#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

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

How do you feel about aromantic idia

As a headcanon? I love (jokingly) bullying Idia for being a socially awkward and sexually repressed otaku, but personally I also like the idea of him being aromantic. He doesn't like attention focused on him and generally seems to prefer fictional characters (ie his waifus/j) to interacting with real people. However, I think it goes deeper than just that. There's many lines in his Suitor Suit card that hint at Idia being repulsed by romance (even if you remove the context of him being kidnapped and forced to wed a ghost):

"There's no reasoning with people who lose their minds over every little infatuation. Like, just keep your head down and focus on school!" (He prioritizes other things, such as school and dismisses things like crushes.)

"I could never swear my eternal love. There's no such thing, and I'm nothing if not honest." (Here, he denies the existence of "eternal love".)

"Love is just chemicals in your brain. And people call that fate? They're all nuts, if you ask me." (He describes the feeling of love in a cold, scientific manner when this isn't something most people would think that deeply about.)

"Don't leave me. Stay with me forever. ...Oof, these emo lines are killing me. I'm gonna steer clear of proposals for the rest of my life." (He makes fun of typical romantic lines and then outright states he doesn't ever want to propose to anyone.)

"Do whatever you want with me. Just get it over with!" (Idia conveys distress and wanting to quickly be done with the kiss/general romantic circumstances.)

"If you want to talk romance, I'm your guy. I'm familiar with all the popular fan ships in video games and manga. You might even call me an expert." (He diverts the topic of real-life romances to his hobbies; aromantics, contrary to popular belief, can still enjoy romantic media without being attracted to or having limited attraction to real people themselves.)

Beyond his Suitor Suit lines, Idia has expressed upset at romantic love being viewed differently than platonic love. In 6-76, during his post-OB flashback, Idia shows off Ortho to Styx researchers, who are appalled by what he has done. "Wait... You built your late brother?! But that's wrong, Mr. Shroud!" they tell him. To that, Idia says, "So it's romantic when a hero rescues his ladylove from the Underworld, but when I do the same for my brother it's wrong?" He's frustrated that the story about Hercules diving into the Underworld to save Megara is praised, but him going that same extreme distance to revive his loved one--an act of platonic love--is denounced.

Idia is also consistently a character that has been shown to enjoy optimization and efficiency. He doesn't like anything that overcomplicates what can easily be done or made easier by machines. For someone like him, who was raised in isolation and has to bear the guilt of potentially dooming a future partner to the Shroud family curse, I think he'd just say "fuck it" at some point and decide it's ultimately not worth that hassle. It could read like a justification for him if others ask why he never looked into finding a spouse, S/O, etc. Like he'd tell them it isn't worth his time or something to get them off his back.

Of course, this is just my personal headcanon and you're free to agree or disagree with me on it! (I support all you Idia yumes and shippers out there 😉) Let's remember that we're all here to have fun and to not take these things too seriously.

[raiiny-bay]

it’s honestly kinda crazy to me that kel & co were literally the first OCs i ever made

[sidsinning]

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

[reidmarieprentiss]

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.

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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 

[requiemforthepoets]

hey, are you still there? 𖦹 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.

[watchmegetobsessed]

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!

[its-avalon-08]

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.

[draconic-desire]

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.

[kalims]

⭒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.

[kookiewithluv]

✿—✧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!

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

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

[caitified]

professional

caitlin clark x golf caddy reader ⛳️

warnings: i’m happy to make a part two showing more of their relationship, but people might hate this so lmk!! i have started part 2 so let me know if that’s something you’d like me to finish. not proof read

when the owner of the golf club you worked at told you that caitlin would be playing there in preparation for her golf tournament, you were shocked to say the least. he told you that it would be your job to caddy for her over the summer which you excitedly excepted, but in all honesty you were slightly intimidated by her stardom and attitude on the court.

the sun was just starting to rise and you were ready for your first shift. you stood by the cart, waiting for your newest client, still in disbelief at the name on your booking sheet. caitlin clark.

it’s not like you were a diehard basketball fan or anything, but it was impossible to not follow caitlin in some way. living in indiana, you couldn’t have escaped her if you tried, and if you were honest with yourself, you had grown a small crush on the guard.

you had no idea what to expect. you had seen videos of caitlin getting into it with other people and showing off her competitive spirit but you didn’t know how this would translate to golf.

as you glanced towards the club house, you spotted her walking up. tall, confident and even hotter in real life (but we won’t talk about that..🥲)

“hey! you must be my caddy. i’m caitlin,” she greeted you with a wide grin and extended her hand. she was dressed in a casual polo and golf skirt, looking every bit the part.

you shook her hand. “yeah, i’m [Y/N]. ready to hit the green?”

caitlin grabbed a club from her bag, eyeing the course ahead of you.

when she started playing, you had a bit of difficultly staying professional. every time you tried to start a conversation with caitlin, your eyes and mind started wander. she had always looked good, but in person in front of you was a whole different story.

what you didn’t know is that caitlin was having similar feelings. from the moment she saw you she felt attracted to you, but she was here to practice for her tournament and couldn’t get distracted. that didn’t mean you didn’t make her nervous though.

as a result, the first couple of holes were a mix of impressive shots and misses. caitlin, ever the competitor, got a little frustrated after her third shot went wide, landing in the rough. she turned to you with a playful groan.

laughing, you handed her an iron. “if you focus on your swing like you focus on your free throws, you’ll get it in no time”

she raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your commentary. “big basketball fan?”

“a little,” you admitted. “hard not to when you’re on ESPN every other night.”

caitlin laughed, a laugh that felt warm and genuine. “okay, fair enough. but today, it’s all about golf.” she reset her stance, adjusting slightly based on the critiques you gave her earlier ( which she would never admit ). with a smooth swing, she sent the ball soaring through the air, landing it just off the green.

by the time you reached the ninth hole, you could tell caitlin was getting more comfortable, not just with the course, but with you. she leaned against the cart as you handed her a drink from the cooler. “you��re not so bad to hang out with,” she said, her grin widening.

“not until today,” you replied, taking a sip of your own drink. “but you’re not too bad either”

caitlin chuckled softly. “you’re pretty good company, i have to say. plus, i could go pro with the coaching i got from you”

“i think it’s your natural talent shining through,” you teased.

bthe time you finished the round, caitlin had managed to shave a few strokes off her usual score, thanks in part to your company . as you both headed back to the clubhouse, she threw an arm around your shoulders in a friendly side-hug. “so what do you say we make this a regular thing?”

you nodded, trying to keep your cool despite the touch of her arm. “only if you promise to keep improving. i have a reputation to uphold, you know.”

“deal,” caitlin said with a wink.

as you walk away from caitlin, you tried to push down the feelings you had for her and told yourself that it was just a crush. she wasn’t worth risking your job for..right?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

the days after that first round with caitlin passed like a blur. every morning, you’d find yourself back at the golf course, waiting for her. and every day, without fail, she’d show up with her perfect smile, ready to take on the course, but more than that—ready to spend time with you.

what had started as a professional relationship quickly shifted. there was something easy about being around caitlin. she was open, real, and every round of golf felt less about the game and more about the moments in between. the laughter. the subtle glances that lingered a little too long. and as much as you tried to keep things strictly professional, it became impossible to ignore the growing connection between you.

today, though, felt different.

the late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting a hue over the course as caitlin stood beside you on the tee. she twirled her club absentmindedly, eyes focused on the green, but you could sense something more behind her usual relaxed demeanor.

