#the pocket book of calm

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[crvngefrvll]

Me: *watches a movie series adapted from a book series*

Me: Alright I'm going to join the fandom and maybe buy the books-

*Me eventually joining the fandom and learning about the series*

*Sees the entire fandom fighting and arguing on about how inaccurate the movies are compared to the books*

Me: Holy shit here we go again-

[hsjazebel]

Meant to be

Summary: Y/N never expected a college party to change anything—until she met Harry. What starts as a quiet connection over books and movies slowly turns into something deeper, proving that some things are simply meant to be.

Wordcount: 32k+ (I have been carried away, sorry 😅)

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day! ♡ Here’s a little story about love finding you when you least expect it. Hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think!

Masterlist

— — —

The party was louder than she expected.

Y/N wasn’t sure why she had let Charlotte convince her to come. Maybe it was the way her roommate had pleaded, eyes wide with excitement, promising it would be “just for an hour.” Or maybe it was the fact that she had spent too many Friday nights curled up in bed while the rest of campus buzzed with energy.

She had thought, just for once, that maybe she should say yes.

But now, standing in the middle of the crowded living room, she regretted it.

The music thumped against the walls, the bass so deep she could feel it in her ribs. Laughter and voices blurred together in an endless hum, broken only by the occasional shout of someone calling out to a friend. The air was thick—too many people, too much perfume, too much heat.

She tugged at the hem of her sweater, suddenly self-conscious. She wasn’t dressed for this, not like the other girls in shimmering tops and short skirts. She had gone for comfort—jeans, a fitted top, her favorite oversized cardigan—but now she felt out of place, like she hadn’t read the unspoken dress code.

Charlotte had disappeared almost immediately, swallowed up by the crowd, probably off to find that guy she’d been texting. Y/N had tried to follow for a bit, but the sea of people made it impossible to keep up.

Now she was alone, pressed against the wall, holding a drink she hadn’t even sipped.

She exhaled, glancing toward the front door. Maybe she could just leave. Charlotte wouldn’t mind—she was too caught up in her own night.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted an open door leading to the balcony.

Without thinking, she headed for it, slipping outside and closing the door behind her.

Cool air washed over her, a welcome contrast to the stifling heat inside. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and leaned against the railing, her fingers wrapping around the cold metal. The city stretched out in front of her, distant lights flickering against the night sky. From here, the noise of the party was muffled, just a dull hum beneath the sound of the wind rustling through the trees.

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the silence settle over her.

And then—

“You don’t look like you’re having fun.”

The voice was smooth, warm. British.

Her eyes snapped open.

Turning slightly, she found herself face to face with someone she recognized immediately.

Harry Styles.

Her breath hitched, just for a second.

She had seen him around before, of course. It was hard not to notice him. He wasn’t the typical loud, overly confident guy that thrived in these kinds of settings, but he had a presence that made people gravitate toward him anyway. Maybe it was the way he carried himself—calm, collected, always with an air of quiet amusement, like he was in on some inside joke no one else knew about.

Now, standing in front of her in the dim balcony light, he looked impossibly at ease.

His dark curls were pushed back messily, a few strands falling over his forehead. A pair of thin-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, framing sharp green eyes that studied her with quiet interest. His loose button-up was unbuttoned at the top, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the intricate tattoos winding down his forearms.

He held a drink casually in one hand, the other tucked into his pocket, like he had all the time in the world.

She swallowed.

“I—uh—yeah,” she finally managed. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

His lips quirked, as if her answer didn’t surprise him at all. “Figured as much.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And how exactly did you figure that?”

He took a slow sip from his drink before answering. “Well, for one, you’ve been out here for at least five minutes and haven’t checked your phone once.” His eyes flickered toward the door. “And two… you look like you’re trying to disappear.”

She huffed out a quiet laugh. “That obvious?”

Harry smirked. “A little.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The city lights flickered in the distance, and the air between them felt charged—not uncomfortable, but something else entirely.

Then, he shifted slightly, turning more toward her.

“I’m Harry, by the way.”

She let out a small breath, amused. As if she didn’t already know.

“I know,” she admitted, then immediately winced. “I mean—everyone knows who you are.”

Harry chuckled, the sound low and warm. “That’s fair.” He tilted his head slightly. “And you are…?”

“Y/N.”

He repeated it, softer this time, like he was testing the way it felt on his tongue. Then, with a small smile, he extended his hand. “Well, Y/N, it’s nice to officially meet you.”

She hesitated for just a second before slipping her hand into his.

His palm was warm, his grip gentle but firm.

“Nice to meet you too, Harry.”

His fingers lingered a second longer than necessary before he let go.

He leaned his elbow against the railing, glancing at her thoughtfully. “So, if parties aren’t your thing… what would you rather be doing right now?”

She bit her lip, thinking. “Watching a movie, probably.”

Harry’s brows lifted slightly. “Anything in particular?”

She hesitated, then decided to be honest. “A romcom.”

His lips curled into a slow smile. “You like romcoms?”

She nodded. “I grew up watching them. Notting Hill, 10 Things I Hate About You, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days… I know they’re cheesy, but I love them.”

He studied her for a second, then let out a soft chuckle. “Cheesy doesn’t mean bad. Those are classics.”

She tilted her head. “Wait… you actually like them too?”

Harry smirked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Course I do. I mean, have you seen When Harry Met Sally? It’s got my name in it. That’s a sign, don’t you think?”

She laughed—really laughed, for the first time that night.

Harry watched her, his expression softer now, like he was pleased to be the reason behind it.

The conversation flowed easier after that. They debated over the best romcom of all time, exchanged favorite scenes, and argued about which movie had the most unrealistic yet satisfying ending. Somewhere in between, Y/N forgot about the party altogether.

But eventually, her phone buzzed in her pocket—Charlotte, probably looking for her.

She sighed, realizing she had to go.

Harry noticed. “Leaving already?”

“Yeah, I think so.” She hesitated, then, feeling unusually bold, added, “But… maybe next time, I’ll skip the party and just watch a romcom instead.”

His smile was slow, almost knowing. “Maybe next time, you won’t have to watch it alone.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

And as she stepped back inside, disappearing into the noise and the crowd, she couldn’t help but hope—just a little—that this was only the beginning.

———

The next morning, Y/N woke up to the sound of Charlotte’s voice.

“Well, well, well,” her roommate drawled, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. “Look who’s finally awake.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face into the pillow. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven,” Charlotte said, walking over and flopping down onto the bed beside her. “And you have some explaining to do.”

Y/N peeked at her through one eye. “Explaining?”

Charlotte grinned, far too awake for this early in the morning. “Don’t play innocent with me. You disappeared at the party. And when I finally found you again, you looked… different.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “So spill.”

Y/N sighed, rolling onto her back. “There’s nothing to spill.”

Charlotte gasped dramatically. “Lies! I saw you talking to Harry Styles.” She poked Y/N’s side. “You—quiet, book-loving, avoider of all social gatherings—somehow ended up alone on a balcony with the most intriguing guy on campus.”

Y/N felt her face heat up. “It wasn’t like that,” she muttered.

Charlotte smirked. “Then what was it like?”

Y/N hesitated. The truth was, she wasn’t exactly sure.

“It was… nice,” she admitted after a moment. “We just talked.”

Charlotte studied her, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Talked? That’s it?”

Y/N nodded.

Charlotte huffed, flopping back against the bed. “You’re impossible.”

Y/N smiled, sitting up and stretching. “Did you at least have fun?”

Charlotte let out a dreamy sigh. “Oh, absolutely. And I might have secured myself a coffee date with Mason.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Mason?”

“You know, Harry’s friend? Tall, kind of scruffy, ridiculously charming?” Charlotte waggled her fingers. “I think we have a connection.”

Y/N laughed softly. “I’m happy for you.”

Charlotte sat up again, her expression turning devious. “And speaking of coffee dates…”

Y/N’s stomach fluttered. “No.”

Charlotte pouted. “Come on! I think he likes you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “We talked for, like, twenty minutes.”

Charlotte shrugged. “That’s plenty of time to make an impression. And if he really likes you, you’ll see him again.”

Y/N didn’t answer. Because the thought had already crossed her mind.

Would she see him again?

———

She did.

Three days later.

At the campus café.

Y/N had been curled up in a corner booth, a warm cup of tea beside her as she flipped through a book for class. The café was quiet, filled mostly with students studying or catching up on assignments. The hum of conversation and the occasional clinking of cups created the kind of atmosphere she loved—calm, steady, familiar.

And then, a shadow fell over her table.

“Y/N.”

She looked up.

And there he was.

Harry Styles, standing beside her table, a cup of coffee in one hand and a curious tilt to his head. He wasn’t wearing his glasses today, but she still recognized the quiet amusement in his eyes.

“Hi,” she said, feeling her heart pick up speed.

His lips twitched. “Mind if I sit?”

She hesitated for only a second before shaking her head. “Go ahead.”

Harry slid into the seat across from her, setting his coffee down. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Alright, I might have hoped I would.”

Her stomach did an embarrassing little flip.

“What are you reading?” he asked, nodding toward the book in her hands.

She glanced down, suddenly self-conscious. “Uh, Wuthering Heights.”

His brows lifted, impressed. “Intense choice.”

She shrugged. “It’s for class, but I like it.”

Harry studied her for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, stretching out comfortably. “So, tell me—are you one of those people who think Heathcliff is romantic, or do you see him for the walking red flag that he is?”

Y/N blinked in surprise. “You’ve read it?”

He smirked. “I have.”

She bit her lip, eyeing him. “And?”

Harry sighed dramatically. “Look, I get the passion, the whole ‘soulmate across time and space’ thing, but let’s be honest—if Heathcliff were around today, he’d be sending late-night ‘u up?’ texts and brooding over his ex’s Instagram posts.”

Y/N let out a surprised laugh. “That is… disturbingly accurate.”

Harry grinned. “And you? Are you a Heathcliff apologist?”

She shook her head. “I think he and Cathy deserved each other—because no one else should have to deal with that level of drama.”

Harry chuckled. “Harsh, but fair.”

There was something about the way he looked at her—curious, amused, like he was genuinely interested in what she had to say. It made her stomach twist in a way she wasn’t used to.

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Then—

“So,” Harry said, breaking the moment, “you never told me your verdict.”

Y/N frowned. “My verdict?”

“The best romcom of all time.”

She smiled, relieved by the lighter topic. “That’s impossible to answer.”

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Alright. Then let’s make it simpler. What’s your go-to comfort movie?”

She thought for a second. “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.”

His eyes lit up. “Classic.”

She nodded. “It’s just fun, you know? The whole fake dating thing, the ridiculousness of it all. And Kate Hudson? Iconic.”

Harry smirked. “And the ‘You let it die!’ scene? A cinematic masterpiece.”

Y/N laughed. “Exactly.”

Harry studied her for a moment, then said, “I like that.”

Y/N suddenly felt warm under his gaze. She looked down, tracing the rim of her cup. “What about you?”

Harry pretended to think. “Mmm… Notting Hill.”

She grinned. “Oh, come on. You just like it because of the ‘I’m just a girl’ scene.”

He laughed. “Maybe. Or maybe I like the idea that two people from completely different worlds can still find their way to each other.”

Something about the way he said it made her stomach flutter.

The conversation drifted after that—talk of books, movies, little things that made them both feel at home. The more they spoke, the more Y/N felt that strange, unexpected ease settle between them.

And when she finally glanced at the time, she realized an hour had passed without her even noticing.

“I should probably get to class,” she murmured, closing her book.

Harry nodded, but didn’t look particularly eager to leave.

As she stood, sliding her bag over her shoulder, he tapped his fingers against the table. “So…”

She looked at him expectantly.

He smirked. “Movie night?”

Her heart skipped. “Are you asking me out, Harry Styles?”

His expression was all mischief. “Maybe.”

She bit her lip, pretending to consider. Then, feeling unusually bold, she said, “Okay.”

Harry’s smirk turned into something softer.

“Good,” he said.

And as she walked away, she could feel his eyes on her the whole time.

———

The library was quieter than usual.

Y/N liked it that way. She liked the solitude, the way the world seemed to shrink down to just her and the words on the page. It was calming—predictable.

What she didn’t expect, however, was a voice breaking through the silence.

“Didn’t peg you as the type to hide away in a library for fun.”

She looked up, already knowing who she would see.

Harry stood in front of her table, a familiar smirk on his lips, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He had a notebook tucked under his arm and a coffee in hand, looking completely at ease despite the way his presence sent her heart racing.

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “And yet, here you are.”

Harry hummed, sliding into the chair across from her. “Touché.”

She watched as he set his coffee down and flipped open his notebook, as if he belonged there—like this was routine.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Are you actually here to study, or are you just bothering me for fun?”

Harry grinned. “Can it be both?”

She huffed, biting back a smile as she returned her gaze to her book. But she could still feel his eyes on her.

A beat passed before he spoke again. “Wuthering Heights, huh? Still brooding over Heathcliff?”

Y/N sighed, looking up. “You do realize I read more than one book, right?”

Harry’s smirk widened. “Do you, now?”

She rolled her eyes and turned the book so he could see the title.

His gaze flickered over the cover before he raised an eyebrow. “White Nights?”

Y/N tilted her head. “Surprised?”

Harry leaned back in his chair, studying her. “A little. Didn’t take you for a Dostoevsky kind of girl.”

“And what kind of girl did you take me for?” she challenged.

He smirked. “Jane Austen, maybe. Brontë sisters, definitely. But Russian literature? That’s a surprise.”

She shrugged. “I like stories about lonely people.”

Something flickered in his expression, but it was gone too fast for her to catch.

“Lonely people,” he repeated. “And here I thought you just liked tragic love stories.”

Y/N hesitated, then said softly, “Aren’t they the same thing?”

Harry studied her for a moment, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, in a voice quieter than before, he said, “I guess they are.”

Silence settled between them again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like something had shifted—like she had let him see a part of her she didn’t show to just anyone.

Then, after a moment, Harry’s lips twitched up into a smile. “So, is White Nights a re-read, or am I catching you in the middle of a first-time experience?”

She exhaled, grateful for the change in tone. “Re-read.”

His grin widened. “Interesting. That means you must really like it.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Are you about to judge my taste in books?”

Harry smirked. “Not at all. I was actually going to say… maybe I should let you convince me to read it.”

Y/N studied him. “You’ve never read it?”

“Not yet,” he admitted.

A small smile played on her lips. “Maybe you should.”

Harry’s eyes sparkled. “Maybe I will.”

———

That night, her phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number.

Unknown [9:07 PM]: So, lonely people, huh? Convince me why I should read White Nights.

Y/N frowned, staring at the screen. Who the hell—?

Y/N [9:08 PM]: Who is this?

A pause. Then—

Unknown [9:08 PM]: Wow. That hurts.

Her heart skipped.

She squinted at the message, then at the number, but it wasn’t saved in her contacts.

Y/N [9:09 PM]: Seriously. Who is this??

A few seconds passed before a reply popped up.

Unknown [9:09 PM]: It’s Harry.

She blinked.

Then—

Y/N [9:10 PM]: …How did you get my number?

