note of the surroundings and zeroing in on your target. Once the man in question notices you as the newcomers he saunters over with a saccharine smile.
You all know about Rafael Caro Quintero. He’s one of Galldaro’s best men but plays his role out in the public eye. He has a lot of money and flaunts it with his businesses and assets. You have intel that he’s going to pull off a big move this weekend and are using the honeymoon as a cover as to why you’re here in Mexico.
Javi’s arm circles around your waist and he pulls you against his side, tightening his grip when Rafael approaches and looks you over appreciatively.
“Well, well, well,” Rafael says smoothly. “What do we have here? I always make sure to say hi to any new faces that come to enjoy my…amenities. Especially one so stunning.”
“My wife,” Javi says, his voice too rough and you give him a light pinch. He looks down at you then let’s his shoulders relax.
“Ah, of course,” Rafael says. “And you’re the lucky bastard who married her.”
“Mexico is one of my favorite places to visit,” you interrupt as you hold out your hand to introduce yourself. “So, Javi and I decided it would be perfect for our honeymoon.”
Rafael’s face lights up and he throws up his hands, making a loud noise of celebration.
“Isn’t that just beautiful,” he says, his voice still booming. “Everyone! Join me in congratulating the lovely couple!”
He starts to clap and all the patrons in the bar area join in, hoisting their drinks and smiling.
Rafael reaches for a spoon from the bar and starts to tap the side of his glass. “Isn’t this what the American’s do for a kiss?”
Steve lifts his glass and turns to you and Javi. “It sure is!”
Javi looks down at you, and through a tight grin whispers, “I’m going to kiss you angel.”
He waits a beat, needing to see the consent in your eyes.
You nod ever so slightly and lean into him. A big hand comes up, cupping your jaw and his eyes drop to your mouth. The first contact is just a brush of his lips over yours, the briefest sweep.
You’re going to be devasted if that’s all you get, but then you hear the quietest moan escape his throat and he leans in again, pressing his soft, strong mouth to yours and taking your top lip between his, sucking gently before he turns his attention to your bottom one.
With a smile forming against the kiss, he tilts his head and takes you with a heat you couldn’t have predicted but makes you feel like you’re falling backward into the clouds.
Or maybe it’s the way he’s cupping the back of your head in one hand, holding you around the waist int other, and dipping you so low you’re nearly on the floor.
Everything is quiet before cheers erupt as Javi smoothly brings you back up in some sexy move you can’t even believe he pulled off.
“Javier Peña,” you whisper as you bury your face in his neck. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Oh, we’re just getting started Mrs. Peña,” he answers back against your ear.
Rafael’s eyes are lit up with glee and he slaps Javi on the back.
“To the newlyweds!” he cheers.
After things settle back down and Rafael’s attention is elsewhere Steve gives both you and Javi a beaming smile. “Wow. For a minute there you even had me believing it,” he teases.
Javi meets your gaze, his eyes falling to your lips again, and he fights the urge to go back for more.
Blinking away, he focuses on your shoulder, and on the strap of your dress that has slipped an inch to the side. He reaches up, stroking the newly exposed skin with his thumb.
Your hand lifts to your lips, still tingling with the warmth of his kiss.
“You’re good at that,” you say quietly.
“At what?” he asks, clearly distracted by your mouth.
“Fake-kissing.”
He hums, his head spinning with the thought that nothing about that felt fake.
“I wonder how you kiss when it’s real,” you whisper, more to yourself than anyone else.
He’s about to drag you away from the crowd to show you when the bartender shows up with more drinks, on the house of course, to celebrate the newlyweds.
You spend some more time at the bar, talking and enjoying the view, always close to Javi, his hand on your lower back, your arm, or his thumb brushing across your cheek. It’s been so easy to fall into the role you almost forget you’re faking it.
Steve leaves the two of you alone, not wanting to hang around too much and seem suspicious.
You watch Javi as he stares out over the water and take a step closer, moving into his space, realizing the moment he registers that he’d been touching you…a soft sweep of his fingers along the curve of your waist.
His eyes go a little wide behind his sunglasses, and he gently moves his hand away.
“Are you nervous?” you ask him.
He shakes his head no. “Not for the reason I should be,” he says but doesn’t elaborate.