“long day?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

she turned to you with a soft smile. “just thinking.”

“about?” you prompted, trying to sound casual but feeling a subtle tension in the air.

caitlin lowered her club and leaned on it, her eyes now fully on you. “this offseason… i thought it would be about relaxing, taking a break from everything. but i didn’t expect it to be spending all my time thinking about you.”

your breath hitched slightly. there it was—the thing that had been simmering under the surface these past few weeks. the teasing glances, the touches that lasted a beat too long, the way her gaze would drift toward you in those quiet moments on the course.

“caitlin,” you started, but she stepped closer, her expression more serious than you’d ever seen.

“you’ve become the best part of my day,” she said softly. “it’s not just the golf, it’s…everything. you make me feel like I don’t always have to be ‘Caitlin Clark’ when I’m with you, i’m just caitlin. and i don’t know… i don’t want this to end when the season starts again.”

the vulnerability in her voice made your heart race. you’d felt the same way, but hearing her say it—left you momentarily speechless. she looked at you with those eyes, her usual confidence softened by the this moment.

you took a step toward her, closing the small distance between you. “it doesn’t have to end,” you said quietly, your voice carrying the weight of everything between you. “i’ve felt it too, caitlin. this… whatever this is between us. i thought it was just me.”

her lips curved into a small smile, the relief evident in her expression. “you have no idea how much I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

caitlin’s hand found yours, her fingers warm and strong, just like you’d imagined. the connection between you felt electric, and in that moment, everything else faded into the background.

“i guess i should ask,” she murmured, a teasing glint back in her eyes, “what kind of caddy crosses the line with their client?”

you grinned, stepping even closer, feeling her presence like a magnet pulling you in. “the kind that’s maybe a little too good at their job?”

she laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar. then, without another word, caitlin leaned in, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was soft, tentative at first. but as soon as you kissed her back, it deepened, filled with everything you’d both been holding back.

“i’m glad I booked you as my caddy,” caitlin whispered, her voice laced with affection. “but I think i’d like to keep you around for more than just golf.”

you smiled, your heart pounding in your chest. “i think i’d like that too.”

thanks for reading. i kind of hate this but let me know what you think, and if you’d like a part 2! i could also do 18+ headcannons for this.. do you guys like the reader POV or would you prefer something else? love you!

@connormccafferyhater @equalhealerr

[stardustizuku]

Unfortunately I came across a very strange and misinformed video about Black Butler.

It’s not good. Don’t watch it. Unless you wanna ruin your day, in which case have fun.

Despite it all, I watched it. What left me wondering, however, was how off the mark the person who made the video was on, well, everything.

From their insistence that the Book of Circus Arc theme or point is non existent, to reading Ciel’s character so badly they genuinely thought the Green Witch Arc did nothing for his character development.

While baffled, it also made me think on how someone could read Black Butler so badly.

Sure, you can say that there’s no real way to read or interpret something “in the wrong way” but interpreting The Hunger Games as a pure battle-royale action story would make you believe it’s bad.

“Why are we focusing so much on how the capitol preps them?” Or “Why isn’t Katniss winning everything?” Or “I wanna know more about the rebellion” All questions that miss the actual point of the story - which is criticizing (not solving or ignoring) the way that media distracts us from violence via spectacle.

The same thing applies here. While there is no “right” way to consume media, there’s things that the author makes clear they wanna focus when creating a story. Things that, if you understand, make the story you’re reading actually make sense.

And in Black Butler there’s three things that you have to understand to properly get what Yana is saying.

Sebastian is the protagonist

Ciel and Sebastian’s relationship IS the story.

And that relationship is, fundamentally, a positive one.

A quicker version of it would be:

Black Butler is a love story from the POV of Sebastian, and you have to ship it to get it

- but that’s not entirely true.

You can still look at it as a complex but ultimately positive rship and get in broad strokes of what it’s conveying. It doesn’t have to be romantic. Although, it helps much more than a platonic framing.

(That said, interpreting their rship as father and son, still isn’t the best way to go about it. Mostly because by its very nature of “soul consuming” their relationship is extremely sexually charged. And hey, if you’re into that I don’t judge. However, if you’re desperately trying to interpret their rship as NOT romantic to the point you fall back on heteronormative patriarchal ideals of nuclear familiar as framing device, I don’t think this interpretation bodes with you)

Now, having all that ground work:

Why do I say these are the key components to understand BB?

Okay so, first,

1. Sebastian is the Main Character. The protagonist.

There’s a lot of people who wanna argue against it, claiming he’s either the villain or the antagonist. Both wrong.

He does not function as an antagonist. Even if, and an emphasis on if, you consider Ciel to the protagonist, Sebastian isn’t a narrative antagonist.

If you wanna go back to Creative Writing 101, be my guest. An antagonist is directly defined by the protagonist. It’s the opposing force. If the protagonist wants A, the antagonist wants to stop them from getting A.

Sebastian’s catchphrase is “Yes, my Lord”. He never opposes Ciel, in fact quite the contrary. By the mere fact they’ve created contract, it means that they’ve both agreed in the inevitable outcome.

People want to frame Sebastian as the villain, because Ciel having his soul taken by a demon, would be a BAD END in the context of their moral compass. They see Ciel as a frail victim of abuse, who’s being tricked by Sebastian, who wants Ciel’s soul.

Which is an. Interpretation. A bad one. But still one.

The narrative (and whether the narrative fits your personal moral compass and lack of critical thinking is irrelevant) treats Ciel as an agent in his own destiny. The abuse he suffered was the moment in which he had no control. It’s only after he meets Sebastian that he can rid of both his guilt and his despair, and do what he wants.

In this case though, it’s revenge.

The famous “Asthma” scene shows this. If Ciel is taken back to his past, he becomes helpless. Swarmed with pain and memories that make it so that he can’t even react. Sebastian is his saving grace. If Ciel didn’t have him, and the power he wields to rebuilt what’s broken, he would crumble once more.

If Ciel has a panic attack, because of all the pain he has, Sebastian picks him up and says “you are not a helpless child anymore, you are not a victim anymore, you have the power to do anything. So, what do you wanna do?”

Ciel’s answer is to kill them.

A proper analogy would be to say that, if Sebastian offers a gun, Ciel pulls the trigger. They are both at fault. Sebastian, strictly speaking, is not here to directly cause Ciel’s downfall, but as a tool Ciel uses to plunge into the abyss.

If, again if, you were to frame Ciel as a protagonist, Sebastian falls closer to the “Voice of reason” character. Not a literal voice of reason, but a literary one. If you have a protagonist and an antagonist exchanging ideals, the Voice of Reason serves to engage with the protagonist on their own ideals.

That said, Ciel isn’t the protagonist. The story quickly falls apart if you interpret it as such.

Things such as Ciel’s character arc being…shall I say odd?

It’s not that his character arc isn’t there, but it’s never lineal. His goals stay the same, the only thing that happens is that we start to peel back the “why”s of his goals. Throughout the series it’s never about Ciel understanding himself better, he knows who he is, he knows what he wants, he knows why he wants it. He doesn’t ever need to uncover these, but simply remember them. Because it’s always about the audience understanding Ciel.