Harry [9:11 PM]: Your lovely roommate gave it to me.

Y/N groaned out loud. “Charlotte!”

Across the room, Charlotte barely glanced up from her laptop. “Hmm?”

Y/N waved her phone in the air. “Did you seriously give Harry my number?”

Charlotte smirked. “Oh. So he finally texted you?”

“Charlotte.”

“What?” she said innocently. “He asked, and I figured it would take you forever to do it yourself.”

Y/N let out a long, dramatic sigh, turning her attention back to the screen.

Y/N [9:12 PM]: I hate you.

Harry [9:12 PM]: No, you don’t.

She rolled her eyes.

Y/N [9:13 PM]: Maybe you should read it and see for yourself.

Harry [9:14 PM]: Bold of you to assume I have time for Russian literature.

Y/N [9:15 PM]: Bold of you to assume I’d let you borrow my copy.

Harry [9:16 PM]: So possessive. I like it.

Y/N [9:17 PM]: You’re impossible.

Harry [9:17 PM]: And yet, here you are, still texting me.

She bit her lip, trying not to smile.

Harry [9:18 PM]: You still good for our not-date movie night?

Y/N’s stomach flipped.

Y/N [9:19 PM]: You mean the highly academic film screening of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?

Harry [9:20 PM]: Exactly. For research purposes.

She hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen.

Y/N [9:21 PM]: Yeah. I’m still in.

His reply came almost instantly.

Harry [9:21 PM]: Good.

She stared at the word for a long time, ignoring the way her face felt impossibly warm.

———

“You’ve checked your phone three times in the last minute.”

Y/N shot Charlotte a glare from across the room. “I have not.”

Charlotte smirked, finishing the last touches of her makeup. “You so have.”

Y/N huffed, locking her phone and tossing it onto the bed like that would somehow make her friend drop the topic. “I’m just checking the time.”

“Mm-hmm.” Charlotte turned, arms crossed. “Because, of course, it has nothing to do with the fact that Harry is coming over.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her face felt warm. “It’s just a movie night.”

Charlotte grinned. “And yet, you’ve changed your sweater twice.”

Y/N groaned, flopping back onto her pillows. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Charlotte grabbed her bag, checking her reflection in the mirror. “I think it’s cute that you’re all flustered over him.”

“I’m not flustered.”

Charlotte raised a brow. “You are so flustered.”

Y/N groaned again, covering her face with a pillow.

A knock at the door made her sit up way too fast.

Charlotte smirked knowingly. “That’s my cue.”

Y/N watched as Charlotte opened the door, revealing Harry—standing there in his usual effortless way, glasses on, a bag of snacks in one hand.

“Oh, hey, Harry,” Charlotte greeted with a grin, throwing Y/N one last look. “I was just leaving.”

Harry glanced between them, looking mildly amused. “Leaving?”

“Yep.” Charlotte winked at Y/N. “Have fun.”

And before Y/N could even form a reply, she was gone.

Harry stepped inside, brow raised. “Did I just interrupt something?”

Y/N exhaled, shaking her head. “No. She’s just being Charlotte.”

Harry chuckled, setting the snacks down. “That explains a lot.”

Settling onto the couch, Y/N pressed play on 27 Dresses, tucking her legs under her.

Harry sat beside her, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. The space between them was small—too small—and she tried not to focus on the way his knee almost brushed hers.

“Have you seen this before?” he asked.

She scoffed. “Please. At least twenty times.”

Harry smiled. “Figures.”

For the first half hour, they made occasional comments about the movie—Harry teasing her about knowing all the lines, Y/N defending why it was a romcom classic.

But eventually, the room grew quieter. The soft glow of the screen cast shadows across Harry’s face, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the way his glasses slid down his nose.

And Y/N—despite her best efforts to stay focused on the film—felt her eyelids growing heavy.

She shifted slightly, trying to stay awake, but the warmth of the room, the steady sound of the dialogue, and the presence of Harry right beside her made it impossible.

At some point, she leaned just a little too far to the side—

And before she could stop herself, her head landed gently on his shoulder.

For a second, she almost panicked.

But Harry didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

If anything, he relaxed.

She felt him shift slightly, adjusting so that she fit more comfortably against him.

And just like that, sleep took over.

———

The next morning, the first thing Y/N registered was warmth.

A slow, steady warmth surrounding her, lulling her in a sleepy haze.

Then, she felt movement.

Her eyes fluttered open, and it took her a moment to realize:

She was curled into Harry’s side, his arm draped loosely around her shoulders.

The snack bag was on the floor. The TV screen had long since gone black. The early morning light was filtering through the blinds, casting soft shadows across the room.

And Harry—

Was still asleep.

His head rested against the back of the couch, lips slightly parted, curls falling across his forehead. His glasses were slightly askew, one arm still tucked around her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Y/N barely breathed.

She should move. Should sit up, stretch, do anything to break the moment before he woke up.

But before she could, she felt him shift.

A slow inhale. A stretch.

And then, with a small frown, Harry’s eyes blinked open.

For a second, he looked confused. Disoriented.

Then, his gaze landed on her.

They both froze.

Silence.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.

And then—

Harry’s lips twitched, still laced with sleep. “Morning.”

Y/N swallowed. “Morning.”

Another pause.

Then, realization dawned in Harry’s sleepy eyes. He glanced down at their position—her body still tucked into his side, his arm still loosely wrapped around her.

And yet—he didn’t move away.

Instead, his mouth curved into something softer.

“Didn’t mean to steal your couch,” he murmured.

Y/N huffed out a quiet laugh. “Didn’t mean to steal your shoulder.”

Harry smiled.

And for a moment, they just… sat there.

Close. Warm. Unmoving.

Y/N was still sitting on the couch, trying to process the fact that she’d just spent the night curled up against Harry Styles, when she heard him stretch beside her.

She glanced over. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, one hand running through his curls, the other adjusting his glasses.

And he looked… way too good for someone who had just woken up.

Before she could stop herself, she spoke.

“Do you—” She cleared her throat, trying to sound casual. “Do you want some coffee?”

Harry turned to her, blinking.

Then, the corner of his mouth lifted.

“Are you offering me coffee, Y/N?”

She rolled her eyes, standing up. “I regret it already.”

Harry chuckled, pushing himself up from the couch. “Too late.”

———

They ended up in the small dorm kitchen, Y/N fumbling with the coffee machine while Harry leaned against the counter, watching her with amusement.

“I didn’t peg you as the type to function without caffeine,” he said.

She scoffed. “Who says I function at all?”

Harry smirked. “Fair point.”

Once the coffee was ready, she handed him a mug, grabbing one for herself before hopping up onto the counter.

Harry took a slow sip, humming in approval. “Not bad.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Not bad?”

“Yeah.” He nudged her knee playfully. “Could be better.”

She gasped in mock offense. “You are such a snob.”

Harry grinned. “I have high standards.”

She shook her head, but she was smiling.

They fell into comfortable conversation, talking about everything from classes to 27 Dresses to how Harry apparently had a very strong opinion about the correct way to make tea.

And Y/N—despite the fact that she had woken up to a situation that should have been extremely awkward—found herself relaxing.

That was, of course, until Charlotte walked in.

She stopped in the doorway, taking in the sight before her—Harry standing in the kitchen, hair still tousled from sleep, drinking coffee from their mugs.

Y/N sitting on the counter, wearing the same clothes from last night.

Charlotte’s eyes widened.

Then, a slow smirk spread across her face.

“Oh,” she said, drawing out the word. “Good morning.”

Y/N groaned. “Charlotte—”

Charlotte ignored her, turning to Harry with an exaggerated expression of surprise. “Wow, Harry. You’re still here?”

Harry, to Y/N’s horror, grinned.

“Apparently, I make decent company, and your couch is not too bad” he said, sipping his coffee.

Charlotte gasped dramatically. “Did Y/N let you sleep on the couch? That is so rude.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Charlotte.”

Charlotte pressed a hand to her heart. “I mean, I was gone all night, you totally could’ve used my bed—”

Y/N almost choked on her coffee. “Oh my God, stop.”

Charlotte just smirked, eyes dancing between them. “I’m just saying…”

Y/N glared. “You’re the worst.”

Harry chuckled, setting down his mug. “I should probably get going before Mason starts wondering where I am.”

He turned to Y/N then, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he murmured.

She swallowed. “Yeah. Anytime.”

Charlotte wiggled her eyebrows.

Y/N shot her a warning look.

Harry—completely amused—grabbed his bag and made his way to the door.

“See you later, Y/N.”

And with that, he was gone.

Y/N barely had time to let out a breath before Charlotte pounced.

“So.”

Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Don’t.”

Charlotte ignored her, flopping onto the couch with a wicked grin. “You slept together.”

“Oh my God—”

“Not like that,” Charlotte amended. “But still. You slept together.”

Y/N groaned. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Charlotte scoffed. “Oh, honey. It so was.”

———

Y/N had spent the entire morning convincing herself that nothing had changed.

That waking up next to Harry hadn’t felt different.

That the way he had smiled at her over coffee hadn’t made her stomach flip.

That she wasn’t replaying every second of their time together like some lovesick idiot.

But she was failing—miserably.

And Charlotte wasn’t helping.

“So,” her roommate drawled, flipping through a magazine on her bed, “are we just gonna pretend that last night never happened?”

Y/N, sitting at her desk, sighed. “Nothing happened.”

Charlotte scoffed. “You cuddled on the couch, made him coffee in the morning, and practically gazed at each other the whole time. That’s something.”

Y/N turned to glare at her. “I wasn’t gazing.”

Charlotte smirked. “Oh, honey. You were gazing.”

Y/N groaned, dropping her head onto her desk.

Charlotte laughed, tossing the magazine aside. “Look, all I’m saying is—he’s different, isn’t he?”

Y/N frowned. “What do you mean?”

Charlotte shrugged. “I mean, I’ve never seen you act like this over a guy. You usually keep your distance, but with Harry… I don’t know. You let him in.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest—but nothing came out.

Because, as much as she hated to admit it, Charlotte wasn’t wrong.

Harry was different.

And that was what scared her the most.

———

That afternoon, she tried to focus on studying.

Tried being the keyword.

She was in the library, sitting at her usual spot by the window, but the words on the page blurred together.

Her phone buzzed.

She glanced at it, already knowing who it was.

Harry [3:27 PM]: You’re not skipping the library today, are you?

Y/N [3:28 PM]: I’m literally here right now.

Harry [3:29 PM]: Good. Would’ve had to question your commitment to academia otherwise.

She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips.

A minute later, she heard a chair scrape against the floor.

She looked up.

Harry slid into the seat across from her, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Hi,” he said, smiling.

Y/N tried to ignore the way her heartbeat definitely sped up. “Hi.”

He set down his bag and pulled out a book. “What are we studying today?”

Y/N sighed. “I’m trying to get through this reading, but it’s not working.”

Harry leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Do you want me to quiz you?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You just got here.”

He smirked. “And?”

She shook her head, amused. “Fine.”

And so, they studied. Or at least, they tried.

Every time Harry read a passage aloud, he did it with exaggerated dramatics, making Y/N laugh.

Whenever she got an answer right, he’d tap his fingers against the table like a drumroll.

At some point, he reached for her book, fingers grazing hers—and neither of them pulled away.

The touch was brief, but her skin tingled where it had been.

Harry didn’t say anything, but his gaze flickered to hers, something unspoken lingering between them.

For the first time, Y/N felt like she was on the edge of something.

And she didn’t know whether to step forward—or run.

———

An hour later, Y/N packed up her things.

“I should go,” she murmured.

Harry nodded, but there was something unreadable in his eyes. “Alright.”

She hesitated before speaking. “Thanks for—y’know. Keeping me sane.”

Harry’s lips quirked. “Anytime.”

As she turned to leave, he called after her

“Oh, Y/N?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

Harry reached into his bag, pulling out a book.

She frowned as he held it out to her.

“The Symposium?” she read aloud, eyebrows raised.

Harry smirked. “Figured you might like it.”

She stared at him. “Harry, this is your copy.”

He shrugged. “So?”

“So, I know you annotate all your books.” She flipped through the pages, confirming her suspicions—his familiar, neat handwriting filled the margins. “I can’t take this.”

“You can,” he said simply. “And you will.”

She glanced up at him, confused. “But… why?”

Harry held her gaze for a moment, then leaned in slightly.

“Because I think you’ll understand it,” he murmured.

Y/N’s breath caught.

Because there was weight behind his words—something deeper than just a casual book recommendation.

She swallowed, gripping the book a little tighter.

“…Thank you,” she said softly.

Harry smiled. “See you later, Y/N.”

And as she walked away, The Symposium pressed against her chest, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

That, maybe, she had just crossed a line she could never go back from.

———

The night wrapped around them like a quiet secret. The streets were nearly empty, the world softened by the golden glow of streetlamps.

Y/N and Harry walked side by side, their steps unhurried, as if neither of them wanted the night to end just yet.

She wasn’t sure how they ended up here—how a simple goodnight after studying turned into do you want to take a walk? But she didn’t regret saying yes.

It had been a week since that night at her apartment, since they’d woken up together on the couch, and things between them had shifted. Not in an obvious way—there were no declarations, no grand confessions—but something had changed.

Harry had always looked at her like he was intrigued. But now?

Now, he looked at her like he knew. Like he was just waiting for her to admit it, too.

“You’re quiet,” Harry murmured beside her.

She glanced at him. “So are you.”

He smiled, a little crooked. “Guess I don’t always have something to say.”

“Impossible.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Harsh.”

They walked a little further before she spoke again, a quiet admission in the stillness of the night.

“I read your notes.”

Harry turned his head slightly. “My notes?”

���In The Symposium.”

Realization flickered in his expression. “Right.”

She hesitated. “There was one part that stuck with me.”

His gaze softened. “Which one?”

Y/N swallowed.

“The part where you wrote that love is about recognizing something familiar in someone else.”

Harry didn’t speak right away.

Then, quietly, he said, “That’s my favorite part.”

Y/N stopped walking.

So did he.

The silence between them stretched, heavy with something.

She could feel her pulse thrumming in her wrists, in her throat, in the space between them that was growing smaller by the second.

Harry took a step closer. Slowly. Like he was giving her time to stop him.

She didn’t.

His gaze flickered to her lips, just for a second, before meeting her eyes again.

His voice was softer when he spoke next. “You realize I like you, don’t you?”

Y/N felt something tighten in her chest.

Because, of course, she did.

But hearing it—feeling it—was different.

She exhaled, barely a whisper. “I think I do now.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Good.”

He didn’t move right away.

He just looked at her, taking her in, like he was memorizing the moment.

Then, so softly it was almost imperceptible, his fingers brushed against hers.

Y/N inhaled sharply.

And that was all it took.

Before she could second-guess it, before she could talk herself out of it, she closed the space between them.

She barely had time to process the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breath, before his hand came up, fingers grazing her jaw as he leaned in—slow, careful, waiting.

And then—

Then, he kissed her.

It was soft at first. Just a whisper of a touch, a silent question against her lips.

But the moment she kissed him back, the moment her fingers curled into the fabric of his sweater, it changed.

It deepened.