You’re about to ask him to explain but you spot Rafael across the bar, he’s talking quietly to someone you don’t recognize and his eyes keeping darting in your direction.
Without letting it show on your face that you’ve noticed him, you press yourself against Javi, your hand sliding up his chest to the open buttons of his shirt.
“Hi,” Javi murmurs.
“Don’t look, but Rafael is just across the bar. He’s sort of watching us.”
Javi drags his attention away from your hand to your face.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. So don’t mind me. I’m just trying to look wifey and horny for you.”
“We could just go for a walk on the beach,” he says.
“We could, but…”
Your fingers dip into his shirt to feel his warm skin and you move lower, undoing one more of the buttons.
“Pretending you’re horny too might be better.”
He stares at you, unmoving.
“Or not,” you say, smiling but inside you’re dissolving, piece by piece, in mortification.
When you try to move away he grabs your waist. “Where are you going?”
“To live with my shame alone somewhere.”
Javi laughs, low and dangerous. “No. You misunderstand me angel. My only hesitation is…” and he leans in, running his thumb along your lower lip, “acting was never my strong suit.”
His mouth brushes over yours, giving you one of those feather-soft kisses again.
“That’s a start,” you say as you share a breath.
He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Anything that can make it more convincing?”
“Another. Maybe longer this time?”
He lifts both hands now, cupping your face and leaning in, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth before he parts his lips and gently nips at your bottom one.
“Longer, huh?”
Your hands slide around his neck, and you stretch for more, for longer and deeper, his surprised huffed breath coming out warm against your mouth as he lets you suck his beautiful lower lip, dragging your teeth along it in a way that makes him let go of a tight, helpless sound.
His mouth is unreal, commanding and firm, but with full, soft lips that beg to be bitten. And he likes it when you do it too, releasing rough, rumbling sounds to confirm it.
Your hands have a mind of their own, rising up and tangling in his hair as the kiss deepens and he sends one hand down your back to your ass, pulling you closer until you can feel the hard press of him against your stomach.
With a gasp of air, he rests his forehead to yours but keeps a tight hold on you.
“Are you sure you’re not good at this acting thing?” you ask with a teasing smile. “The erection is a great touch. Very convincing.”
His laugh turns into a groan when you suck on his neck, baring your teeth and pressing down.
“Fuck,” he moans.
Your nails scrape along his scalp and with his own grip on the back of your neck he pulls your head away, eyes wild, and comes for your mouth again, setting a languid pace, dragging his tongue over your lower lip with kisses that can only be described as claiming.
“Fuck angel, your mouth is amazing,” he says, sliding his lips along your jaw and down to your pulse point.
Despite the heat of the sun and the heat of him, you shiver in his arms, pressing yourself along every inch of him to keep yourself upright.
Your gaze flicks over his shoulder and you notice Rafael is gone.
“Our friend left,” you whisper, still clinging to him.
Javi exhales a shaky breath near your ear and rests his cheek to yours.
“Well…I guess we can stop then.”
“I guess we can,” you reply, leaning back and taking him in- mussed hair, swollen lips, a small budding bruise on his neck.
“Oops,” you giggle.
He frowns at you. “Did you leave a mark on me?”
“Mayyyybeee,” you sing.
You don’t miss the way his pupils dilate, inky black in the dark chocolate brown of his irises.
“Well, good news is now everyone will know for sure that you’re taken,” you say with a bright smile.
Your eyes drop down to his shorts, and you let out a little whimper at the sight of him hard and pressed against the tight fabric.
“I’m going to take a cold shower,” he says through gritted teeth. “I want you back in the hotel room where you’re safe.”
Your eyebrows meet your hairline. “Oh, so you’re that kind of husband?”
“Just protecting what’s mine,” he whispers as he presses his palm to your lower back and leads you away from the beach.
Javi secures you in your room before walking across the hallway to his. He’s sure to check for anyone who might see before disappearing behind the door.
You’ve agreed to meet for a romantic dinner on the beach at one of Rafael’s best restaurants, the very place you’re hoping to catch him in the act.
Javi knocks on your door right on time and you smooth your hands along your dress before opening it.
He steps back from the doorframe and stares. A shadow appears behind him, and he startles.
“Steve,” he says dryly, putting a hand on his shoulder and moving him away.