He knows he wants revenge.

In the Circus Arc: He knows that he needs Sebastian because without him, the pain of the abuse he suffered would be too much to bear. But WE are introduced to it.

In the Book of Atlantis: He knows that with this new lease he does not want happiness and peace, he wants revenge. The one being told this is the audience.

In Green Witch Arc: He knows that their revenge isn’t for his family, the real Ciel or guilt. It’s because he wants it. He’s angry, he’s upset, and this is entirely for him. The one being told this is the audience.

Except. Not really. The one either discovering or remembering these key moments - is always Sebastian.

Sebastian is the one who reassures him that he now holds the power of a demon to override the pain. Sebastian is the one who remembers that to override that pain, Ciel wants revenge. And Sebastian is the one who discovers that that revenge isn’t built out of grief or guilt, but for himself.

We are witnessing it all, through the eyes of Sebastian.

This is why we have an extremely vague idea of who Ciel is, Sebastian does not have the whole picture.

If you haven’t been reading this manga with your eyes closed, you’ll realize we have a better grasp at Sebastian’s character than that of Ciel. We get a lot of insight on how he thinks and what he values through light hearted dialogue he has with the servants. You even see the character development in these little interactions.

Think about how when he first arrived to the mansion he magically created food with no regards to taste, but when he meets Bard he states that food is created to see whoever will eat it, smile.

That is character development, more than you will be able to see from Ciel.

Because Ciel’s character, while not static, doesn’t go from point A to point B. Mostly, cause it doesn’t need to. He went through that when he lost the real Ciel and got Sebastian. Everything we are watching is the falling out.

Now, given the fact that I’ve told you that it makes more sense for Sebastian to be the protagonist/main character, and that he 100% isn’t either a villain or antagonist in ANY of the interpretations you can get:

Do you believe me?

If you don’t, you’ll probably believe Yana herself.

This is from the first Volume, where Yana herself describes the process of making Black Butler. The primary idea behind the creation of BB was a butler as a “hero”.

If you go back to the introductory chapter, you notice that Ciel is barely mentioned. He’s simply the one to give Sebastian impossible tasks and standards that Sebastian must find how to overcome.

Ciel is properly introduced until the NEXT chapter. The second chapter has this formula too, introducing Lizzie as a problem to overcome. Although, to Sebastian the best way to “get rid of the problem” is simply to indulge her.

The issue here being that the problem isn’t as simple as a business meeting but something directly tied to Ciel and Ciel’s past. Each time that Sebastian has to solve a problem, it chips away at Ciel. While with Lizzie he shows a persona, once he’s alone with Sebastian he acknowledges the toll it took on him. It serves to build Ciel as Sebastian’s master, and how some problems aren’t as simple as discarding a tablecloth.

The third and the fourth, are a unified narrative, with a similar premise to the first chapter. Ciel gets kidnapped and Sebastian must find a way to retrieve him without raising suspicions.

If the first chapter is to set up what Sebastian must do as a butler, the third and the fourth serve to set up what he must do as a demon.

The entirety of the volume, and up to Book of Circus Arc, is about how Sebastian tries to follow the increasingly absurd orders that Ciel has - it is not about Ciel trying to solve them.

That’s how they work, we follow Sebastian for the most part, because he’s the one having to come up with the solutions.

If anything, in early Kuro, where the emphasis was more on a slice of life conflict, Ciel is the antagonist. He’s the one creating problems for Sebastian to solve.

What’s more, in the second volume, the very first chapter is one from Sebastian’s POV. So far, we hadn’t gotten an entire chapter from Ciel’s POV. In fact, I would find it hard to point to a single chapter where Ciel is the POV throughout. The reveal of real Ciel and the flashback is the closest contender.

But once we move past early Kuro, and into Book of Circus, this set up changes.

It’s fairly easy to assume that Ciel is the main character, because from this point on the conflict of the plot sorta surrounded him. We spend a lot of time with him and with his story. The enemies start being people directly tied to Ciel and Ciel’s trauma. Rarely, if at all, we get to see Sebastian before he met Ciel.The framing device for the story, is Ciel.

This is where point 2 gets intertwined.

2.- Sebastian and Ciel’s relationship IS the story.

The story begins at the point where Sebastian and Ciel met. Who Ciel was before he met Sebastian, informs why he’s the way he is when he does. You have to know all he went through to understand why he’s a brat, why he lashes out. However Sebastian’s past doesn’t matter…because Sebastian himself doesn’t care much for who he was, before he was “Sebastian”. That’s also part of the narrative.

Unlike Ciel, he doesn’t seem opposed to revealing information from before the contract. He talks about how pets from where he is from are gross, he talks about how he knows how to dance because of other places he’s been to, and alludes to the life he's lived before.

Just that, to him, they're footnotes.

He makes allusions to a very bland, uninteresting life, up to the point he meets Ciel.

That’s why we don’t know more about his past.

As for why we focus on Ciel’s story…okay maybe we need Creative Writing lessons 102

I studied Dramaturgy for about 3 to 4 years. And something you notice is how play-writing is the quintessential story telling. It’s making it work with the bare bones of a story.

Some other mediums have more finesse, more depth, or more spectacle - all amazing things that work for whatever they’re created for. But understanding a play, how and why it works, helps understand the fundamentals of any derivative story telling medium.

Particularly, conflict.

Conflict is dialogue and dialogue can take many forms. A story, in its essence, is a dialogue between two opposing ideas.

Take Batman, for example, who embodies the ideas of justice and order. On his own, he’s not a well rounded character.

If you ONLY present him, in a vaccum with nothing else, you don’t have a character. You have a list of characteristics that you’re supposed to know.

You only know who he is when you have dialogue with another character.

I say Dialogue, but it doesn’t necessarily mean spoken language at one another. Dialogue can mean fist fighting, playing tabletop games, talking to other people about the other, or even just a competition. The idea is to simply to compare and contrast both ideas.

If you want an example on how tabletop games serve as dialogue, watch the video “Well, Someone Had to Explain the Liar’s Dice Scene” by Lord Ravecraft

Another example, were we to retake Batman, you have him fight Joker. Who’s the embodiment of chaos and randomness.

In the following picture, you get far more information than the one previously shown. While the Joke fights with daggers and fake guns, Batman only uses his fists. He doesn’t use the tricks that Joker does. His serious demeanor, contrasted with Joker’s glee at the dangerous situation. The fact that Batman has a deathly grip on Joker’s shirt, while the Joker doesn’t, which shows a desperation to catch him.

You are being shown, through a dialogue, who Batman is.

It’s so much easier and much more effective to explore a character through another character.

This is the reason why Shonen has a tendency to make incredibly good gay ships. If you want to explore Naruto’s personality, and his feelings of inferiority, you HAVE to have him interact with Sasuke.

If you wanna understand Hinata’s passion for volleyball, you have him enjoy himself the most with the only other crazy motherfucker who’s as obsessed with volleyball - Kageyama.

And I think that originally, Yana had this problem.

Sebastian was the protagonist, but she had little room to develop him as a character in the confines of the manor, dealing with random enemies.

She likely tried to create Grell as someone of the same stature as Sebastian. Someone who could be this other person to engage dialogue with and show or allude to his past a bit more.