Harry let out a quiet sound—like he had been waiting for this longer than he cared to admit—and then his hands were on her waist, pulling her closer, closer, like the space between them was unbearable.

Her heart was racing.

She could feel the warmth of his palms, the faint scrape of his stubble against her skin, the way he kissed her like he was learning her—like he wanted to know exactly how she fit against him.

And she let him.

By the time they pulled apart, her head was spinning, her breath uneven.

Harry’s forehead rested against hers, and he let out a quiet laugh.

“What?” she asked, still breathless.

He shook his head, smiling. “Nothing. Just… glad I finally did that.”

She bit her lip, trying—and failing—not to smile.

“Me too.”

Harry’s thumb brushed against her waist absentmindedly.

“Can I walk you home?” he asked.

Y/N nodded.

But neither of them moved.

Not right away.

And when they finally started walking again, Harry’s fingers found hers, intertwining them effortlessly—like they had been waiting to do that, too.

———

It had only been a couple of weeks since that night—their first kiss under the dim glow of the streetlights—but things between them had changed so much.

Not in an overwhelming way. Not in a way that made Y/N feel rushed or pressured.

But in a way that made her soften.

In a way that made it impossible to ignore how utterly smitten Harry was.

It was in the way he always found a reason to touch her, even in the smallest ways—fingertips brushing against hers when they walked, absentmindedly tucking her hair behind her ear when she was focused on something, resting his chin on her shoulder just because he could.

It was in the way he remembered things, like how she liked her coffee and how she hated the sound of loud chewing. In the way he always waited for her outside class even when they had different schedules. In the way he looked at her, like he was always choosing to.

Like he couldn’t believe she was real.

Today was no different.

Y/N sat curled up on the library couch, actually trying to get some work done, while Harry sat beside her, flipping through a book he had absolutely no interest in.

At least, that’s what she assumed—because instead of reading, he was staring at her.

She sighed, setting her pen down. “Harry.”

“Hm?” He looked unbothered, too comfortable as he rested his head against the back of the couch.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

She shot him a pointed look.

He smirked, unfazed. “Looking at my girlfriend?”

Her stomach flipped.

Even after two weeks, the word still did something to her.

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were warm, and Harry knew it.

With a quiet chuckle, he reached for her hand and intertwined their fingers, absentmindedly running his thumb across the back of her palm.

“Should I be studying?” he murmured, lips twitching.

She nodded. “Yes.”

Harry pretended to consider it. Then, with zero hesitation, he squeezed her hand and dragged it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles.

“Too bad,” he murmured against her skin.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

This boy.

She was so doomed.

———

Y/N had tried to keep things subtle.

Not because she wanted to hide it, but because Charlotte was the biggest menace when it came to teasing her, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that just yet.

Too bad Charlotte noticed everything.

Like the way Y/N smiled at her phone when she thought no one was looking. The way she suspiciously left the dorm at night with an “I’ll be back later.” The way she got flustered when Harry’s name came up in conversation.

She had her suspicions, but she didn’t have proof.

Until now.

Because today, as Charlotte was walking toward the dorm, she saw them.

Saw Harry pressing a lingering kiss to Y/N’s forehead. Saw the way she leaned into him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And that was all she needed.

“I KNEW IT!”

Y/N jumped, turning to find Charlotte standing a few feet away with the biggest, most victorious grin on her face.

“Oh my God,” Y/N muttered.

Harry—who clearly wasn’t fazed at all—simply raised an eyebrow. “Did you, though?”

Charlotte turned to him, still grinning. “YES. I just didn’t have evidence.” She turned back to Y/N, wiggling her eyebrows. “But now I do.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Charlotte sing-songed.

Harry chuckled, amused, before leaning down and whispering into Y/N’s ear, “I’ll leave you to it, sweetheart.”

She sighed dramatically. “Coward.”

He smirked, kissed the side of her head one last time, and walked away, leaving her to deal with Charlotte’s relentless interrogation.

Y/N was so in trouble.

———

After an hour of being mercilessly teased, Y/N flopped onto her bed, groaning in frustration.

Charlotte smirked from across the room. “Oh, come on, you love me.”

“Debatable,” Y/N muttered, reaching for her phone.

She scrolled through her messages before typing.

Y/N [10:08 PM]: I officially hate you.

Harry [10:09 PM]: That’s unfortunate.

Y/N [10:09 PM]: Charlotte won’t stop teasing me. This is your fault.

Harry [10:10 PM]: Guess I’ll just have to make it up to you, won’t I?

Y/N froze, rereading the message at least three times.

Before she could even think of a response, there was a quiet knock on the door.

Charlotte and Y/N shared a look.

Y/N opened it—and there he was.

Harry stood there, a lazy smirk on his lips, holding a small pastry in a white paper bag.

“Hey,” he murmured.

Y/N blinked.

Charlotte—who was watching the whole thing unfold—snorted. “Oh, my God. You are so whipped.”

Harry didn’t even deny it.

He just shrugged, handed Y/N the bag, and kissed her temple like it was the most normal thing in the world.

When she looked inside, she found her favorite pastry, the one from the café across campus.

She looked back up at him, eyes soft. “You went all the way to—“

Harry simply shrugged. “Felt like it”

Y/N pressed her lips together, trying not to melt right then and there.

Charlotte, however, had no such restraint. “You two are disgusting”, she muttered, rolling her eyes before dramatically throwing a pillow over her head.

Harry chuckled, then leaned down and whispered against Y/N’s skin, “Worth it.”

And just like that, Y/N knew—

She was so, so screwed.

[urmum-lovesme]

The Gas Station

pairing: Rafe Cameron x Pregnant!Reader

summary: Y/n is in her final trimester of her pregnancy and Rafe is eager to make sure the birth of his first baby goes smoothly, but thanks to Y/n's stubbornness they find themselves stuck in a pretty sticky situation with the last two people they expected.

a/n: So I watched "We Live In Time" yesterday and I loved the movie so much that I wanted to rewrite the childbirth scene from it cause it was my favourite! Rafe is so 'grumpy to everyone else but soft for her' core in this. Ps: I’ve never given birth so this might not be too accurate, don’t kill me

warnings: Spoilers for the 'we live in time' childbirth scene, mentions of contractions, labour, childbirth (pretty visual ig?), mentions of a zoot but no smoking, mentions of alcohol but no drinking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The living room of the Chateau was warm and filled with the low hum of conversation. Sarah was sprawled on the floor, while Kiara leaned back against the couch, discussing the possibilities of the new Cameron baby being a boy or girl. Pope sat at the kitchen table, half-focused on whatever book he had cracked open, pen scribbling against the paper trying to figure out the probability the mathematical way, and Cleo lounged near the window, lazily watching the wind shift the trees outside as they all spoke to one another

Y/n was sitting on the couch opposite Sarah and Kiara, half-listening, half-focused on the cookie in her hand as her other one rubbed over her large, rounded belly. Sarah grinned as she caught Y/n eyeing the cookie. 

“What, are my cookies that good?”

Y/n opened her mouth to answer but suddenly sucked in a sharp breath. Her hand instinctively flew to her lower stomach, the cookie forgotten on the side of the couch.

Rafe, who had been leaning against the doorway, taking the time to admire the girl in her last couple of days of pregnancy, immediately straightened. His relaxed expression vanished. She had been persistent that she wanted to come and visit Sarah and the Pogue’s at the chateau, and as much as he protested, knowing the due date of their baby was any day now, she managed to sway him with those pleading eyes of hers and small pout, which he couldn’t seem to say no to.

“What’s wrong?” 

His voice softened, but there was a thread of tension running through it as he crossed the room in two quick steps. Y/n didn’t answer right away. She squeezed her eyes shut, shifting to the edge of the sofa and placing both hands on her belly. She took in a slow, shaky breath.

“I… think I’m having contractions.”

The room fell into a sudden, heavy silence as they all looked at eachother. 

Sarah blinked. “Wait, what? Like, actual contractions?”

Cleo sat up straighter, eyeing her. “No way sweet thing, maybe you just ate too many of them damn cookies huh?”

“Okay, that’s it. We’re leaving. Right now.” 

Rafe’s face paled and he was already patting his pockets for the car keys, panic creeping into his voice as he grabbed the girl’s shoes from next to the door. Pope closed his book slowly, brows furrowed. 

“Hold on, how far apart are they? That matters, right?”

Kiara leaned forward, calm but attentive. “Yeah, how bad was that one? Like, on a scale of one to ‘get in the car’?”

Y/n exhaled slowly, leaning her head back. “It wasn’t that bad. Just… caught me off guard. I’m fine.”

“Fine? You just said you’re having contractions!”

Sarah gawked her eyes wide with disbelief. She had been buzzing with excitement ever since she found out she was going to be an aunt. The girl had been planning baby showers and picking out names for months, practically bouncing off the walls with anticipation that her brother was going to be a father, and that he’d changed so much since the couple had found out about their little angel. And now, that Y/n was in labour, and she couldn’t help but feel a mixture of concern and sheer excitement.

“She said ‘think,’” Cleo corrected, smirking. “Key word, Sarah. Could just be gas, ya know?”

Y/n let out a weak laugh. “Thanks for that, Cleo.”

Rafe didn’t laugh. He crouched in front of her, eyes scanning her face for any sign of distress, “Y/n, we should go. The hospital’s all the way in Figure 8, and we’re in the Cut, that’s not a quick drive.”

Y/n shook her head, breathing steadily, she’d noticed how he’d been on edge for the past few weeks, his nerves fraying with every little thing. Rafe cared about her more than he ever thought possible- she was everything to him. The thought of losing her or their baby terrified him to his core, he couldn’t bear the thought of not being there for her, of not protecting the two most important people in his life.

 “Rafey, that was the first contraction, my waters not even broken yet. We have time.”

“No, we don’t,” he snapped, then caught himself and softened his tone, letting out a sigh, “I just… I don’t want to risk it, okay?”

Kiara, who was watching the exchange with an amused expression surprised to see the once frat boy asshole so attentive, leaned over to Sarah. 

“Is he always this dramatic?”

“Oh yeah, it's become a talent.”

Pope stood up, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Look, if they’re still spaced out, you probably have hours. First babies take their time. But we should keep track.” As he looked around the kitchen drawers for something, cutlery clanged in them as he opened and shut the wooden furniture, finally fishing out an old plastic stopwatch.

Rafe shot him a glare, “Yeah, well, I’m not exactly betting on that.”

Y/n reached for Rafe’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Lets just sit here for a bit more please. If they get worse, we’ll go.”

Rafe stared at her for a long moment, then let out a frustrated breath. “Fine. But if anything changes, we’re out of here. No arguments.”

“No arguments.”

She responded as she smiled in agreement, leaning forward slightly to give the boy a quick peck on the lips. Reluctantly, Rafe sat beside her, shuffling so she rested against his side, his hand protectively resting on her belly, a place it had gotten used to resting on in the past few months. Sarah cleared her throat. 

“So… does this mean more cookies, or…?”

Y/n laughed out nodding her head with wide eyes and Cleo snorted at the girl's reaction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room had grown quieter, but the tension clung to the air as Rafe stood by the window, pacing with his phone pressed to his ear. His free hand raked over his short hair as he listened to the calm, too-casual voice on the other end of the line.

“What do you mean we shouldn’t come in yet?” Rafe snapped, disbelief lacing his voice.

“She’s in labour!”

The nurse on the other end responded evenly, used to anxious fathers. “Sir, unless her contractions are between three to five minutes apart, there’s no point in coming now. First-time labours can take hours, sometimes longer. You’ll be more comfortable at home.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Do you know who I am?” his tone dropped, sharp and cold, “My family practically owns half this island, and you’re telling me to just sit around and wait?”

From the couch, Sarah groaned audibly and rolled her eyes.

“Oh my God.” 

She pushed off the armrest and stormed over, snatching the phone from Rafe’s hand before he could say another word and pressed it to her ear,

“Hi, sorry about him,” Sarah said sweetly into the phone, giving Rafe a sharp glare. “We’ll keep an eye on things and call if anything changes. Thanks for your help.”

She hung up and tossed the phone onto the table.

“Are you serious right now?” she snapped. “Pulling the Cameron card on a nurse? What was that supposed to do- magically speed up labor?”

Rafe’s eyes flashed angrily as he looked down to his younger sister, his finger jabbing into his chest as he spoke, “I’m trying to make sure she’s safe, Sarah! We’re stuck in this shithole cause you've,” his raised his finger pointing it to his temple, “put some voodoo spell on her so she doesn't want to leave and no one seems to care!”

Cleo looked over from where she was sitting, flipping her pocket knife, her eyebrows raised, clearly impressed by his sudden bizarre speculation. Sarah crossed her arms. 

“Yelling at the hospital won’t fix that. You need to calm down before you stress her out even more.”

Rafe opened his mouth to argue, but the sound of the back door creaking open cut him off. Kiara stepped in, shaking off the light drizzle from outside, a bright blue yoga ball awkwardly tucked under her arm.

“Found it!” she grinned, holding it out like a trophy.

Y/n’s face lit up despite the discomfort. “Oh, thank God.”

Kiara rolled it over to her, and Y/n carefully shifted forward, accepting it gratefully.

“I heard these help,” Kiara said with a small smile.

Y/n slowly eased herself onto the ball, her hands holding onto Kiara’s outstretched ones in support before she sat down on the plastic sphere starting to gently bounce. A relieved sigh slipped from her lips.

“Oh wow… yeah, this is way better.”

Sarah smirked. “Look, see? This is called helping, Rafe.”

Cleo, still lounging by the window, spoke up. “Yeah man, maybe if you threaten the ball next it’ll really speed things up.”

Pope cracked a small smile from his spot at the table at the girl’s words. Rafe, still tense, exhaled sharply and dropped into a chair by the kitchen table, rubbing his hands over his face. His eyes drifted to Y/n, watching her breathe easier with each bounce. As he watched her, he realised he seemed to be more stressed than she was, but was he in the wrong for that? He only wanted to make sure the mother of his child could have the most comfort possible. Without a word, he pushed up from his chair and slowly crossed the room. He crouched down in front of her, eyes locked on her face, his hands resting lightly on her knees.

“Baby… are you sure you want to stay here?” 

His voice was softer now, the edge gone, replaced by something fragile. Y/n blinked down at him, her breathing steady. She lifted one hand from her belly and gently cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing along his skin which was still smooth from when he shaved before they left their home.

“Rafey, please relax, yeah?” she murmured, her other hand drifting to rest protectively over her bump. “We’re okay.”

The weight in his chest loosened just a little at the sound of her voice, but it didn’t disappear.

Rafe leaned in just a bit closer. “Okay, but when you start feeling off you tell me, yeah?”

Y/n gave him a playful eye roll, but her smile was soft. She leaned forward, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips once more, she knew he was on edge, but she just wanted peace for the last few hours it was going to be just the two of them.

“Yes, I promise.”

Rafe’s shoulders finally dropped as he let out a quiet breath, grounding himself in her touch. Behind them, Kiara exchanged a look with Sarah and smirked. 

“Well, that’s gross.”