Javi gazes at you, and more gently, says, “hi angel.”
“Hi,” you breathe out.
“You look…” he just stares, letting his eyes rake over you. “Gorgeous.”
“That she does,” Steve chimes in from beside you again. “Now…off you go.”
Javi reaches for you, but you can’t stop yourself, pressing your hand to his stomach and wrapping your fist around the soft fabric of his shirt.
You briefly glance at Steve, a silent but friendly, “fuck off,” written all over your expression.
With a smirk, Steve wanders off, but Javi touches a finger to your chin, redirecting your attention to his face. And before you can say anything, he bends, setting his lip softly on yours.
One soft kiss, and then another. Your blood turns to molten heat, and you lean in, chasing his lips when he slowly straightens.
After you enjoy your dinner, the slow and soft tunes of music drift from the stage set up to the side and Javi holds out his hand.
“Would you dance with me?” he asks.
You take his hand and let him draw you out of your seat and lead you \ to the open expanse of sand. His big palm feels like fire on your lower back, and he tucks your hand against his chest, pressing his cheek to yours as he moves you around slowly.
After a few quiet moments you pulls back, looking at your mouth.
“My instinct is to kiss you now.”
“That’s certainly what a married couple would do,” you whisper.
He sends one hand along the curve of your spine, tracing every inch until it’s over your shoulder and higher, where he cups the side of your neck with his big, warm hand. His eyes fall closed, and he leans in, pressing his mouth to yours.
Slow, deliberate kisses, Chaste, because you’re out in the middle of the dance floor but still so intentional, so claiming, so thorough you feel the sweet exploration in your fingertips and spine, in your chest and your stomach and between your legs.
The song comes to an end, and he pulls away, searching your expression before softly taking your hand and leading you back to your table but instead walks past it toward the darkened water.
The moon reflects a million overlapping crescents across the rippling surface of the ocean and the sky is blanketed with stars. You stop, hand in hand, and take it all in.
“This place really is beautiful. It’s so easy to believe we’re just here to enjoy it all.”
He nods, his eyes trained on you instead of the scene in front of him. Wrapping his arms around our waist he pulls you close then slides one hand down your stomach, hooking a finger under the hem of your dress and coaxing it higher up your thighs.
He reaches your hip, his eyes still trained on you and his voice pained when he says, “you’re not wearing any underwear.”
“Everything showed. I hate lines and didn’t have a thong with me.”
“You drive me crazy,” he says, kissing along your shoulder. “I’m distracted and I shouldn’t be. This was all supposed to be a ruse, but I can’t pretend anymore.”
His fingers trail back up your spine, reaching the strap of your dress and drawing it off one shoulder, kissing the skin there.
“I was never pretending,” he murmurs.
“Javi.”
Your sharp inhale is swallowed by his kiss. It doesn’t last long enough, and he rests his forehead to yours, his lips teasing, his nose brushing yours.
“I can’t stop,” he groans. “I need to feel you.”
You chase his lips, and he kisses you again but pulls away.
“But we can’t. Not now angel.”
You nod but pull his mouth to yours again, kissing him hungrily, whispering the truth.
“I want you Javi.”
“You can have me angel,” he says. “I’m all yours. But we have a job to finish first. I can’t risk putting you in anymore danger.”
With a breathless “ok,” you tug free of his grasp and straighten your dress. As you start to head back toward the restaurant he grabs your hand and drags you into his chest.
“Promise me,” he says between kisses, “you’ll be safe…you’ll follow orders.”
“Orders?” you ask with a raised brow. “I probably shouldn’t like that you said that but fine. And what about you Javi? I need you to be careful too.”
“I promise,” he whispers. “I’m going to finish this so I can take you home and make you mine. The right way.”
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal narcos#pedro pascal characters#javier peña#javier pena x reader#javier pena fanfiction#javier peña x reader#javier peña fanfiction#javier pena x you#pedro pasca x reader#javier pena narcos#javier peña x you#fake dating#fake marriage#friends to lovers
284 notes
·
View notes
Text
Do I look like him?
Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Lewis one-shot inspired by a tiktok I saw :) If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.
Lewis adjusted the cuffs of his new white racing suit, still unfamiliar with the crisp feel of the fabric. When the team had informed him that Mercedes was switching to white for a portion of the season, he’d shrugged it off. A suit was a suit, and he figured it wouldn’t change much. That was until Qatar.