The problem being that Sebastian didn’t care for his past. Or really, engaging with anyone. He sees everyone as below him, but when confronted with Grell who isn’t below him, he doesn’t wanna talk to her.

So you’re stuck in conundrum.

How do you have dialogue with a character, that as a character trait, doesn’t really wanna have dialogue?

Well, Grell also solves the problem. Because only the moment she gets him to start any semblance of a dialogue - is questioning why he’s serving Ciel.

And this is the moment when it’s perfectly cemented that the focus of the story is their relationship.

Why is Sebastian here? Why does he stay? What did he see in Ciel that made him want this extremely convoluted contract?

THATS the dialogue.

THATS the conversation we’re having in Black Butler.

We need to know Ciel because understanding who he is, let’s us know WHY /Sebastian/ is here.

Then slowly, with the introduction with the Undertaker, we find out Sebastian’s conflict.

Which is…

He’s scared of losing Ciel. It becomes apparent with the constant imagery of the Undertaker taking away Ciel and at some point even obtaining r!Ciel’s body, that he’s worried it might happen.

But he can only be worried that Ciel might be taken away if he wants to stay near Ciel.

And that’s his character arc.

Realizing that he actually likes Ciel, cares for him and the role he plays a butler that he doesn’t want this to end.

In the first chapters, he doesn’t feel a need to protect Ciel anymore than what’s strictly necessary. Just don’t die, that’s about as deep as his involvement in chapter 4 gets.

But by the Green Witch Arc, he feels a need to protect Ciel from ANY harm.

This is why I also said

3.- Their relationship is fundamentally a positive one.

In broad strokes, Sebastian to Ciel is the person who allows him to survive. He’s not worried about giving up his soul since he’s already dead. While Ciel to Sebastian, is someone who’s making him have fun. He’s slowly becoming more and more attached to Ciel and the life he has with Ciel.

Their relationship is not that of just a predator and prey, but also of master and pet.

In the terms that Black Butler itself would call: Sebastian is a wild wolf acting like a collared dog.

Ciel is aware that the wild beast will eat him at the end of the day, but if he clings hard to leash for now, he might just be able to have Sebastian maul his abusers.

Sebastian as a dog, currently finds that he enjoys being a chained dog.

(This is demonstrated in the Green Witch arc where he quite literally says, he doesn’t wanna be a wild beast and prefers to be a butler)

And much like the actual DOG Sebastian, Ciel constantly interprets his attempts to get close and protect him, as an act of aggression.

This push and pull of Ciel’s perception of Sebastian and Sebastian’s true motives is what feeds the story.

And the briefs interludes were that isn’t the case (what other people call the “plot”, but I would refer to as the connective tissue) such as Sullivan and Wolfram, the other servant’s past, the grim reapers and the like, serve as a parallel to Ciel and Sebastian relationship. Either to signify how they care for each other, highlight their weaknesses or fears, or explore how they feel.

It’s no surprise that Sullivan and Wolfram are parallels to Ciel and Sebastian. A sheltered sickly child who seeks the protection of a cold hearted machine that only knew how to kill, but who eventually found he cared for her genuinely.

Undertaker and Claudia’s relationship being heavily paralleled with them, even though we aren’t 109% sure what they had but heavily implied it was a romantic attraction from the undead supernatural creature and a Phantomhive.

Everything is a parallel.

That’s why, like the approach of the terrible original video, is flawed.

Trying to interpret Black Butler as action scene after action scene, with mystery after mystery with the only connective tissue being the mystery of who burned down the mansion - is missing the trees for the forest.

That’s not the point.

And if you’re too much of a prude to engage with gothic horror in its gothic horror game, I see little point as to why you even bother to engage with it at all.

A lot of people, including the person who create the video, simply refuse to acknowledge Black Butler IS the story of Sebastian and Ciel as a close and positive relationship, romantically and sexually charged. The reason for it being that they’re “put off” by it.

Part of me wonders how much that is genuinely true, and how much is just performative outrage. It’s like ignoring the fact that Cersei and Jami are in an incestous relationship and try to frame it as “platonic love”, because the idea of it is THAT off putting.

But regardless of that, if you don’t like the fact that it’s as canon as canon can get, I would reccomend you don’t engage with the story at all.

As I’ve explained, the entirety of the series is about them. If you refuse to see Sebastian and Ciel as, at the very least, a duo that cares deeply for the other - you aren’t reading Black Butler.

I have no idea what you’re reading.Perhaps your own biases and subconscious stigma with British aesthetic. At that point, watch the fucking British Royalty Gossip Magazine. You’d find more substance there.

Just don’t be like the person in the video, please? Don’t play dumb. Don’t ignore the fact that Yana is a Shotacon, don’t ignore the fact Sebastian is a hero, don’t ignore the fact that the entirety of the story is based on Sebastian and Ciel’s dynamic.

Because if you do, you are ashamed. You are ashamed of what this story is about. You don’t wanna engage with the text, you want to engage with yourself. You wanna project into Ciel whatever traumas and experiences you have, for the sake a vanity project, where you come out as the morally superior.

You don’t wanna talk about Black Butler, you wanna talk about how good YOU are. How you “don’t sin” by watching it “without all the gross unholy stuff”.

Which is the exact opposite of what BB is about.

So, if you don’t want to, save us all the humiliation fetish and leave.

[requiemforthepoets]

this is me trying 𖦹 OP81

PAIRINGS: oscar piastri x female!reader

SUMMARY: growing up, the only thing you know is that you need to be strong, provide, and take care of your sister. but being with oscar, it was different, he made you feel things—that it’s okay to not be fine, vulnerable, and to be taken care of.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i have this fic finished the other day but i was debating on whether to post it or not, but here we are. it’s been a while too since i last wrote for oscar, and this is like a comfort (?) fic idk lol. also, can i just say that LANDO ON POLE FOR THE SG GP!!! 😭🧡 ok, i hope you guys will have fun reading this one. enjoy! :)

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.

WORD COUNT: 3.6k

WARNINGS: not proofread, typos, eldest daughter syndrome, no use of y/n, cursing, unnamed sister, named friend, and parents death

You were sitting in the living room, surrounded by case files and legal books, trying your best to prepare for the court trial that you’ll be doing soon, but your mind was elsewhere. You can't focus on the work that you’re working on in front of you, no matter how hard you try. Your phone buzzed, and you almost didn’t answer, thinking it’s just another work call, but when you saw Blaire, your friend’s name, flash on the screen you quickly picked up, expecting a casual chat.

“Hey, Blaire, how are you?” You greeted her, trying to mask your exhaustion.

Her voice on the other end was hesitant, not the usual warm tone that you’re used to. “Hey…I really hate to bring this up, but I was wondering when you would be able to repay the five thousand dollars?”

Your stomach dropped. “Repay?” You repeated, utterly confused. “What do you mean five thousand dollars?”

The conversation between you and Blaire unraveled quickly. She explained how she had lent the money to your sister out of need, thinking it was for you or with your approval. Rage bubbled in your chest, your pulse quickened, at this point all you can see is red. You thanked her hastily, barely able to end the call before fury overtook you. Without thinking, you dialed your sister’s number, the beeps echoing in your ear like a countdown to an explosion.