Sarah laughed under her breath at her best friend's comments, shaking her head, but there was a warmth in her smile as she watched them. As much as she teased, she couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of happiness for her brother. It was clear that Y/n had done something to him- something that had changed him for the better, something that made him softer, more present. Sarah could see it in the way he looked at her, how much he cared. It warmed her heart to know her brother had found someone who truly made him happy.

Rafe didn’t hear the girls giggling as his focus was completely on Y/n, “Alright,” he whispered, brushing his thumb along her knee before standing. 

“Just… don’t scare me like that again.”

Y/n smiled, leaning back and resuming her gentle bounce on the yoga ball hands circling her bump again.

“No promises.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours had passed the sky outside the windows now dark, the streetlamps having switched on which caused an orange glow around the island, but time seemed to stretch as the intensity of Y/n’s contractions grew. The living room was dim, the rain outside tapping softly on the windows, the air thick with anticipation.

Y/n was on her knees, her body leaning against the couch for support. Her face clearly reflected her discomfort, lips pressed together in effort as she rocked back and forth slowly, trying to breathe through the latest wave of pain. Rafe kneeled beside her, one hand gently rubbing her back, the other resting on her arm. His voice was low, soothing, a steady presence as he spoke to her.

“Is it passing?”

Y/n groaned softly, her breath hitching before she let out a quiet whine, barely audible. 

“Yeah… it’s passing.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, but he kept his hand on her back, massaging in slow circles, his eyes never leaving her face. He looked up to Pope, who was standing near the window, timing her contractions with the stopwatch hanging loosely around his neck.

Pope glanced at the timer, then back at Rafe. “Okay, that’s about ten minutes apart now, but getting closer.”

Rafe’s gaze shifted back to Y/n, his concern deepening. He rubbed her back a little harder, as if that would somehow ease her discomfort, “Sweet girl,” he murmured gently, leaning closer, his breath warm against her ear. 

“I think we should get going now, hmm? The hospital’s still a bit of a drive.”

Y/n, in a small haze of pain, didn’t answer immediately. She just rested her head against her arms on the couch, humming out in agreement. Her nod was slow, but definite.

“Mmhm… yeah, let’s go,” she whispered, her voice small and weary.

Rafe exhaled, relief flooding through him but mixing with the urgency that had been building in his chest. He helped her slowly rise, supporting her as she stood, her legs somewhat unsteady beneath her.

“Alright, that's it”

As Rafe helped Y/n slowly stand, Sarah came rushing down the stairs, her face flushed from the hurry. Cleo was right behind her, holding a bag in one hand and a frantic expression on her face.

“Rafe!” Sarah called out, her voice breathless. “We got the bag Y/n left last time.”

She handed it over to Rafe, but before he could take it, Cleo swiped it from her hands with a dramatic roll of her eyes.

“Let the man take her to the car,” Cleo said, “I got this.”

Cleo gave Rafe a reassuring pat on the shoulder before turning to Y/n. “You’re good, girl. Just focus on not giving birth in here, aight?”

Y/n let out a soft chuckle, despite the tension in the air. “I’m fine. I’m fine,” she repeated, her voice calm and steady. Rafe shot Cleo a grateful look, still holding Y/n’s arm as she stood by herself, steady on her feet.

“Thank you,” he muttered under his breath, before turning back to Y/n. “Okay, baby, let’s get you to the car. You sure you’re alright to walk?”

Y/n gave him a sideways glance, rolling her eyes a little. “I’m fine, Rafe, really.”

But before they could make it to the door, Kiara popped up, her eyes wide with a mixture of concern and determination. “Wait, wait, don’t leave without me I want to say goodbye!”

Sarah quickly followed behind, carrying a jacket for Y/n, while Pope grabbed his keys, shaking his head in amusement. The group swarmed around Y/n, helping her navigate the small space. It was a chaotic rush of arms and voices as everyone tried to keep the situation under control- except for Y/n, who was walking at a steady pace, looking far calmer than anyone else in the room. It was amusing, watching everyone fuss over her, she couldn't wait till the baby was here and they’d have all their aunts and uncles fussing at their every cry.

“I swear, I’m fine,” she said again, giving Rafe a teasing smile as she walked on her own. “I’ve got this.”

Rafe’s eyes were glued to her, his brow furrowed in concern, but a small smile tugged at his lips as he followed her toward the door.

“Alright, if you say so,” he muttered, his voice low but full of warmth.

The car was already parked outside, the engine running, the group had gathered around the car, each of them offering their well-wishes as Y/n leaned against the car door, not wanting to get in till Rafe came out. He’d gone back in to the bathroom and Sarah had scolded him for being an ‘unprofessional dad-to-be’ which he told her to ‘fuck off’. Sarah called out, giving her a thumbs-up.

“Good luck, Y/n! Let us know when Baby Cameron gets here!” 

“You got this,” Kiara added, offering a smile. “Call us if you need anything- I mean we can’t give birth but you know….”

Cleo, arms crossed and leaning against the car, smirked. “Don’t be taking forever, yeah? I wanna meet the little Poguette!”

“Poguette? We don’t know the gender yet” Pope asked as he turned to the girl eyebrows drawn down into a small confused frown

“Don’t worry- auntie Cleo’s got a feeling” She responded with a wide smile as she winked to Y/n causing her to giggle.

“I think you mean Kookette not Poguette” 

Rafe spoke up as he appeared back from the house helping the girl into her seat. Y/n, sitting in the car, gave them all a tired but genuine smile, her face a little flushed from the effort. “I’ll do my best. Don’t worry, you’ll all get your chance to meet Baby Cameron soon.”

Rafe was about to close the door when she paused.

“Wait!”

The group froze, and all eyes snapped toward her, panic flashing in their faces for a brief second.

“Is everything okay? Are you—?” Sarah started, her tone suddenly worried.

Y/n looked up at her friends, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. Biting her bottom lip gently before she spoke out, 

“Are there any of those cookies left?”

The entire group stared at her for a beat, then burst into laughter, the tension breaking in an instant. Kiara snorted. “Nope, you ate them all, girl, not a crumb left.”

Y/n’s face dropped in exaggerated disappointment. “Aw, man… they were so good.”

Rafe, who had just started to walk around the front of the car, stopped and turned back to her with a grin. “Come on, baby. You’ll get your cookies in the hospital. I promise.”

“Guess that’ll have to do.”

Y/n sighed softly, leaning back into her seat with a deep breath. Kiara leaned in the window, shaking her head but grinning. “You’re gonna eat cookies while in labor…?”

“Hey, it’s what I want.”

Rafe sighed, shaking his head at the girl, but he couldn’t hide the fond smile that crept onto his face as he finally closed the door. He muttered, half to himself, as he walked around to the driver’s side. “We’re getting you to the hospital, cookies or not.”

The group waved them off, still laughing and calling out their goodbyes, as Rafe got in the car. Y/n smiled at the familiar faces outside the window before the car pulled away, heading toward the hospital.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The drive from the Cut to Figure 8 was a blur. Rafe’s focus was entirely on the road, but his eyes kept flicking over to Y/n, every so often. She was gripping the handle on the roof of the car, her knuckles white as the pain of her contractions began to intensify. Rafe’s hand rested on her thigh, his fingers gently squeezing as he glanced at her.

“How we doing baby?” 

He asked softly, though he could already see the tightness in her jaw, the way she was trying to breathe through the pain. Y/n groaned lowly, her grip on the car handle tightening as her breath hitched. 

“Mmm, not great…” 

She muttered, her voice strained. Her back arched slightly as another wave of pain hit, and her hand shifted to rest protectively on her belly. Rafe’s heart ached for her, but he kept his voice steady, trying to keep her calm.

“Breathe, baby. Yeah? Just like we practiced in the classes.” 

His voice was gentle, encouraging, though it wasn’t lost on him how much harder it was for her now. Y/n nodded slightly, her eyes squeezing shut as she focused on her breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Her whole body rocked with the rhythm, but it didn’t stop the groans slipping out of her.

“That’s it, baby. Good—”

“Shut the fuck up, Rafe.”

Her voice was sharp despite the pain, and Rafe froze for a moment, blinking in surprise at her words but he couldn't help but accept them with a nod. She was the one in labour not him. Y/n’s hand pressed harder against her bump as she groaned, her head resting back against the seat, her body arching slightly in response to the contraction.

She wasn’t having it.

Rafe couldn’t help but smile slightly at her attitude, but it was tender as he spoke, “Okay, okay,” he muttered, his hand still gently on her thigh. “I’m sorry.”

He kept his eyes on the road driving carefully, now that he had precious cargo in his car, but they would flicker occasionally to Y/n in the passenger’s seat. Always watching, always waiting, as they pushed forward toward the hospital. The pain was coming in waves now, each one crashing over her with more intensity than the last. Y/n’s body was tense, and her breathing was shallow, but she still managed to mutter through the strain, 

“Sorry… just hurts…”

Rafe’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly as he leaned forward, his eyes focused on the road, but Y/n could see the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his knuckles went white around the wheel.

“You don’t need to apologize to me, baby,” Rafe said softly, his voice tight.

Y/n turned her head slightly, her eyes meeting his for a split second. He looked anxious, his focus split between her and the road ahead. The tightness in his posture didn’t escape her, and she could see how much he was trying to hold it together. With a small, reassuring smile, Y/n placed her hand over his, which was still resting on her thigh. The touch was gentle but firm, 

“Ready to meet Baby Cameron?” 

She mumbled, her voice soft but sincere, trying to ease some of the stress in the car. Rafe’s breath hitched at the mention of their baby, and he glanced down at their hands, a small smile crossing his face. He squeezed her hand, his thumb brushing gently across her skin.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’m so lucky that you’re the mother of my child Y/n… I love you.”

She squeezed his hand back, her eyes softening as she leaned back against the seat. Her breath was steadier now, a calmness settling in her chest as she gave him a small, exhausted smile.

“I love you, too, Rafey,” she whispered back.

—

The car crawled forward for a few agonizing seconds before the engine came to a halt once more. Rafe slammed his hand against the horn in frustration, the sharp sound echoing through the stillness of the traffic. His knuckles were white as he gripped the wheel, his jaw clenched tight.

“Fuck.” 

He muttered under his breath, his eyes darting around, trying to make sense of why the cars ahead weren’t moving. Y/n, breath coming in heavy bursts now, groaned quietly beside him, trying to steady herself as another wave of pain rolled through her. 

“Rafe…”

“I know, baby, I know,” he spoke out to her, his voice tight with frustration. “No one’s fucking moving.”

She turned her head slowly, her hand resting on her belly as she let out another shaky breath. She could feel the tension radiating off him, could see the way his shoulders were hunched in that familiar way he got when he was stressed.

“Rafe, please… just relax,” 

She said softly, though she was struggling to keep her own calm with each passing minute. It was no use because he could barely sit still anymore. Without another word, he threw the door open, slamming it behind him, and stepped out into the stagnant heat of the afternoon. Y/n’s eyes followed him through the windshield as he walked down the line of cars, frustration written in his tense shoulders. The bridge conjoining The Cut to Figure 8 stretched ahead, a long line of unmoving vehicles in both directions, but it seemed like nothing was happening. No one was getting anywhere.

Rafe walked halfway down the bridge, his eyes scanning the cars as he tried to figure out what was going on. He stopped beside a car with a window rolled down, the driver staring out at the traffic in the same defeated way everyone else was. Rafe stepped closer, his voice terse as he addressed the guy. 

“What’s going on up there?”

The guy glanced at him, his face creased with annoyance. “Accident upfront and tree fell in the back. Gonna be stuck here for a while, man.”

Rafe let out a low curse, his hand instinctively rubbing the back of his neck. “Fuck.”

He stood there for a second, staring at the endless line of cars, the weight of the situation finally hitting him. They were stuck. Stuck in the one place they couldn’t afford to be, halfway in the middle of nowhere. Taking a deep breath, Rafe turned around and started walking back toward the car. The frustration was palpable in every step, but it didn’t touch his determination. Rafe opened the door to the car, his eyes already scanning the area as he made his way back toward Y/n. But the moment his gaze landed on the seat next to him, his heart skipped a beat.

She wasn’t there.

His mind raced as he blinked, looking around the car in confusion. He slammed the door shut, his breath quickening as he jogged over to the other side of the vehicle, checking the backseat and the floor. Where the hell could she have gone? His pulse started to race- this wasn’t happening.

“Y/n?” he called out, his voice frantic.

He spun around, looking down the bridge, feeling the panic rise in his chest. She couldn’t have just disappeared, she’s literally a nine month pregnant woman, she wasn’t easy to lose. His eyes locked on a figure at the end of the bridge, and his heart dropped into his stomach. 

There she was.

Y/n was standing at the far side of the bridge, her body leaning slightly against the wall, one hand resting gently on her bump. She looked serene in a way, her posture relaxed even in the midst of the chaos, but Rafe could see the slight tremor in her shoulders, the way she was swaying lightly from side to side. The air around him seemed to still as he watched her, his thoughts spiraling, but then he broke into a jog, moving toward her with urgency.

“Y/n!” 

He called out again, his voice rough. She didn’t seem to hear him at first, or maybe she was just focused on the feeling of her own body, her eyes unfocused as she rubbed her belly in slow, soothing circles, looking down at her hand. Rafe’s steps quickened, and when he reached her side, he gently cupped her arm, his fingers warm against her skin.

“You can’t just run off like that! Are you crazy?” 

His voice was sharp, but underneath it, the worry was clear. He wanted to scold her for being out of the car, but the relief flooding him kept him from doing anything but reaching for her. Y/n raised an eyebrow, unbothered by his scolding, as she gently rubbed her belly. 

“I just wanted some air, Rafey,” she replied with a calmness that made Rafe’s frustration falter for a second.

“Jesus, woman,” he muttered, shaking his head. His shoulders dropped in exasperation as he sighed. “I—I don’t know what I’d do- what if I lost you huh?”

She smiled at his concern, “I'm nine months pregnant and in labour, I doubt I would’ve gotten very far Rafe.” A soft, reassuring smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, that helped calm some of the nerves still buzzing in his chest.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to the car,” 

He said, his voice softer now, his hand gently brushing the hair away from her face as he guided her back, but as they started walking back toward the car, Y/n’s eyes drifted behind him, catching something in the distance. Rafe looked over his shoulder. 

“What’s wrong?” 

He asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. Y/n’s gaze lingered on the gas station behind them, her fingers lightly playing with his as she spoke. 

“Really want some cookies right now…” 

She said, her voice full of that playful lilt. Rafe blinked, taking a moment to process what she was saying before he pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Are you serious right now?”

Y/n looked at him with a sweet, innocent expression. “Mmhmm.”

Rafe stared at her for a long moment, torn between disbelief and the need to smile. He glanced at the car, then at the standstill traffic behind him, a long sigh leaving his lips as the realization set in.

“Please?” 

Y/n added, her voice soft but pleading, her hand still holding his with that familiar touch which guided his palm to rest it against her baby bump which made it hard for him to say no. Rafe’s lips curled into a reluctant smile. 

“C’mon then,” he sighed, shaking his head in mock defeat. “Let’s just be quick, aight?”