The sun had been merciless that day, beating down on the paddock as they prepared for the reveal. He stood under the glare of photographers’ cameras, the bright white of the suit reflecting the sunlight, making the whole moment feel surreal. And then he saw her.
His new teammate, YN.
She stood a few meters away, laughing with one of the engineers, her blond hair catching the light like spun gold. Her blue eyes sparkled with the kind of carefree joy that reminded Lewis of summer skies over Monaco. The sight sent a jolt through him—an uninvited rush of memories he hadn’t revisited in years. Nico.
It wasn’t just the physical resemblance, though that was hard to ignore. The sharp blue eyes, the blond hair that framed her face like an artist’s brushstroke—she was like a mirror of the past. But Nico had been more than just a teammate, and calling him that now felt reductive. They had shared triumphs, arguments, and something much deeper that neither of them had dared to name aloud. Seeing her, YN, brought it all back like a wave crashing over him.
Lewis had thought he’d buried those feelings long ago, yet here they were, unearthed by her mere presence.
He tried to ignore it, telling himself it was a coincidence, a trick of the mind. But YN was everywhere. She was always around the garage, her laughter spilling over like champagne at a podium celebration. She moved with an effortless energy that demanded attention, weaving through the paddock like she owned it—or maybe like she belonged in it more than anyone else.
Every time Lewis turned a corner, there she was. Her laugh echoed in his ears when he tried to focus on race simulations. Her voice lingered in his mind when he closed his eyes to rest.
He had dealt with distractions before. Fame, rivalries, the weight of expectations. But this was different. This was personal.
Lewis clenched his jaw and told himself he was imagining things. She was young, far too young for him, and the age gap was an obvious line he couldn’t cross. It would start drama he didn’t want—tabloid headlines, whispers in the paddock, questions he wouldn’t know how to answer. He’d worked too hard to build his reputation, his legacy, to risk it for something that might not even be real.
But the heart was a stubborn thing, unwilling to listen to logic.
He caught himself watching her during strategy meetings, his eyes drawn to the way she furrowed her brow in concentration or bit her lip when she was nervous. She had a way of lighting up a room, even when she wasn’t trying. And that smile—God, that smile—was a weapon, though he doubted she knew it.
It was worse on track.
In the heat of the race, when adrenaline pumped through his veins and he was supposed to be focused on nothing but the apex of the next turn, she crept into his thoughts. She was fast, fearless in a way that reminded him of himself when he was her age. She pushed the car to its limits, and Lewis couldn’t help but admire her for it, even when it meant she was nipping at his heels or overtaking him.
Every time he glanced in his mirrors and saw her car there, he felt something he couldn’t name.
He told himself it was pride, the kind a mentor might feel for a prodigy. But deep down, he knew it was more complicated than that.
She made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t felt in years, and it terrified him.
One evening, after a particularly grueling day of practice, he found himself alone in the garage. The engineers had gone home, and the cars sat silent, gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Lewis stood by his car, running a hand over the sleek lines of the bodywork, when he heard footsteps behind him.
“Long day?”
He turned to see YN standing there, still in her race suit, her blond hair slightly disheveled from the helmet. She smiled at him, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. “Long day.”
She walked over, her steps light but purposeful. “You okay? You seemed a bit... off today.”
Lewis hesitated, searching for the right words. How could he tell her the truth? That she was the reason he was off. That she had unsettled something in him he wasn’t ready to confront.
“I’m fine,” he lied, forcing a smile. “Just a lot on my mind.”
She nodded, her blue eyes studying him in a way that made him feel exposed. “If you ever need to talk, I’m here. Teammates have to look out for each other, right?”
“Right,” he said softly, his chest tightening.
As she turned to leave, Lewis watched her go, the knot in his stomach tightening with every step she took.
He knew he couldn’t let this go any further. It was wrong, it was reckless, and it would only end in heartache—for both of them.
But as she disappeared around the corner, he realized something that scared him more than anything else.
He didn’t know if he had the strength to stop it.
Part 2
#f1#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#formula 1#lewis hamilton x you#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis hamilton imagine#lewis hamilton fanfic#lewis hamilton
243 notes
·
View notes