“Hello?” Her voice was casual, completely unaware of the storm coming her way.

“What the actual fuck did you do?!” You yelled, not caring if it was late at night. “You borrowed five fucking thousand dollars from Blaire without asking me!? How could you?!”

There was a pause, a brief moment where you could almost feel her shrug through the phone. “Oh my god, can you relax? It’s not like you can't afford it. It’s not that big of a deal, you can just easily pay for it with how big you’re making, it’s barely a scratch on your bank account!” You couldn’t believe what you were actually hearing.

“Not a big deal? Did you spend the money already? Do you have any fucking idea how humiliating it is for me that you did this without even consulting me? You think just because I make good money, I’ll fix every mess you create?” You were seething.

“Well, yeah,” she responded with a laugh, clearly not grasping the gravity of the situation. “You’re my older sister. Isn’t it your job to take care of me, right?”

Your grip on your phone tightened. “I’ve been taking care of you your whole life! I’m working myself to the bone just to make sure you have everything you need, sending you to that fancy school that you’ve always wanted so you can have a better future, and this is how you repay me? By lying and stealing?”

The silence on the other end of the line felt heavy, but your anger has not subsided. She mumbled something that sounded like a half assed apology, but it was already too late for that. You immediately hung up and slammed the phone down on the table, heart racing, pulse pounding in your ears. Anger still swirling inside you like a storm, the words of your sister still echoing in your mind. You can just easily pay for it with how big you’re making. Her carelessness, lack of respect—it hit harder than anything you had experienced before. It wasn’t about the money, you could handle the five thousand dollars easily, but the way she completely dismissed your hard work, as if it was nothing, as if your sacrifice and years of struggle meant nothing—that was what burned deep. It hurts like fucking hell.

You sat down there on the couch, trying to calm yourself down, tears started to prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back. You didn’t cry. You cannot cry. You have always been strong your whole life—the provider, carer, and protector. That’s who you were. No one had ever taken care of you, not since your parents passed away when you were fifteen and your sister is only ten. It has always been you, alone, against the world, and now, it felt like even your sister was against you.

You didn’t hear Oscar enter the living room until his voice, soft but firm, broke through the silence. “Hey, I heard you from our room. Are you okay?”

You swallowed hard, your body automatically stiffening instinctively and continued browsing through your documents like nothing happened.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry,” you lied, though the quiver in your voice betrayed you.

Oscar walked over and sat down beside you on the couch, his hand gently resting on your shoulder. “You don’t always have to be fine,” he said quietly. “Tell me, what happened?”

You exhaled sharply, your hands trembling as you ran them through your hair. “It’s my sister,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady. “She borrowed money from Blaire. Five thousand dollars. Without even telling me. Now, she’s acting like it’s my job to fix it.”

“Five thousand? That’s a lot.” Oscar frowned, his brows knitting in concern.

“I know,” you said, “she doesn’t even care. She just assumes I’ll take care of it, like I always do every time she gets into stupid situations. She thinks just because I earn good money, I’m supposed to fix everything.” Your voice cracked, and before you could stop it, the tears you had been holding back for so long finally broke free. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Oscar. I’m always the one fixing things, I’m always the one who has to be strong.”

Oscar didn’t say anything for a moment, he just stared at you, his eyes filled with understanding. Then, without a word, he pulled you into his arms. You tensed at first, still not used to being vulnerable, but Oscar’s embrace was warm, grounding. Slowly, your body relaxed into his, and the weight of the world seemed to lift just a little as you rested your head against his chest.

“It’s not fair,” you whispered to him. “I’ve always had to be the strong one. I’m tired, Oscar. I’m so fucking tired. I don’t know how much more I can take.”

His hand gently stroked your back, his voice soft and reassuring. “I know. It’s okay to be tired. You don’t have to be strong all the time. Not with me.”

You pulled back slightly to look at him, your eyes searching his face, “I just don’t know how to let anyone help me,” you admitted, voice barely audible. “I’ve been doing this for so long, I don’t know how to not be the one in control.”

“I get that. But you don’t have to do it all alone anymore. I’m here. Let me be strong for you, too.” Oscar smiled gently, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The idea of letting someone else carry even a fraction of the weight feels completely foreign to you. But as you looked at Oscar, his eyes full of sincerity, something inside you shifted. Maybe, it’s time you let it all fall down, you didn’t have to carry everything on your shoulders all the time.

“What am I supposed to do about her?” You asked, your voice small but steady now.

Oscar sighed softly, thinking for a moment. “You have all the right to be angry and upset. Your feelings are valid,” he said. “She needs to learn that actions have consequences. But at the same time, she’s your sister. She’s young, and sometimes young people tend to make mistakes. You’ve been doing everything for so long that she probably hasn’t learned how to take responsibility for herself yet.”

You nodded, wiping your eyes. “Yeah, maybe. But I can’t just let her think she can keep doing this.”

“No,” he agreed. “But you also don’t have to do this alone. We can figure it out together.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you weren’t alone. Maybe you didn’t always have to be the strong one, the provider, the protector. With Oscar by your side, you could learn how to let someone else carry the weight with you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, leaning into him once more. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Oscar smiled, pressing a soft tender kiss to your forehead. “You’ll never have to find out, I’m not going anywhere, my love.”

The next morning, you stared at the screen of your laptop, fingers moving quickly over the keys as you finished drafting the contract. The legal jargon was familiar, comforting even, but the fact that you had to use it against your own sister left a bitter taste in your mouth. The contract was firm, direct, and laid out the consequences clearly: five thousand dollars, to be repaid in installments, with interest and penalties if the deadline is missed. You hated doing it—your heart never felt so heavy—but you knew it was necessary. You had been too lenient for far too long, if she didn’t learn this now, she might never understand the true value of money and the responsibility that came with it. It was time for her to learn the hard truths you had known your entire life.

Oscar was sitting across the table, sipping his coffee, watching you in silence. “You’ve finished it?” He asked gently. You had told him last night that you need to straighten everything out, and told him your plan, in which he quickly supported you.

You nodded, eyes scanning the contract one last time before saving it. “Yeah. She’s not going to like it, but this has to be done.” You sighed, “I’ve been too lenient, too forgiving. I can’t keep cleaning up after her messes.”

“You’re doing the right thing.” He said as he reached over, placing his hand over yours. “It’s tough, but you’re teaching her a lesson she won’t forget.”

“I hope so,” you sighed, glancing out the window, the weight of responsibility pressing down on you once more. “I’ve never been one to ask for anything back, but she needs to learn that she can’t just treat me like this. I want her to be successful, but she can’t rely on me forever.”

Later that day, you booked a flight for her to Monaco, and notified her about the flight schedule. She was studying in Switzerland, and it would be a four hour flight from Switzerland to Monaco. It was time to have this conversation face-to-face. You couldn’t keep allowing her to avoid responsibility just because you were miles apart. This is a conversation that is long overdue.

A couple of days later, she arrived at your and Oscar’s shared apartment. She seemed different—more subdued, perhaps. You could tell the weight of your anger still lingered in her mind. She greeted you cautiously, her eyes flickering to Oscar, who stood nearby, his presence calm but protective.

“Sit down,” you said, pointing to the couch.