And just like that, they veered off toward the gas station, Y/n’s determination to get her cookies almost making Rafe forget about the fact she was in labour, if it wasn’t for her groan every couple of minutes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door of the gas station swung open, the little golden bell above it ringing as soon as they stepped inside, Y/n’s breathing hitched. Rafe was right behind her, his hand resting gently on the small of her back, ready to support her. Yet the moment the door closed behind them, Y/n groaned loudly, the contraction hitting her with full force. Her breath came in quick, shallow bursts, and her hand instinctively went to her belly. A few people in the gas station glanced over, some in surprise, others in concern, but Rafe barely noticed them as he leaned closer to her, his voice low and calm.

“Let’s grab your cookies and go, baby,” he murmured, his breath brushing against her ear.

Y/n barely registered his words, still trying to push through the pain, her face scrunching in discomfort as she stepped forwards towards the sweet treat aisle. She let out another soft, pained groan as she leaned against the shelf, her hand gripping the cool metal for support.

She scanned the shelves in front of her, her eyes landing on a pack of cookies, double chocolate-chip. They weren’t Sarah’s but she guessed they would have to do. She grabbed one, then another right next to it, her body rocking slightly as she breathed heavily through the contraction.

Rafe stood behind her, watching in a mix of concern and frustration, trying to hold everything together while his brain screamed that they needed to hurry. He sighed quietly, trying to hold his patience as he watched whilst she picked up random things off the shelves- gatorade, crisps… a microwavable hot-dog for one? He furrowed his eyebrows at the girl as she shoved them all into his arms, groaning in distress, was she planning on having a picnic in the hospital?

“Is that good now?” 

Rafe asked quietly, glancing at her with a raised brow as he balanced the pile of items in his arms. Y/n didn’t even look up at him. She was bent over slightly, both hands gripping onto the handles of the fridge, her body still rocking gently as the contraction slowly passed. She nodded, the sound of her breath steadying now. 

“Mmhmm,” 

She mumbled, barely able to focus on anything other than the sharp ache she was still feeling.

“Jesus,” 

Rafe muttered under his breath, his frustration mixing with disbelief at the bizarre situation, as he moved toward the counter to pay. He tapped his foot impatiently, his eyes flicking from Y/n to the Rolex on his wrist. The seconds were ticking by, and every minute felt like an eternity. He glanced over his shoulder at the long queue in front of him, a subtle frown on his face. He hated waiting, but he hated even more that they were stuck in this gas station in the first place. Y/n was still by the fridge, her back slightly arched as she leaned against it, trying to breathe through the pain of another contraction. Her groan echoed loudly through the small shop, and Rafe felt his stomach tighten.

“Oh my Gooooooooddddd-”

The people in line ahead of him turned around at the sound, their eyes narrowing as they glanced in the direction Y/n was. Rafe clenched his jaw, his grip on the products in his arms tightening as he fought to keep his composure. Another loud groan broke through the silence, and Rafe’s patience snapped. He shot a look at the guy in front of him who seemed somewhat disturbed by the sound, his teeth gritting as he tried to stay calm but his irritation bubbled over, and he shot at him quickly, his voice sharp.

“She’s pregnant, okay?” 

He snapped, his gaze hardening. The man blinked, taken aback by the harshness in Rafe’s voice. The rest of the people in line seemed to take a step back, all of them suddenly understanding the gravity of the situation. Rafe was breathing heavily now, his mind racing as the seconds dragged on, but he couldn’t look away from Y/n. She was still by the fridge, still gripped by the pain of the contractions, but somehow, there was a calmness in her, even in the middle of everything, and she was now once again rocking softly back and forth. He exhaled, trying to push down the anger and frustration bubbling up inside.

The man in front of Rafe raised his hands in surrender, his face showing quick understanding. Without another word, he grabbed his items from the counter and muttered a hurried, “Sorry,” as he quickly walked past Rafe, giving him space. Rafe, barely noticing the man’s retreat, threw the items he was holding down onto the counter with a frustrated sigh. His eyes immediately darted back to Y/n, his head swiveling as he tried to spot her over the shelves. The moment he looked away from the counter, though, a voice interrupted his frantic search.

“Rafe?”

Rafe froze. He knew that voice. He didn’t have to turn around to know who it was, but of course, he did anyway. There, standing a few feet away, was John B. He groaned inwardly. How much worse could this get? He rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, “Pogue.” The name slipped from his lips, a reflexive reaction to the guy who always seemed to be around just when Rafe didn’t need him. John B gave him a tight-lipped smile, clearly trying to keep the peace, but Rafe could see the faint annoyance in his eyes.

“You need a bag?” 

John B asked, trying to be helpful, but Rafe wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

“Uh, yeah,” 

Rafe replied absently, barely glancing at John B as he spoke. His focus was entirely on trying to spot Y/n. His hands clenched the card in his hand as he tried to spot her around the shelves, his eyes scanning every inch of the small store. He didn’t even wait for John B to reply as his feet moved instinctively, carrying him away from the counter. He walked quickly down the aisles, his breath shallow as he called out her name, his voice strained with the urgency and stress building inside him.

“Y/n?”

His eyes darted from side to side, but there was no sign of her. He rounded the corner to another aisle, his heart starting to race as panic set in. He called out again, his voice louder this time. 

“Y/n?!”

But there was still no response. Rafe felt the irritation crawling up his spine, seriously? Not again.

“Are you kidding me?” he muttered, his words laced with frustration as he threw a glance back at the counter. He felt like the whole world was working against him right now. Rafe’s eyes flicked back to John B, ready to ask if he’d seen Y/n, but then something caught his attention. The door near the counter, with a small blue sign W/C, was just slightly cracked open- it was enough to stop him dead in his tracks. He shot a quick glance at John B, his jaw tightening. 

“Put my stuff to the side,” 

Rafe said, his tone clipped, he once again didn’t wait for an answer, already moving toward the bathroom door. The women’s, men’s, and disabled toilets were all closed, but Rafe stepped closer to the disabled bathroom, he placed his ear against the door, trying to hear anything over the noise in the gas station.

It was then he heard it- a soft groan, followed by heavy breathing.

A slight whine escaped the other side of the door, and his pulse raced. Without thinking, he knocked gently against it, his voice low but full of urgency. 

“Baby?”

A faint voice from within answered, weak but clear.

“Yeah?”

Rafe let out a relieved breath, his forehead resting briefly against the door, relief slowly hitting him. For a moment, he just stood there, collecting himself before he pulled back, his hand still gripping the handle of the door but it didn’t move. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, but he needed to stay calm- for her- well maybe for himself too.

“Are you okay?” 

He asked, his voice soft but still edged with concern.There was a pause before her voice came through, strained but almost casual. 

“Um…yeah?”

“What do you mean, um?”

Rafe’s eyebrows furrowed at her response. Another groan came from the other side of the door, followed by a sigh. 

“Well, I… uh, I thought I needed to use the toilet, but now that I’m in here… I think I need to push.”

“NO!”

Rafe’s eyes widened, and before he could even think, he blurted out the word. His hands raked over his hair, the panic setting in as his mind raced. 

“Baby, no- no, don’t push, okay? Please. I need you to open the door.”

He could hear her groaning again, and the sound made his chest tighten, “Y/n, I need you to open the door, okay? So we can go to the hospital. Are you listening to me, baby?” 

His voice cracked with desperation as he waited for her response. Rafe took a step back from the door, rubbing a hand over his face as he tried to steady his racing thoughts. His mind was spinning in panic, but he was doing his best to keep it together. Another groan came from the other side of the door, louder this time, and Rafe’s chest tightened.

“Rafe, I can’t… I can’t open the door,” her voice cracked, strained. “I need to push.”

His breath hitched, and he placed a hand against the door, his grip tightening. “Okay, okay. It’s okay.” His voice was soft but desperate.

 “I’m gonna come in, yeah?”

There was a brief silence before her voice came through again, strained but barely audible. 

“Yeah.”

The word was cut off by another loud groan, and the sound sent a jolt of panic through Rafe’s veins. Rafe’s patience snapped. Without a second thought, he barreled back to the counter, his voice urgent as he slammed his palm onto the surface.

“I need the key to the toilets Y/n is stuck in the disabled one.” 

His words came out in a rush, and John B didn’t hesitate. His brows furrowed in concern, and he quickly reached under the counter, pulling out multiple sets of keys before he found the right one. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I got it.” 

He gripped them in his hand as he looked at Rafe, he’s never seen the brunette so worried. “Sorry,” John B muttered to the guy on the other side of the counter as he quickly stood up, walking around the register. Rafe was ready to go straight back to Y/n when suddenly, John B called out.

“JJ!”

Rafe froze for a split second. Not him too. He shook his head in disbelief. What had he done to deserve this? He knew he had been a dick to so many people, for so many years, but was this really the punishment he deserved. JJ, the last person Rafe wanted to deal with, sauntered up to the counter with his signature blonde hair and cocky grin, with a zoot tucked behind his ear. 

“Sup?” he asked, sounding entirely too carefree for the situation.

“Need you to take over the counter for a bit,” 

John B said, his voice tight with urgency. JJ nodded lazily, unconcerned, “Mkay, my man,” he said, easily slipping into the role. John B turned back to Rafe, and the Cameron boy grabbed his arm.

 “Let’s go.”

They both moved toward the corridor with all the bathrooms, John B crouched in front of the disabled toilet door, the key in his hand as he started to unlock it. Rafe stood by him, his muscles tense, feeling like he could finally somewhat breathe again now that they were this close. They were about to get Y/n out, and finally going to leave this godforsaken place.

“Don’t worry, man,” John B said, trying to reassure him as he worked the key into the lock. “We’re gonna get her out of there.”

But then, there was a loud snapping sound. Both of them froze.

Rafe’s stomach dropped. 

“What? What is it?” 

His voice was sharp, fear creeping in. John B hesitated, his face a mixture of guilt and disbelief. “Well… um… the key broke.”

Rafe blinked in stunned silence. “What? Speak up!”

John B looked back at him, the words tumbling out quickly. “The key broke.”

Rafe’s frustration hit a boiling point, his voice cracking with anger as he slammed his hand against the wall angrily. 

“What the fuck do you mean, you broke the key?!”

“I’m sorry! It was an accident, alright?” John B’s hands shot up in defense.

Rafe’s eyes went wide. “How the hell do you fuck up opening a door? Are you fucking serious right now!?”

Before John B could answer, they both heard a loud voice from the other side of the room. “Heyyy, what’s going on here? What’s all the yelling for?” Rafe’s head snapped toward the voice. He could feel his blood boil. Of course. It was JJ. Of course it was. John B rolled his eyes. 

“Y/n’s stuck in the toilet, and I broke the key-”

Then, a loud, strained groan from the other side of the door cut him off. Y/n’s voice echoed out, desperate and pained. 

“Fuuuucckkkk,”

Rafe slammed his hand against the door, his voice softer but filled with worry. “Baby, you okay?” There was a brief pause before she answered. 

“Yeah, just… fuuuuuuck…”

“Jesus,” Rafe muttered, running his hands through his hair, trying to keep it together. John B glanced at him. 

“What was that?”

Rafe’s breath quickened, his anxiety rising again as he looked down to the door handle of the door, the snapped metal now lodging into the keyhole. 

“She’s in labor.”

JJ blinked, processing that. “What  the  fuck?”

“And now she’s fucking stuck in there… because of you!” Rafe growled, his eyes narrowing in fury. “I swear to god-”

But before Rafe could say anything more, JJ was already moving. He pushed past both of them, walking straight up to the door. Rafe stared at him, scoffing in disbelief. JJ turned to face the door, knuckles knocking against the wood in a rhythmic pattern. He called out, looking toward the door,

“Hey sunshine,” 

“JJ?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” JJ answered as he pulled his cap off and readjusted his hair, putting it back on backwards. “I need you to take a step away from the door.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

Rafe’s confusion was evident, his brow furrowed. JJ didn’t respond. He kicked the door hard, and the force of it echoed in the space, making Rafe’s heart skip a beat as he realised what the boy was trying to do.

“Wait!”

He called out as he rushed forward, his voice frantic as he called out to Y/n.

“Y/n, I need you to step back from the door, yeah?”

“I just told her that.” 

JJ spoke back to the boy, hands out in the air in confusion at his actions. Rafe rolled his eye’s as he spoke back so Y/n couldn’t hear, 

“She’s a stubborn pregnant woman, obviously she’s not going to listen to you.” 

JJ gave him a look before shrugging his shoulders, “touché.” From the other side, her breath was labored, each inhale shaky. “Ughh… okay,” she responded weakly, and there was a faint sound of movement behind the door.

“Have you done that for me, Y/n?” 

Rafe’s voice was strained, as if he was holding onto his patience by a thread. Another soft “yeah” came from her, and he stepped back, taking a deep breath to calm himself. Without saying another word, Rafe squared his shoulders. The frustration of the past few minutes boiled over. He looked at the door one last time and, without hesitation, launched his foot into it with everything he had. The sound of his kick reverberated through the small space, but the door didn’t budge. John B stepped forward, shaking his head in skepticism, but nevertheless he kicked the door next, his hit less forceful than Rafe’s but still forcefull. 

Nothing.

JJ followed suit, throwing his foot at the door, his kick full of impatience. 

Still nothing.

Rafe watched them, frustration building in his chest. “Get out of my way,” he muttered through gritted teeth. Without another word, he ripped his jacket off in a quick motion, tossing it aside as he stepped forward with sheer determination. This time, he didn’t just kick. He slammed his foot into the door again and again, each strike more powerful than the last, the force of his anger and desperation driving him. Finally, with one last powerful kick, the door swung open, the sound echoing loudly in the small hallways to the toilets. 

Rafe rushed in, his breath still heavy from the effort of kicking the door in. His eyes darted across the cramped space until he found Y/n. She was sitting there, slumped against the toilet, arm supporting herself on the sink next to her as she sat leant over, her face flushed with sweat, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.

“Sweet girl,” Rafe murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he dropped to his knees in front of her. His hands instinctively cupped her cheeks, his fingers trembling slightly. 

“Are you okay? C’mon, let’s get you to the hospital, yeah?”

Y/n’s eyes were wide, and her grip tightened around his wrist. “I can’t… I can’t, Rafe,” she gasped, her voice a strained, breathless whimper. 

“I need to push, Rafe… I can’t—” 

The words trailed off as another wave of contraction hit her, causing her body to tense up. Rafe’s heart dropped in his chest. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He’d promised her he’d make sure everything was smooth, that she’d be in a safe, controlled place when the baby came. This definitely wasn’t how he’d envisioned the birth of his first child to happen.

“Okay, it’s okay-” 

He whispered, his hand brushing the small strands of damp hair away from her flushed, sweaty face. He gave her a soft, reassuring smile, even though inside, panic clawed at him. 

“-I’m here now, yeah? C’mon, let’s get you comfortable.”

And as he gently helped her try to shift, he held her gaze, his own filled with worry and tenderness. He wasn’t sure how things would play out from here, but he knew one thing- he was going to make it work. 

The moment John B and JJ stepped through the door coming back from locking up the door of the small gas station shop, they froze. Their eyes locked on Y/n, who was still leaning against the sink, her breathing ragged and uneven, sweat dripping down her face. JJ’s eyes widened in realization, his mouth falling open.