She looked at you, clearly trying to gauge your mood, but she did as she was told. You sat across from her, with Oscar by your side, and the freshly printed contract lying on the table between you. The tension in the living room was thick.

“I had already settled your debt with Blaire,” you began, your voice calm but firm. “But this conversation is not just about the money. It’s about respect, about responsibility.”

“I said I was sorry.” She crossed her arms, trying to play it cool.

“Sorry doesn’t fix this,” you snapped, your patience was already running thin, barely hanging on by a thread. “I have been providing for you because I want nothing but the best for you. But what you did was careless, and you disrespected everything I’ve done for you. You didn’t even ask me before borrowing that money, and then you just blatantly assumed I would handle it. You do this every time to me, you always get me into awkward and humiliating situations.”

She bit her lip, her attitude wavering. “I know, but you make so much—”

“That’s not the point!” You cut her off, about to lose your cool but Oscar had managed to calm you down by softly caressing your back. “Yes, I make good amount of money, but that money just doesn’t magically appear. I have worked hard, harder than you can imagine, to get to where I am. Do you want to know what’s worse? What’s worse is that you’re not even thinking about how hard it is to earn that money, how I burn myself off everyday. So I’m making you earn it back.” You slid the contract towards her.

“What’s this?” She looked down at it, then back at you, looking all confused.

“It’s an agreement,” you said. “I’ve decided to give you the five thousand dollars. Consider what you bought from that money as a gift, because I know you’ve been doing well in school, and it’s been a while since I’ve given you anything. But this will never happen again. You owe me that money, and you're going to pay it back. Every cent of it, with interest.” Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to protest, but you cut her off before she could even speak.

“This is not negotiable. I’m still going to support you, I’m still going to pay for your tuition, but you need to learn how hard it is to earn this kind of money. You’re going to work for it, and I'll expect proof—payslips, records—everything. If you miss a payment, there will be penalties added, and if you refuse or try to make a fool out of me, I’m not afraid to take legal action.”

“You’d sue me? Your own sister?” She stared at you in disbelief.

“Yes, I would,” you said coldly. “I don’t want to, but you’ve left me with no choice. You are already eighteen and will turn nineteen in two months, you are already capable of knowing what’s right and wrong. You need to understand that I’m not going to bail you out every time you mess up, this is your responsibility now.”

For a long moment, she didn’t say anything. Her face was a mix of shock and anger, but you could tell the gravity of the situation was already starting to sink in.

“I’m not trying to be harsh,” you said softly, leaning forward. “But I’ve been in your shoes, and I know firsthand how hard life can be. I have shielded you from that, and maybe that was my mistake. But if you’re going to succeed in this world, you need to understand that nothing is free, nothing in life is free. Everything comes with a cost.”

Oscar then leaned forward, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “Look, we’re not doing this to hurt you,” he added, tone gentle but firm. “But this is a wake-up call. You need to understand how your sister has worked so hard, and how important it is that you start contributing. No one’s saying you have to do it alone, but you have to start doing something.”

Your sister’s eyes shifted between the two of you, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of guilt in her expression. She glanced back down at the contract, and you handed her a pen.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll do it. I’ll pay you back.” Her attitude and defiance slowly faded from her face.

“Good.” You nodded, “then sign it.”

She hesitated for only a moment before scribbling her signature across the bottom of the contract. You felt a strange mixture of relief and sadness, knowing you had to be this tough, but also hoping it would be the turning point she needed.

“You can stay with us while you’re in Monaco,” you told her, “but I expect you to find a job as soon as possible. If you fail to keep up with your end of the deal, there will be consequences. Understood?”

“Understood.” She nodded, though her expression was still a mix of resentment and defeat.

You exhaled, feeling a small sense of relief wash over you. This wasn’t easy, and you hated having to be this strict with her, but it had to be done. Oscar wrapped his arm around you, his touch grounding as soon as you watched your sister head towards the guest room.

“You did the right thing,” he said quietly.

“I hope so,” you whispered, leaning into him. “I just want her to grow up.”

“Don’t worry, she will.” Oscar assured you, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your head. “With you as her sister, she doesn’t have much of a choice,”

Later that evening, the apartment finally fell quiet, dinner was definitely awkward and quiet, but with your sister already tucked away in the guest room, the weight of everything you had said and done began to settle in. You were sitting at the edge of the bed, heart heavy and mind replaying what had happened earlier over and over. The way your sister had looked at you—hurt and angry—it cut deeper that you were willing to admit.

You had always been strong, but this strength had come with a cost. Now, sitting in the stillness of the night, the reality of your actions hit you like a tidal wave. It wasn’t just the contract or the money, it was the fear—the fear that in trying to teach her a lesson, you might have pushed her too far. That in being the disciplinarian, you had damaged something that might never fully recover or heal.

Oscar entered the room quietly, sensing the shift in your mood. He sat beside you, his presence had always been comforting, but it wasn’t enough to stop the flood of emotions you had been holding back.

“Was I too harsh, Osc?” You whispered, voice barely audible.

He frowned slightly, tilting his head to look at you. “No, you weren’t. She needed to hear all of it.”

“I know,” you replied, voice trembling. “But what if I lose her because of this? What if she hates me for it?”

You felt your tears welling up again, but this time you couldn’t stop them anymore. They spilled down your cheeks, unchecked, as you finally let go of the tension and frustration you had been carrying.

“I’m not being harsh to punish her, I just want her to understand how hard life is, how much I’ve sacrificed. But what if all she sees is me being cruel?”

Oscar pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you as you broke down. You rested your head on his chest, sobs coming in waves, guilt and fear crashing over you. You had always been strong for so long—too long—and now, it felt like everything was unraveling.

“She’s my baby sister,” you choked out between sobs. “I don’t want to lose her. But I don’t know what else to do. I don’t want her to think I’m just some heartless person who only cares about money.”

Oscad held you tighter, his voice calm and steady as he spoke. “She won’t hate you. Not forever. She’s upset now, sure. But she’s young, and right now, she probably doesn’t understand why you’re doing this. But she will, trust me. One day, she’ll look back at it and realize that you did this because you love her.”

You shook your head, your chest tightening with the weight of your emotions. “I feel like I’m always the one who has to be the bad guy. I never get to be the one who’s just there for her, to support her without judgment.”

Oscar stroked your hair gently, his voice soothing. “You’ve done more for her than anyone else ever could. You’ve given her everything. You’re not the bad guy, you’re her protector, even when it means being tough on her. Yeah, maybe this will cause a rift for now, but it won’t last. She’ll come around, she’ll see that you’re doing this because you care.”

You pulled away slightly, wiping at your tear-streaked face. “What if she doesn’t?”

“She will,” Oscar said firmly. “But even if it takes time, you can’t keep beating yourself up for doing what’s right. You’re teaching her a lesson that no one else will. You’re giving her the tools to grow up, to be responsible. Sometimes, that means being tough. That’s tough love.”

You nodded, but the guilt still gnawed at you. “I just wish I didn’t have to be this person all the time. The one who fixes things, who keeps everyone in line.”

“I know. But you’re not doing this alone anymore, okay? I’m here. Whenever it feels like it’s too much, rest on me. You can always rest on me.”

You leaned into him again, his warmth easing the ache that you’re feeling inside of you. “I just hope she understands someday,” you whispered.

“She will,” Oscar said softly, kissing the top of your head. “And until then, you’ve done what you needed to do. You’ve set her on the right path, and that’s what matters.”

As the tears slowly subsided, you felt a flicker of hope, knowing that even though this was hard, it was necessary. Even if your sister doesn't see it now, you could only hope that one day, she would understand that everything you did was out of love.

The weight on your shoulders became a little lighter, knowing that Oscar was right. Even if it took time, even if there were still battles to fight, you knew you weren’t facing them alone anymore, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to breathe. You had done what needed to be done. Now it was up to your sister to follow through.

[autumnscribbles]

the one | drew starkey

pairing: drew x married!reader

summary: drew had a thing for you for as long as he could remember. coming back home, he faces a sad and scary truth

warnings: abuse (emotional, physical),swearing, I guess emotional “cheating”?

wc: 3k

a/n: thank you to the anon that sent this in!! it’s my first drew imagine so i hope yall like it!! i had a lot of fun writing it

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘

You stood around a table with your friends, your husband beside you with his arm wrapped snuggly around your waist. You laughed as your friend recounted a story from your childhood. It had everyone with their heads thrown back, drinks threatening to tip out of their glasses in hand.

“Y/n, you and Drew were the absolute funniest,” she gasped through her cackles.

You signed in content, fondly thinking back to your friend. You had lost contact with Drew since he was casted in Outer Banks. He hadn’t seemed to really keep up with anyone from his hometown. You weren’t even sure if he knew you were married to Derek, one of his best friends. Or you suppose, old best friends.

Shortly after Drew left, you and Derek became close. Bonding over missing Drew’s presence, the two of you started hanging out with each other. He was everything you hoped. Handsome, charming, showering you with compliments or gifts. He proposed to you, and it wasn’t long before the two of you said I do.

As your husband’s grip tightened around your waist, you couldn’t stop thinking about Drew. You always thought of him as your first real love, even though nothing happened between you. You would always have a soft spot for him, even if it wasn’t reciprocated. You always assumed you’d end up with him, and had spent countless days daydreaming of marrying him. He made his stance clear when he left. At first, he would text you and update you, but that faded. You were lucky if he even saw an instagram story you posted. He had moved on, so you did too.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾���∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘

Drew stepped into the local cafe, his suitcase dragging behind him. He couldn’t come home without his first stop being to acquire his favorite coffee. He began walking up to the counter before something caught his eye. You were sitting in the corner booth, as always, iced latte in front of you and your nose in a book. Drew couldn’t help but grin, acknowledging the way your brows slightly furrowed. He knew you were at a good part of the book.

His mind took him back to countless days spent hunched over that very same table. Crunching for exams with notes spread all over the table. You used to always slam your hand down, telling him to focus. You never knew he wasn’t focusing because he couldn’t stop looking at you.

“Y/n?” he called gently as he approached your table.

You looked up, pulled out of your imaginary world and gasped. You almost screamed at the sight of your old friend in front of you. You stood up immediately, wrapping your arms tightly around him. You breathed in his familiar scent, fuelling you with nostalgia.

“Drew,” you breathed, staring into his blue eyes with your hands on his arms. “You’re home.”

“Yeah, I had some time off,” he explained. “I’m happy to see you.”

You invited him to sit, placing you bookmark and closing your book. He had your full attention. He felt breathless seeing you in person again. You looked different, yet the same. He noticed something glint on the table and lowered his gaze. He saw the ring on your finger.

“You got married?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah,” you answered, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “To Derek, actually.”

Drew felt his heart sink. Derek was his best friend. Their whole life Derek knew the feelings Drew had for you. Derek was constantly telling him that you didn’t feel the same way, you liked someone else, he heard someone say you were seeing someone. Was it all a lie? Did he like you all along?

“I wasn’t invited?” Drew asked playfully, but was actually serious.

“We didn’t do a ceremony,” you explained. “He wanted to just elope, skip the other extravagance.”

He could hear the slight lilt in your voice as you said that. Drew knew for a fact you had been dreaming about your wedding day since you were little. You eloped? With no one to see? He just couldn’t picture it. With Derek of all people?

“You’d be in the loop if you came around more,” you muttered. “Or called every now and then.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Drew sighed, filled with guilt. His best friend got married and he had no idea. “I think I just got so caught up in everything. It all moves so fast it’s hard to keep up. I’ve been thinking a lot about you, about home.”

“It’s okay,” you said. “That was mean of me, you don’t need to explain.”

Drew went to keep apologizing, but another familiar face burst through the door. Derek strode over to your table, suit jacket perfectly ironed.

“Drew, babe, hey,” he said through a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Drew stood up and gave Derek a hug. Derek’s eyes stayed on you, darkening slightly. He was being nice to Drew, but you knew something was wrong.

“Y/n, you didn’t tell me you were hanging out with him,” Derek mentioned pleasantly.

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting him,” you laughed. “He walked in and we just started chatting.”

“Well, we have to get home,” he said sharply. “Peter and his wife are coming for dinner, remember?”

“Of course I remember,” you laughed. “Drew, do you want to join us tonight?”

“I’d love to,” he smiled.

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The door slammed behind you as you walked in the front door of your house. You jumped slightly, turning to meet Derek’s eyes.

“Why are you sneaking around with him?” he sneered.

“He, is our friend. Your best friend, remember? I’m sick of you always accusing me of things,” you shot back.

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t act like a slut all the time.”

You froze. The words sunk into your skin. Worked through your veins. Slut. Derek had been on edge lately. Easier to set off. You noticed him snapping at you more often. Calling you names, telling you what to do. He was just stressed. That had to be all it was, right?

You silently walked towards the kitchen, being jolted back when his hand tightly grabbed your wrist, him telling you to look at him when he speaks. He yanked you back, slamming you into the wall behind you. You winced, pain shooting through your head.

“Y/n,” he whispered. “I-I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again I-I don’t know what happened.”

You felt the tears stinging the back of your eyes. The back of your throat burning. The back of your head throbbing.

“I’m gonna go start dinner,” you mumbled, and this time, he let go of you.

“I’ll go grab the wine,” he said, leaving the house with a quiet shut of the door.

You stood silently in your newly renovated kitchen. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, but never did. You didn’t know how to react. Derek had been so perfect. You stood wondering what happened. How you got here. It was just a mistake, right? It had to be.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘

You put on a brave face as you set the table. The flowers Derek brought home for you set in the centre, with the expensive bottles of wine on either side. He apologized profusely, and you decided to let it go. You wanted to have a good night. You couldn’t let one spat ruin your night, or your marriage, could you?

Derek had never liked you hanging out with other guys. Honestly, he usually didn’t like you hanging out with other people in general. He always told you that he was the only one who would ever truly be there for you. Maybe he was right. Maybe you should have thought of him more. He always said you were too selfish, and maybe it was true.

Your friends slowly arrived, Drew following shortly after your other friends. He reached in for a hug, and you felt Derek’s eyes burning a hole in your back. You settled for a side hug, not wanting to be rude. You were a wife now, you had to behave like one.

Drew sat down next to you, and as you poured a glass of wine and took your first sip, you felt yourself unwinding a little. The conversation flowed easily, Derek’s hand never leaving your body. Whether it was your thigh, hand, arm, he was always touching you. You noticed when you talked to Drew, his grip got a bit tighter. Each time, you took a big gulp of your wine, trying to forget the events of the day.