“Oh shit,” he muttered, his voice a mixture of disbelief and concern. 

“This is like for real- she’s in labor… like it’s legit-”

Rafe didn’t even look at them as he snapped into action, the blonde boys rambles falling on deaf ears. His focus was solely on Y/n, his voice low and strained. 

“Go get some towels, some water- anything.”

They both stared at him motionless as they took in the scene of the Kook who’d tormented them for so many years, gently help the girl down to a sitting position on the floor.

“NOW!” 

He barked out. John B and JJ scrambled out of the bathroom, their feet clattering as they bumped into each other in their rush to get the supplies. They didn’t say anything, just focused on finding whatever they could to help in their panic. Rafe turned back to Y/n, his face softening despite the storm of anxiety in his chest.

 “C’mon, let me help you.”

He murmured, his hands gently gripping her arms as he helped her pull down her sweatpants, hands lovingly rubbing against her calves in an attempt to comfort her. Y/n hummed out slightly, her uneasiness palpable, but as another contraction hit, she winced, her face contorting in pain. Rafe’s brows furrowed with concern, his heart aching for her. 

“I know, baby, I know. Just breathe. We’re gonna get through this, okay?”

And just as she nodded, another wave of pain hit, and Rafe exhaled in frustration, running a hand over his hair. “Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath, barely able to contain the rush of panic rising inside him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The gas station bathroom looked nothing like it had before. Blankets and towels were scattered across the floor beneath Y/n, cushioning her knees as she rocked back and forth, panting through each wave of pain. Bottles of water and crumpled packaging littered the corners- whatever JJ and John B had managed to grab in their scramble. Y/n’s skin glistened with sweat, strands of hair clinging to her flushed face. She reached up with trembling hands, tugging at her top, desperate to get it off. The sticky fabric clung to her skin, and she let out a frustrated groan.  

"Here, baby, let me—" Rafe’s voice cut off as his phone buzzed against his ear, someone's voice being heard from the other side. He was crouched down, gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles turned white.  

"Yeah, okay, yeah—she's on the floor, towels everywhere. No, the hospital’s blocked off! We're stuck. I've just told you this, are you even listening to me!" 

His voice cracked, running high with panic. John B sat awkwardly near Y/n’s head, trying to offer some sort of comfort. Her hand suddenly shot out, fingers digging painfully into his arm. His breath hitched, tears stinging his eyes. He muttered, voice shaky, 

"Shit- okay, okay, you're okay," 

Y/n barely managed to choke out, "Sorry," between laboured breaths as her nails digged into his skin. John B’s voice squeaked, 

"It's fine! Totally fine!" 

His face twisted in pain, but he didn’t dare pull away. JJ hovered uselessly in the doorway, wide-eyed and wringing his hands feeling a little awkward with the situation at hand. 

“Uh… y’all need anything else? Snacks? Beer? No—okay, cool.”  

Rafe paced in a tight circle before crouching behind Y/n again, gripping the phone. The nurse’s voice was brisk but calm as she spoke into his ear,“Can you see the baby’s head, sir?”  

Rafe swallowed hard, leaning over for a quick glance. His face was drained of all colour.  

“Uh… yeah I can see the head.”  

Y/n’s head snapped up. "What?! What do you mean you can see it?!"  

Rafe’s eyes were wide, panic rising in his throat as the nurse’s voice cut through the phone, steady and firm. “Listen to me carefully. That means she’s ready to push. You need to place your hand firmly against the baby’s head to guide it out slowly. If it comes too fast, there’s a risk of decapitation.”  

Rafe froze. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He stared at Y/n, blinking rapidly, his mind spiralling. His brain was screaming at him to move, to do something, but fear was holding him in place, like a heavy weight on his chest. He wasn’t prepared for this. He had no idea what to do, only that he couldn’t screw this up. 

“Hello? Sir? Are you still there? Is everything okay?”  

He cleared his throat, forcing the words out.  

"Yeah—yeah, I’m here."  

Rafe squeezed his eyes shut, dragging a shaky hand down his face, his fingers briefly pressing into his eye’s. He needed to keep it together, but every second felt heavier than the last. He sucked in a breath, grounding himself before snapping his head up.  

“JJ! Get over here and hold this fucking phone!”  

JJ shuffled forward, noticeably hesitant, eyes fixed awkwardly on the wall as he stood beside Rafe, who held the phone out for the boy slightly. However, as the blond boy refused to look down Rafe remained with his hand held out, causing him to look away from Y/n and see the boy still staring straight ahead at the wall. Rafe stared at him, disbelief simmering under his skin. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”  

“Bro?”  

John B glanced over from where he was crouched by Y/n’s head, frowning. JJ muttered under his breath, barely audible. Rafe’s patience snapped. 

“What!?”  

“Listen, your girl is literally naked right there, man! I don’t wanna look- it’s disrespectful!”  

JJ winced, shoulders tensing. Rafe’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt. His fists balled at his sides, knuckles white. Every muscle in his body screamed to just hit him, to shake the stupidity right out of him. He could see himself doing it- just one solid punch.  But instead, Rafe forced himself to take a breath, exhaling hard through his nose. He dragged a hand roughly over his face once again, muttering, “Jesus Christ-”  

Y/n let out a sharp, pained groan, her voice cracking.  

“JJ, I don’t care! Just help him- oh SHIIIIIIT!”  

Her scream cut through the room like a knife, yanking everyone’s attention back to reality. JJ’s eyes shot wide. 

“Okay! Okay! If you insist-”  

He didn’t even get the words out before Rafe shoved the phone- now on speaker- hard into his chest. JJ scrambled to steady it, and as his eyes flicked down, his face drained of colour as he looked at Y/n. The very top of the baby’s head was there. 

“Holy shit, Y/n there’s like a fucking baby in your pussy-”  

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, JJ!” 

Y/n’s scream was sharp and furious, echoing in the cramped space. JJ jumped, gripping the phone like it might explode.  

“Okay! Sorry! Jesus!” 

His voice cracked as he lifted the phone so they could hear it if the nurse spoke out. Rafe knelt back down behind Y/n, and he swallowed hard, as he felt the slick warmth of Y/n's skin under his palm, pressing his hand gently but firmly against the top of the baby’s head, just like the nurse had told him. His other hand rubbed slow, steady circles along the curve of her trembling back, grounding her as best he could. His heart was thundering in his chest, but he forced his voice to stay calm, soft- for her.

“Okay, sweet girl,” he murmured, “I need you to listen to me, yeah?”

Y/n’s head lolled against her arm, sweat-damp hair clinging to her flushed face as she let out a shaky breath. His voice firmed, but it was still gentle, coaxing. His hand didn’t stop moving on her back. 

“You’re doing so good, baby. So fucking good. But I really, really need you to push on the next contraction, alright?”

Her glassy eyes flickered to his, searching, scared. He gave her the smallest, crooked smile despite the panic clawing at him. 

“We’re so close, yeah? You’re so strong. Just one big push for me, okay?”

Y/n’s fingers dug into the blankets beneath her, knuckles white. She gave a slight, barely-there nod.

“That’s my girl,” his hand pressed steady against the baby’s head, the other still rubbing soothingly along her back, “Next one, baby. We’re gonna meet our little Cameron. You’ve got this.”

Y/n clenched her jaw, groaning through another push, but Rafe could feel it- nothing was changing. He leaned back slightly, panic creeping into his features, and turned towards the phone in JJ’s grip.

“I—nothing’s happening,” he said quickly, his voice strained, eyes darting from the phone to Y/n’s hunched figure. “What’s going on? Why isn’t the baby moving?”

The nurse’s voice came through, calm but firm. “She’s not pushing hard enough. You need to get the baby out soon, Mr Cameron. The longer the baby stays in the birth canal, the more risk there is of oxygen deprivation.”

Fuck. Rafe’s heart plummeted at the words, and he felt his hand slip slightly against Y/n’s damp skin. He sucked in a sharp breath, his lips parting to respond, but before he could, a faint sound drew his attention.

“Rafe…”

It was John B, his voice hesitant, almost soft. He was kneeling at Y/n’s side, her trembling fingers curled weakly around his forearm. 

“Rafe, man… I think you need to talk to her…” 

He said quietly, glancing down at the way Y/n’s grip seemed to falter, her breaths shallow and uneven. Rafe swallowed hard, his chest tightening at the sight of her pain and exhaustion. God, she wasn’t even on any painkillers, he didn’t want to imagine how she felt right now. His eyes darted between Y/n and the phone before he scrubbed a hand over his buzzed hair, frustration and fear mixing in his expression. John B slowly rose to his feet, giving Y/n’s hand a small squeeze before letting go. He turned to Rafe who had also risen, his face softer than it usually was when the two of them interacted.

“You heard what she said,” Rafe said slowly, voice tight.

John B met his eyes and gave a small, steady nod. “Yeah. I heard.”

Without warning, Rafe’s hand shot out and fisted the front of John B’s shirt, yanking him in close, nose to nose. His grip was iron, knuckles white.

“You hurt my child…” Rafe’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, his blue eyes blazing, “…I’ll kill you. Is that clear, John B?”

John B didn’t flinch, didn’t fight back. He just stared at Rafe, steady and calm. Because for the first time, he wasn’t seeing Rafe Cameron the hotheaded psycho- he was seeing a terrified father on the edge.

“Yeah,” John B said quietly, voice even. “Crystal.”

Rafe’s eyes flicked over his face, searching for any sign of weakness, but all he saw was understanding. He slowly uncurled his fingers, shoving John B back slightly. Without another word, they switched places. John B moved towards the phone, kneeling behind Y/n and Rafe dropped to his knees beside her, his hands instantly reaching for hers. One hand cradled the back of her head, fingers threading through her own holding her hand, while the other gently rubbed along her back in slow, grounding circles.

“Hey, hey, baby, look at me,” 

He murmured, his voice softer now, but the cracks of fear still clung to the edges. Y/n barely lifted her head, her body trembling. 

“Rafe… I can’t,” she whispered, her voice thin and shaky, “I’m so tired-”

Rafe’s chest tightened, his throat burning. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Not like this. Not here in this crappy gas station bathroom.

“I know, sweet girl… I know,” he breathed, pressing his forehead against hers for a moment. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t want this for you.”

Y/n shook her head faintly, her grip on his wrist weakening.

“No, baby, listen to me.”

 Rafe cupped her face, his thumbs brushing the sweat from her cheeks. His own eyes were glassy now, but his voice steadied. “I need you to be strong for me now, yeah? Just a little longer. You can do this. You’re so close.”

She blinked at him, breath shaky, and he leaned in closer, his nose brushing against hers.

“Please, baby. For me. For our baby.”

Y/n swallowed hard, a tear slipping down her cheek, but she gave him the faintest nod.

“That’s it,” he whispered, kissing her forehead as his thumb came out to wipe her cheek free of the salty water.. 

“That’s my girl.”

Y/n let out a guttural groan as she pushed with everything she had on her next contraction, her entire body trembling under the effort. Rafe was right beside her, one hand braced on her back, the other still gently cupping her hand, which she gripped ferociously.

“Oh my God- the head’s out!” 

John B shouted, voice laced with disbelief and panic. He was kneeld awkwardly, eyes wide as he stared down. JJ was next to him, his knees slipping slightly on the layered towels. 

“Holy shit, man, I see it! Okay, okay, you’re so close, Y/n!” His voice was high with adrenaline, but there was something soft in it, too. “Come on, mama, just a little more, you’re about to meet your baby!”

Rafe tightened his grip on Y/n’s shoulder, leaning in close, his breath shaky. “Sweet girl, we’re right there, yeah? One more push. You’ve got this.”

The nurse crackled through the phone still in JJ’s shaky grip, “Support the baby’s head! Careful, slow—don’t let it drop!” JJ scrambled, hands trembling as he carefully cupped the tiny, slick head, his face frozen in panic. “Okay, okay, I got it—I got it! Oh my God, John B, help me!” John B, swallowing his own panic, steadied JJ’s hands, both of them crouched and bracing themselves.

“Y/n, baby, one more. Just one more push,” 

Rafe whispered, voice breaking but full of determination. Y/n let out a ragged sob, gripping Rafe’s arm like a lifeline, her face buried into his neck. She drew in a shaking breath and bore down, crying out as her body strained.

“There we go!” John B’s voice cracked with disbelief. “The shoulders are coming!” JJ’s eyes were wide, hands gently guiding the tiny body. Rafe’s hand slid to her damp cheek, brushing her hair back. 

“That’s it, baby. That’s it.”

And in the next moment, the baby slipped free into JJ and John B’s waiting hands, their eyes wide with shock and awe. For a moment, the entire room was still. Breathless. Then, the silence shattered. A sharp, piercing wail filled the air—raw, loud, and alive.

The baby was crying.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” the nurse’s voice crackled through the phone, filled with warmth. “That’s exactly what we want to hear, means their airways are clear- congratulations!” the nurse’s voice came through, vibrating with relief.

Y/n’s body sagged with relief, sobs breaking free as she wept, trembling from exhaustion and overwhelming joy. Rafe let out a shaky breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding. His chest tightened, and his eyes, glossed over, locked on Y/n, a tear sliding down his cheek. “Oh, sweet girl…” His voice was raw as he leaned in, cupping her tear-streaked face. 

“I’m so proud of you. You hear that?” 

He whispered, pressing his forehead to hers, voice breaking. “That’s our baby Y/n, you did that.” He pressed soft, lingering kisses to her forehead, his arms holding her close. Y/n’s breath hitched, tears slipping freely. Her voice was barely more than a whisper. 

“Is it… is it a boy or a girl?”

John B, though still emotional, took the lead as he carefully placed his hands on the baby’s tiny chest, rubbing gently as the nurse instructed to ​​ensure air was circulating properly. His movements instinctual despite the fear and emotions tangled in his chest. 

“It’s a girl.”

A fragile, joyful sob escaped Y/n’s lips, her hand flying to her mouth. The nurse’s voice crackled through the phone, her tone calm and clear. “Alright, now I need you to swaddle the baby tightly, make sure she doesn’t get cold.”

JJ moved quickly, wrapping the baby snugly in the towel, his hands surprisingly gentle despite the chaos unfolding around them. The nurse continued as they worked on the little being amongst the towels. “And how’s mom? Make sure she’s covered up too, don’t want her getting cold either.”

John B, standing up from his kneeling position, grabbed a second blanket and draped it over Y/n, making sure it covered her body as he gently rubbed her back. “Good job, Y/n. You’re amazing.” Never in a million years did he think when he got a job at the gas station he would be helping to deliver his brother in law’s baby. Y/n, leaning heavily against Rafe, gave him a small, exhausted smile.

The nurse’s voice came through again, more reassuring this time. “Now, I need you to pass the baby to mum. Be gentle, don’t pull on the umbilical cord. The ambulance is just two minutes away.”

Rafe, still crouched behind Y/n, gently helped her lean back against his chest . His arms were wrapped securely around her, as he supported her with a steady, comforting presence. He gently adjusted her position, making sure her back was firmly against his chest, and spoke softly, his voice laced with concern, 

“You okay, baby?”