Drew noticed as you flinched slightly, Derek’s hand on your arm. He whispered in your ear as you both stood up to leave the room, politely excusing yourselves. He stayed silent, knowing it wasn’t his business. You weren’t his, you never would be now.

Drew fell into conversation with the other couple, not knowing that in the next room you were being called a drunk by your husband, and told you were embarrassing.

“I’m worried about her.” He heard your friend, Belle, mumble into her husbands ear.

“About y/n?” he spoke up. He didn’t want to interrupt their conversation, but he had been gone for so long. He didn’t know anything that was happening in your life.

Belle nodded, looking over her shoulder to make sure everyone else was out of earshot.

“She’s just so different since marrying him,” she whispered. “She’s gotten so…small almost. Making herself small. She seems almost scared to set him off. She never hangs out anymore without him because he won’t let her. I don’t want to accuse him of anything, but I’m worried she’s being ab-”

She was cut off by you and Derek entering the room and taking your seats again. Abused? Was she about to say abused? No way. That couldn’t be. He knew Derek, didn’t he? If you were being hurt, he’d know, wouldn’t he?

The rest of the night Drew’s eyes stayed on you. He noticed small things, like how you nodded obediently to Derek. How Derek made sly remarks about your dress, or a mistake with the cooking. Could what Belle was saying be true?

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You shut the door softly behind your last guest. Derek was on you immediately.

“You’re an embarrassment,” he scoffed. “Basically throwing yourself at him in front of me. You look like a drunk, and a mess.”

“Leave me alone, Derek,” you sighed. “I can’t do this anymore tonight.”

Before you could register what happened, a sharp pain hit your cheek, a loud crash around you. You clutched your face, the smell of red wine filling your nostrils. He threw the bottle at you. You felt something sharp in your face, pulling out the shard of glass lodged in there.

“Don’t talk back to me,” he screamed, making you jump back.

“I’m gonna get some air,” you whispered as you stepped out the front door. He needed a second to calm down, and you needed a second to process.

After a few deep breaths, you placed your hand back on the door handle, only to find it locked. He locked you out. You banged on the door, screaming his name and telling him to open the door.

“You can sleep on the street for all I care,” he yelled through the door. “I can’t look at your whore face anymore.”

You continued to bang on the door, tears streaming down your face for the first time since everything happened. You saw his shadow retreat, all the lights shut off. You were left alone in the dark. No phone, no keys, no shoes. He couldn’t leave you out here all night, could he?

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Drew felt his pockets for his phone, to no prevail. He must have forgotten it at your place. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Belle said. Was she actually about to say abuse?

He shook it off briefly as he climbed back into the rental car, making his way back to your house. He hoped you would still answer the door. As he turned onto your street, he saw a girl walking. More like limping. She had no shoes on. He slowed down slightly, slamming the brakes as soon as his headlights revealed who it was.

“Y/n!” he panicked as he jumped out of the car, running up to you. “Are you okay? What happened? You’re bleeding.”

It felt like he was talking a mile a minute, unable to slow down.

“C-can I stay with you tonight?” you stuttered between sobs.

“Of course you can,” Drew whispered as his thumb swiped a stray tear away. “Come, get in the car.”

He opened the door for you and helped you in, rushing back to the drivers side. He didn’t care about his phone anymore. The only thing that mattered was you.

You say in silence as he drove, pulling into the driveway soon after. He helped you out of the car and into the house. He walked you to the bathroom, turning the light on to examine the cut on your cheek.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled.

“You’re hurt,” Drew said, tears prickling his eyes. He cleaned the wound gently, his warm hands treating you so tenderly.

“He…” you breathed. “He threw a bottle at me, then locked me outside.”

Drew’s jaw clenched as he tried to stay calm. It wouldn’t help if he got angry or freaked out. He wanted you to feel comfortable, despite all the thoughts and emotions running through him.

You didn’t say anything else for a while. Drew gave you a t shirt and sweatpants to change into.

“You can have the bed,” he said as he lifted the covers, urging you to climb under. “I’ll go on the couch. If you want to talk I’m here, okay?”

He turned to leave the room, but you stopped him.

“Drew?” you called, your voice barely audible. “Can you lie with me for a bit?”

He felt his heart jump as he walked to the bed, sitting on the edge for a minute before lying back beside you. He stayed on top of the covers, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. His mind spun with guilt. He never should have left you, or fallen out of touch. If he had been here to see the signs, he could have helped you. He could have stopped it. He couldn’t fathom his, now former, best friend hurting the girl he loved.

You lay there silently until you broke. Violent sobs shook your body. You felt Drew’s arms pull you close as you cried. He rubbed your back, assuring you that you were safe. He had you. When the tears finally somewhat relented, you spoke.

“He hurt me earlier today too,” you said. “After the cafe. He called me a slut and slammed me against the wall.”

Drew’s breath hitched in his throat. He couldn’t bear to hear that this happened to you. He couldn’t even speak.

“How did I get here? I thought I was better than this. That I’d never put up with this,” you ranted. “I should have seen the signs, should have done something sooner. I just wanted someone to love me.”

“That’s not love, y/n,” Drew told you.

“I know,” you sighed. “I shouldn’t have married him. He made all these promises. When you left he…he told me you didn’t care. That he was the only one who would ever be there for me. I stupidly believed him. Who else would marry me?”

“Of course I care,” Drew choked, tears burning his eyes. “It hurt too much for me to be close to you. It was selfish and stupid, but I couldn’t bear it knowing you didn’t…love me back.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he quickly interjected. “I shouldn’t be talking about myself. I should have been here for you. I should have helped you.”

You knew you were technically married, but you hung on Drew’s words. Love him back? He loved you? That’s all you ever wanted to hear.

“What do you mean…didn’t love you back?” you asked.

“Derek…” he paused after his name, like it burned leaving his lips. “Told me you never saw me that way. That he was better for you and you wanted him. It hurt me too much.”

“Drew..” you breathed.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he reassured you.

“Drew,” you repeated. “I’ve been in love with you since what feels like the moment I saw you. You were the one I always thought I would be with. When he told me you didn’t see me that way, I just wanted someone to care.”

Your words left Drew speechless. This whole time, Derek was playing both sides. The whole time, you could have been with him instead. You were manipulated and hurt, and it was his fault. He was a coward.

“Why are you crying?” you asked, cupping his cheek with your palm.

“I’m so sorry,” he cried. “I’m sorry I left you.”

“I can’t stay in that marriage Drew,” you sighed. “Especially not now. I shouldn’t have done it when my heart belonged to someone else.”

“Are you saying…”

“I love you,” you whispered. You head lay on his chest, and you felt his heartbeat speed up.

“I love you,” he replied. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.”

After sitting in silence for a while, you let out a yawn. He wanted to kiss you, but not like this. Not with you so vulnerable. It wouldn’t feel right.

“Get some sleep, angel,” he said, kissing your forehead gently. “I’ll be here in the morning to figure out the rest.”

You had no idea what to do, or where to go from here. Your mind was reeling, but now you were crashing from all the stress on your body. Whatever tomorrow brought, you would be okay. When you woke up, Drew would still be here. As long as he was here, it would be okay. It had to.