Y/n hummed softly, her breath shallow as she nodded faintly, exhaustion clouding her features. She leaned back further into him, her body still trembling, but her grip on her blanket was firm. Rafe gave her a soft kiss on the side of her head, his hands gently rubbing her arm in soothing circles. JJ gently cradled the newborn, his hands trembling slightly from the weight of the moment. 

“Well done sunshine.” 

He said softly, his voice full of emotion as he carefully passed the baby to Y/n. With shaky hands, Y/n cradled the baby to her chest, her breath catching in her throat as she looked down at the sweet, tiny face. Tears welled up in her eyes, the overwhelming joy of finally holding her daughter too much to contain. She let out a shaky sob, her heart swelling with emotion. Rafe leaned in close, his voice soft as he spoke, 

“It’s okay, we’ve got her now, yeah?” 

He wrapped his arms around Y/n from behind, his chin resting gently on her shoulder, offering her all the reassurance she needed. Y/n barely heard him though, her attention entirely on the little life in her arms. She watched as he ran a trembling finger over the baby’s cheek, the softness of his daughter's skin pulling at his heartstrings. 

“She looks just like you, Rafey” 

Y/n murmured, her voice full of awe. Rafe let out an emotional laugh, a tear slipping from his eye as he leaned in to kiss Y/n’s forehead, feeling completely overwhelmed by the moment. Y/n turned her head to look at him, and he leaned forward slightly to press his forehead gently against hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet, sacred moment. After a moment of silence, he kissed her softly, his lips lingering for just a second. With glossy eyes, he whispered, 

“Thank you for giving us our sweet girl.”

Y/n smiled, her heart full as she leaned her head against his, both of them looking down at their peaceful, sleeping baby in her arms. Although baby Cameron was born in a gas station on the cut, in the hands of two Pogues who they didn't always get along with, and not in the prestigious private suite of the hospital they had planned to give birth in originally, they wouldn’t have had it any other way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[asxgard]

AHHHHH maybe Jack having his wife and son come into the ER after a little incident at baseball practice 😭 just something a little angsty and fluffy but I love soft Jack Abbot! Your writing is so amazing, keep it up and if this doesn’t interest you please feel free to ignore.

Cast | one shot

Dr. Jack Abbot x wife!reader

Requested

Summary: After an incident at baseball practice, you and your son end up in the ER.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: Thank you, anon!! I’m giving Jack a child stat! Omg, the world needs more dad!Abbot. I hope this was equally angsty and fluffy enough for you!

Word Count: 1.6k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content.

Warnings: vague age gap, foul language, mild angst, injured child (non-life threatening), fluff, dad!Jack, mom!reader, reader has Jack’s surname, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, blood mentions

not beta read

You only looked away for a second, reaching into your bag to put your book away, and the next your son was screaming. Your head snapped to look at the field and you spotted him in the outfield, clutching his arm. You were out of your seat the next second and charging onto the baseball field. You beat the coaches there.

Steven was wailing, though you could hardly blame the six-year-old, and you felt like your heart had stopped, listening to him in so much pain. Clearly he had been hurt, but he had no obvious signs of injury other than the fact that he was clutching his arm tightly to his chest.

You tried your best to soothe him, calm him down, but your own fears had begun to cloud your mind. If it was not broken, it had to be a sprain. There was a lingering sense of dread, of fear kicked into overdrive, but if it was a break, then at least that was not life-threatening.

Your first instinct other than to comfort your child was to call your husband. You first wanted to get Steven into the car so you could get him to the hospital, so you tucked your phone into your pants pocket and helped him to his feet.

“I know it’s really painful, baby, but mommy is going to make it better, okay?” You attempted, “Do you want me to carry you? Can you walk?”

Steven finally took a long intake of air, cheeks damp. He huffed in a few more unsteady breaths in, his lips in a large pout. The hazel in his eyes was exactly like his father’s.

“I can—I can walk.” He said, face scrunched up.

You admired how strong he was being, but you wanted to wrap your arms around him and never let go. You helped him to the car, trying to position his arm against his chest with the elbow bent without causing any more pain.

“We’re gonna go to the hospital now, and I promise it’ll make you all better.”

You were overly thankful that Steven had been in the hospital enough to not be afraid of it — from picking up his father, to the odd days you needed to drop him off before the end of your husband’s shift so you could get to an early meeting, leaving him in the caring hands of one of the nurses.

Steven was still softly crying when you called your husband, and you found yourself unbelievably annoyed when he didn’t pick up. He nearly always did, always panicked that something might have happened. You hated that was how he reacted when you called him at work, but to be fair, you usually only texted him about things. The one time you actually needed him to pick up? Voicemail.

You tried to calm your own frustration, knowing he was likely in a trauma or something equally serious. Despite all his faults, he never ignored you on purpose.

In the waiting room, you found yourself relieved to see Lupe running registration. She recognized you instantly. Her eyes flickered from you to Steven’s tears.

“I think he broke his arm,” you told her, frowning, “can you get Jack? I couldn’t reach him.”

“I think he’s still in Trauma-1, but I’ll get someone to bring you back right away, Mrs. Abbot.” She nodded, disappearing into the back.

That explained it. Whatever he was doing, it was life threatening, but you still felt antsy to tell him.

It was Collins who came through the door within the next minute, eyes scanning for you. Looking at the time, she was likely rounding out her shift, but it was good to see her. She smiled when she saw you, before looking down at Steven and frowning.

“Let’s get you two into a room,” she said, ushering you into the back with her. “I’ll put him down for an x-ray, but I’ll go see about getting him bumped to the top.”

“Thank you.” You smiled at her. Oh the perks of being married to Jack Abbot.

Collins parked you both in an open room, mentioning someone would be in shortly to start some pain meds while she worked on getting Steven to x-ray. A figure passing by stopped short and stepped into the room.

You greeted Robby with a smile. You two were no strangers, Robby occasionally coming by your house to hang out with Jack. He took one look at you and another at Steven, and panic invaded his calm demeanor.

“Broken arm, I think,” you told him quickly, so his mind didn’t run to the worst case scenario. He was much like Jack in that way.

“Hey, buddy,” Robby said, stealing Steven’s attention. “Can I see your arm?”

Robby assessed your son gently, before ordering intravenous pain meds and administering them.

“Heather is trying to get him into x-ray.”

He nodded, “Jack know yet?”

You shrugged, “I heard he was in the middle of a trauma.”

“I’ll go switch out with him,”

“Thank you, Robby.”

He waved you off and disappeared out into the hall.

—

Due to a mild hiccup, Jack had come into work earlier than usual — missing his son’s baseball practice that evening. He went when he could, but he tried to never miss a game. The Pitt seemed to swallow most of his time, but he never let it steal those moments with his son.

After clocking in, he was thrown right into a major car vs pedestrian trauma, but he fell into it with practiced ease. The buzzing phone in his pocket made him a bit on edge, but with gloved hands soaked in blood, he did not even think to answer it.

It took forever to stabilize the pedestrian who had been hit, but they finally were wheeled up to pre-op and he discarded the bloodied gown. He reached into his pocket to check his phone, finding two missed calls from his wife and a voicemail. His stomach churned uneasily.

He stepped toward the charge desk to put a chart away, glancing up at the board out of habit, before turning toward the staff lounge so he could call you back.

Wait…

His eyes snapped back up to the board, scanning the names and stopping on his son’s.

Steven Abbot.

His heart lurched into his throat. Fuck. He saw the room number and turned, only to find Robby next to him.

“Hey, brother,”

Jack barreled past him toward Central-8, heart beating wildly against his ribcage. He hadn’t even checked what prognosis sat besides his son’s name, or the level of severity, there was just pure instinct to be with him.

Robby jogged to catch up with him, “He’s fine, he’s fine. Broken arm. Was just coming to get you.”

That settled some of his fears, but worry bled through every pore. The one time he did not answer his phone…

His wife’s face did wonders to soothe him, as did the fact that his son was sat back and playing on his wife’s phone, arm in a sling. He released a long breath.

“Dad!”

Jack wrapped his son up in a hug, careful not to put any pressure on his arm.

“Hey, buddy, how do you feel?”

Steven gave a toothy smile, “Better after Uncle Robby gave me medicine.”

A relief washed over Jack’s features, eyeing the IV in his uninjured arm. He kissed the top of his son’s head, turning back to Robby just as Collins stepped into the doorway.

“They’ll be taking him next,” she said.

“Thank you, Heather.” You said.

“Don’t mention it.” She told you with a smile. “Just glad the little man is okay.”

Robby and Collins departed, leaving just you and Jack with your son. You typically were rigid around screen time, but felt being in the hospital was a perfect time to be lenient.

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer—”

“It’s fine, Jack,” you told him, grabbing his hand from the gurney. “I know you were busy. Besides, you couldn’t have done anything on the phone anyways.”

He frowned, “But you called and I didn’t answer. I could’ve—”

You sighed, “Had it been more serious, I would’ve called an ambulance, or tried to reach out to Robby or Dana or whomever to let you know. Our son is okay. Let’s not focus on the what ifs.”

Jack sat on that for a moment, before rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’re still a good father, Jack.” You said, as if you could hear the thoughts racing through his head.

His hazel eyes snapped to yours, taking you in.

“I mean it,” you said in the silence. “Don’t let your mind trick you into thinking otherwise.”

“I love you.” Jack said, not fully knowing how else to put his feelings into words. His gratitude, his care, his love.

You smiled easily, already understanding what he meant, all he meant, “As I love you.”

He leaned over to kiss you softly and you smiled against his mouth.

Steven made a sound of disgust, shielding his eyes with a soft giggle. You laughed, moving to kiss your son’s forehead. Jack’s heart swelled.

The x-ray revealed that his arm had been broken, likely by falling on it wrong, but it was not serious enough for surgery. That fact relieved both you and Jack tremendously. Just a quick pull to put the bone back right and a cast for five weeks.

“So what color would you like, Stevie?” Jack asked, sitting down beside your son. “They’ve got blue, yellow, pink, green—”

“Green!” Steven yelled happily.

You chuckled at his excitement over his cast.

“Do you think everyone will sign it?” He asked, toothy grin wide.

That ‘look on the bright side of things’ definitely came from you, Jack thought with a smile.

“I’m sure they will, bud.”

All Dr. Abbot content taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9 @melancholyy-hill @travelingmypassion @sharkluver @yournerdmodziata

All The Pitt content taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver

Dad!Abbot?? Give it to meee

Also?? 500+ followers?? You guys are great!🥹

[magical-reid]

The Quiet One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: Reader gets taken during a case and starts isolating herself

Word count: 11.1K (It's long, I know)

Summary: Spencer Reid becomes increasingly intrigued by Y/N, a reserved but brilliant new member of the BAU, who remains distant from the team despite her exceptional skills. As they spend more time together, Spencer finds himself drawn to her quiet strength and vulnerability, leading to a growing connection between them.

Spencer’s POV

Spencer Reid didn’t need to be an expert in psychology to know that Y/N was hiding something. It wasn’t a dark secret—at least, he didn’t think so—but it was a part of herself she kept locked away.

She was new, sure, but most new agents took Garcia’s boisterous affection or Morgan’s teasing in stride after a week or two. Y/N, however, stayed remarkably quiet unless the conversation turned to a case. Then she was brilliant—her analyses sharp and concise, her physical prowess undeniable in the field. Even Hotch had complimented her work ethic within the first month, which was rare.

But socially? She was an enigma, answering questions with one-word responses or polite nods. Garcia had deemed it her “personal mission” to get Y/N to loosen up.

And now, Spencer found himself curious too.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

The BAU bullpen was oddly calm for once. Cases were lighter this week, leaving the team to catch up on paperwork. You didn’t mind it—it gave you time to settle into the rhythm of things.

Sitting at your desk during lunch, you pulled a battered paperback from your bag. It was a comfort read, one you returned to when the world felt overwhelming. The words on the page blurred slightly as you chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying to ignore the faint hum of conversation between Morgan and JJ.

Then came the voice.

“That’s Jane Eyre, right?”

You glanced up to find Dr. Spencer Reid standing by your desk. His hands were shoved awkwardly into his pockets, a rare flicker of nervousness in his expression.

“Uh… yeah,” you said, holding up the book. “It is.”

“You know, Charlotte Brontë originally published it under the pseudonym Currer Bell because women authors weren’t taken seriously in the 19th century,” Spencer said, his voice gaining confidence as he dove into familiar territory. “It was actually one of the first novels to really explore the concept of the ‘modern woman.’”

You blinked at him, unsure whether to be impressed or amused. “I didn’t know that.”

His eyes lit up, and you instantly regretted not saying something more engaging.

“Well, there’s actually a lot of debate about whether Jane Eyre is autobiographical. Brontë infuses so many elements of her own life into the story, especially Jane’s resilience and independence—”

“Reid!” Morgan called from across the room, grinning. “Are you giving another one of your literary lectures?”

Spencer flushed, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “I, uh… I was just—”

You shut the book and offered a small smile. “It’s fine. I didn’t mind.”

That placated him, and he nodded quickly before retreating to his desk.

You couldn’t help but replay the interaction in your head for the rest of the day. Spencer had an undeniable passion for knowledge, and for the first time since joining the team, you found yourself wondering if you’d like to hear more of what he had to say.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spencer’s POV

It started as a casual observation: Y/N always ate lunch alone.

After their brief interaction earlier that day, Spencer couldn’t help but notice her more often. She stayed on the periphery of conversations, her focus always sharp, but there was an unshakable air of… loneliness about her.

Garcia was determined to change that.

“I swear, my magic isn’t working on her!” Garcia huffed as she leaned against his desk later that afternoon. “But mark my words, Reid, I will crack that shell.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “You’re treating her like a puzzle.”

“Because she is a puzzle! She’s this brilliant, badass, stone-cold agent who also reads classics on her lunch break? She’s practically you in a different font.”

Spencer opened his mouth to respond but shut it again. The comparison caught him off guard. Was that why he was so fascinated by Y/N?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

Over the following weeks, Spencer became a surprising constant. It started with the occasional factoid about the books you were reading, but it soon extended to case-related conversations. You found his intelligence refreshing, and his quiet, thoughtful presence felt like something you could trust.

Garcia, on the other hand, was a force of nature.

“Okay, Miss Mysterious, you are coming to Rossi’s this weekend, and I will not take no for an answer,” she declared one Friday afternoon, her hands on her hips.

You tried to protest, but Garcia had a way of steamrolling right over you. Before you knew it, you were at Rossi’s house that Saturday evening, surrounded by your team.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spencer’s POV

He watched from across the room as Y/N sat next to Garcia, a soft laugh escaping her lips as the tech analyst recounted some over-the-top story. It was the first time he’d seen Y/N genuinely relaxed, her quiet demeanor giving way to something brighter.

She caught his gaze and smiled hesitantly.

Spencer felt his heart skip a beat.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

Rossi’s house felt warm in a way you hadn’t expected. The deep wood tones, the glowing fire in the hearth, and the hum of your team’s laughter filled the space with an almost familial intimacy. You’d arrived tense, unsure of how to handle this uncharted territory, but Garcia had stuck by you like glue, coaxing you into conversations with her sunny enthusiasm.

To your surprise, you didn’t mind.

“You’re not allergic to wine, are you?” Garcia asked, pressing a glass into your hand before you could protest. “This is Rossi’s best stuff. Don’t embarrass me by turning it down.”

You gave her a faint smirk and took a small sip, letting the rich flavor spread across your tongue. “It’s good.”

“Good?” Rossi barked from across the room. “That’s a $300 bottle! Show some respect!”

You startled, but Morgan waved him off. “Don’t let him scare you, Y/N. Rossi says that about every bottle he pulls out of his cellar.”

The group laughed, and you felt yourself relax by a fraction. You didn’t belong here, not fully—not yet—but it was nice to pretend for a little while.

It wasn’t until later in the evening, when the group had spread out into smaller clusters, that you found yourself wandering onto Rossi’s back patio. The cool night air was a relief after the heat of the crowded living room, and you leaned against the railing, gazing out at the sprawling yard.

The sound of the door opening behind you made you glance back. Spencer stepped outside, a mug in hand.

“Coffee?” you asked, eyebrows raised.

He nodded sheepishly. “I don’t drink, so… this is my go-to.”

You turned back to the yard. “Makes sense.”

Spencer hesitated before moving to stand beside you. For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the faint hum of conversation from inside fading into the background.

“You handled yourself well tonight,” he said finally.

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“With the team,” he clarified, his gaze flicking to yours. “I know how overwhelming it can be. They’re… intense.”

A small laugh escaped you. “That’s one way to put it.”

He smiled at that, his face softening in a way that made your chest ache.

“I’m not great at these things either,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Social gatherings, I mean. But… it gets easier.”

“Does it?” you asked, surprising even yourself with the vulnerability in your tone.

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “They’re good people. It just takes time to feel like you belong.”

You studied him for a moment, his profile outlined by the soft glow of the patio lights. It was strange, how he seemed to understand you in a way that no one else had tried to.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned to you fully, his eyes searching yours. “For what?”

“For… being you, I guess.”

His brow furrowed, but before he could respond, Garcia’s voice rang out from the doorway.

“There you are, lovebirds! C’mon, it’s picture time!”

You flushed, stepping back instinctively, but Spencer’s soft chuckle eased your embarrassment.

“Let’s not keep her waiting,” he said, gesturing toward the door.

As the two of you returned to the chaos inside, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, you were starting to belong after all.

Spencer’s POV

The next few weeks were… different.

Y/N was still reserved, but something had shifted. She smiled more, lingered a little longer when the team joked around, and even initiated conversations once or twice.

Spencer found himself drawn to her even more. He wasn’t sure when his interest had crossed into something deeper—maybe it was the way her eyes lit up when she talked about a case, or how she always seemed to carry herself with quiet determination.

What he did know was that he wanted to spend more time with her.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

It was late when you returned to the office after a long day in the field. Most of the team had gone home, but the glow from Spencer’s desk lamp caught your eye as you passed by.

“You’re still here?” you asked, leaning against the doorway.

He looked up, startled. “Oh, yeah. Just… catching up on paperwork.”

You hesitated before stepping into the room. “Do you want some company?”

Spencer blinked at you, clearly surprised, but he nodded. “Sure.”

You pulled a chair up beside him, glancing at the neat stacks of files on his desk. “You’re ridiculously organized, you know that?”

He chuckled. “Comes with the territory.”

For a while, the two of you worked in companionable silence, the quiet hum of the office almost soothing. It wasn’t until you reached for a file at the same time that your hands brushed, and you both froze.

“Sorry,” you muttered, pulling back quickly.

“No, it’s—” He cleared his throat. “It’s fine.”

Your eyes met, and for a brief moment, the air between you felt charged with something unspoken. But then the moment passed, and you both returned to your work, your hearts beating just a little faster.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

The call came in at 3 a.m., pulling you out of a restless sleep. By the time you arrived at the BAU office, coffee in hand and exhaustion tugging at your limbs, the rest of the team was already gathered in the briefing room.

“Morning, sunshine,” Garcia greeted with mock cheerfulness as you slid into your seat.

“Morning,” you mumbled back, earning a sympathetic smile from her.

Hotch wasted no time launching into the details. “We’ve got three bodies in the last week, all women in their early twenties. Each victim was abducted, kept for approximately 48 hours, and then left in a public location. The cause of death is strangulation. The local PD in Richmond has requested our assistance.”

As the photos of the victims flashed across the screen, your stomach tightened. Young, bright faces extinguished too soon.

“Are we looking at someone who knew them?” you asked, your voice steady despite the knot forming in your gut.

JJ shook her head. “The victims don’t seem to have any connections to each other. Different neighborhoods, different jobs, no shared social circles.”

“So we’re dealing with an unsub who’s opportunistic,” Rossi said, leaning back in his chair.

“Most likely,” Spencer chimed in. “The cooling-off period is short, which could indicate a lack of control or a growing compulsion.”

As the team delved into theories and assigned tasks, you felt Spencer’s gaze linger on you for a moment. When you glanced his way, he offered a faint nod, as if to say, We’ve got this.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spencer’s POV

Something about this case felt different.

It wasn’t the pattern—he’d seen similar cases before—but the look in Y/N’s eyes as she examined the crime scene photos. She was usually composed, but there was a flicker of something raw beneath her quiet exterior.

“Spence?” JJ’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “You ready to head to the ME’s office?”

He nodded quickly, grabbing his bag. As they left, he caught sight of Y/N slipping into the SUV with Morgan and Rossi, her expression unreadable.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

The first day in Richmond was grueling. You’d interviewed families of the victims, combed through hours of CCTV footage, and spent far too long staring at a map of potential dump sites. By the time the team regrouped at the precinct that evening, the weight of the case was pressing down on you like a vice.

“Y/N,” Spencer said softly as you sat down at a desk in the corner, your head in your hands.

You looked up to find him holding out a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking it from him.

He hesitated before sitting beside you. “You okay?”

You nodded, though the lump in your throat betrayed you. “It’s just… hard. They’re so young.”

Spencer’s expression softened. “It’s okay to feel that way. It means you care.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “How do you deal with it? Knowing that… we can’t save them all?”

“I remind myself that we can save the next one,” he said quietly. “That’s what keeps me going.”

His words settled over you like a balm, easing some of the tension in your chest.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said after a moment.

He offered a small smile. “Anytime.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The break came on the second day. Spencer had been poring over geographical profiles when he noticed a pattern in the unsub’s movements—a cluster of locations that centered around a local park.

“It’s a comfort zone,” he explained as the team gathered around. “The unsub likely lives or works nearby.”

With Garcia’s help, you narrowed down a list of potential suspects. One name stood out: Michael Devlin, a maintenance worker with a history of domestic violence.

“We’ve got enough for a warrant,” Hotch said, his voice clipped. “Morgan, Rossi, Y/N—head to his residence. Reid, JJ, and I will coordinate with SWAT in case he runs.”

Your heart pounded as you pulled on your vest and climbed into the SUV. The tension was palpable as Morgan briefed the team on the way to Devlin’s house.

“He’s dangerous, but he’s not expecting us,” Morgan said. “Stay sharp.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The house was eerily quiet when you arrived. Morgan motioned for you to take the back while he and Rossi approached the front.

Gun drawn, you moved silently around the perimeter, your pulse thrumming in your ears. A faint noise from inside made you freeze—a muffled cry.

You signaled to Morgan, who nodded and motioned for you to breach the back door.

The next moments were a blur. The door splintered under your weight, and you swept through the darkened hallway, your flashlight cutting through the gloom.

“FBI!” you shouted. “Hands in the air!”

In the basement, you found Devlin with his latest victim—a young woman, bound and gagged but alive. Devlin lunged toward her, but you didn’t hesitate. One precise shot to his leg sent him crumpling to the ground.

“Suspect down!” you called, rushing to the woman’s side.

Morgan and Rossi were there seconds later, securing Devlin while you freed the woman.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, your hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you. “You’re safe now.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The team returned to the hotel late that night, exhausted but victorious. You’d saved someone.

As you sat on the edge of your bed, the weight of the day finally caught up to you. A knock at the door startled you, and when you opened it, you found Spencer standing there.

“I thought you might want some company,” he said, holding up a bag of takeout.

You stepped aside, letting him in.

The two of you sat in companionable silence, the unspoken bond between you stronger than ever.

“You did good today,” Spencer said softly, breaking the silence.

“So did you,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

For a moment, neither of you looked away. The air felt charged again, but this time, you didn’t retreat.

“Thank you,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Anytime.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The weeks following the Richmond case brought you and Spencer closer in ways you hadn’t anticipated. It wasn’t anything dramatic—no sweeping gestures or long, soul-baring conversations. Instead, it was the little moments that built a quiet, steady foundation.

You started spending more time at his desk between cases, initially just to borrow books or bounce ideas off him, but it became something more. A shared cup of coffee here, a late-night brainstorming session there. The rest of the team noticed, of course, but they didn’t say much—except for Garcia, who gave you a sly wink whenever she caught you lingering near Spencer.

It wasn’t just Spencer, though. You were starting to feel more connected to the entire team. Rossi’s dry humor, Morgan’s teasing camaraderie, JJ’s quiet support, and Garcia’s unrelenting cheerfulness—all of it felt like pieces of a puzzle finally snapping into place.

But Spencer… he was different.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spencer’s POV

It had become second nature to seek out Y/N when he needed a fresh perspective. Her sharp mind complemented his own, and her methodical approach often helped him piece together details he might have overlooked.

But it wasn’t just her intelligence that drew him in—it was the way she listened. Spencer wasn’t used to people really listening when he rambled about obscure facts or spiraled into tangents. Y/N didn’t just tolerate it; she seemed genuinely interested, even when he went off-topic.

He found himself looking for excuses to talk to her, whether it was about a case, a book, or even something as mundane as coffee preferences.

“You’re spending a lot of time with our newbie,” Morgan teased one afternoon as Spencer returned to his desk.

Spencer bristled. “We’re just… working well together.”

Morgan’s grin widened. “Sure you are, kid. Sure you are.”

Spencer tried to ignore him, but the comment stuck in his mind for the rest of the day. Was it really so obvious?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

The next case was in Chicago—three bodies were found in abandoned buildings, each with eerily similar staging. The unsub was methodical, leaving almost no evidence behind. It wasn’t until the fourth victim was found that a pattern began to emerge.

“We’re looking at someone with a background in construction or architecture,” you said during the briefing, pointing to the detailed layout drawn on the whiteboard. “Each site was chosen for its isolation and structural integrity. He’s not just picking random locations; he’s planning this down to the last detail.”

Spencer nodded, adding to your analysis. “It’s possible he sees himself as an artist. The staging suggests a need for control, but also a desire for recognition. He’s leaving a signature.”

Hotch glanced between the two of you. “Work with Garcia to identify anyone with the right skill set and a history of violence. We need to narrow this down before he strikes again.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You and Spencer were paired up to interview a potential suspect—a reclusive architect with a history of volatile behavior. As you drove through the quiet streets of Chicago, the conversation drifted to more personal topics.

“Do you miss it?” Spencer asked suddenly, his gaze focused on the road ahead.

“Miss what?”

“The academy,” he clarified. “Before the field. Before…” He gestured vaguely.

You considered the question for a moment. “Not really. I mean, it was challenging, but I always knew I wanted to be out here, making a difference. What about you? Do you miss… normalcy?”

Spencer laughed softly. “I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced normalcy. But I think I’ve found something better.”

His words hung in the air, and you felt your chest tighten.

Before you could respond, the GPS announced your arrival, pulling you back to the present.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The interview didn’t yield much—your suspect was uncooperative, but there wasn’t enough evidence to hold him. As you and Spencer left the building, the frustration was palpable.

“He’s hiding something,” you muttered as you walked to the car.

Spencer nodded. “Agreed. But without concrete evidence, we can’t—”

A sharp noise interrupted him—a metallic clang, followed by a figure darting into the alley beside the building.

“Stay here,” you said instinctively, drawing your weapon.

“Wait—” Spencer started to protest, but you were already moving.

The alley was narrow and dimly lit, and the figure was fast, but your training kicked in. You rounded a corner just in time to see the man scaling a fence.

“FBI! Stop!”

He didn’t.

You followed, adrenaline surging as you climbed the fence and hit the ground running. The suspect turned sharply, heading into an abandoned warehouse.

You slowed as you entered, your heart pounding. The faint sound of footsteps echoed through the cavernous space.

“Y/N!” Spencer’s voice called from behind you, and you turned to see him catching up, his own weapon drawn.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said, your voice tight.

“And let you go in alone? Not a chance.”

Before you could argue, the suspect lunged from the shadows. Spencer reacted instantly, stepping between you and the attacker. The fight was brief but chaotic, and by the time you secured the suspect with cuffs, your hands were trembling.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, his eyes scanning you for injuries.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, though your heart was still racing. “You?”

He nodded, his expression softening. “I’m fine.”

For a moment, you just stood there, the weight of the encounter settling over you. Then, without thinking, you reached out and placed a hand on his arm.

“Thanks,” you said quietly.

Spencer’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Anytime.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The suspect turned out to be a crucial lead, and the case wrapped up soon after. On the flight home, you found yourself sitting beside Spencer, the two of you poring over a book he’d brought.

“You’re starting to remind me of Reid 2.0,” Morgan teased as he walked by.

You rolled your eyes, but Spencer smiled.

“Is that such a bad thing?” you asked, glancing at Spencer.

He shook his head, his expression unreadable. “Not at all.”

As the plane soared through the clouds, you couldn’t help but feel that your partnership with Spencer was becoming something more—something you weren’t quite ready to name yet, but something that felt right all the same.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

(Next Case)

The case had felt off from the start.

You’d arrived in a small Colorado town after two young women disappeared within days of each other. The unsub had a clear pattern—abducting women in their twenties, keeping them for a few days, and leaving their mutilated bodies in remote areas.

You’d all felt the clock ticking with each passing hour. But even as the team worked tirelessly to profile the unsub and narrow down suspects, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong—something you couldn’t quite put into words.

You were walking back to the SUV alone after canvassing a witness when it happened.

A sharp sting at the base of your neck.

Then, darkness.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spencer’s POV

“She should have been back by now,” Spencer said, his voice tight with worry.

The team had regrouped at the precinct, but Y/N’s absence was glaring. She’d been checking in regularly all day, but her last update had come nearly an hour ago.

“She probably just got held up with a witness,” Morgan offered, though even he sounded unconvinced.

“No,” Spencer said, his jaw clenched. “Something’s wrong.”

Garcia’s voice crackled through the speakerphone. “I’ve got her GPS! It’s… oh, no. It’s not moving. Her phone’s near a deserted building on the outskirts of town.”

Hotch didn’t hesitate. “Morgan, Reid, let’s go. JJ, Rossi, stay here and coordinate with the local PD. Garcia, keep tracking her phone.”

Spencer’s chest tightened as they raced toward the location, dread clawing at his insides.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

You woke to blinding pain.

Your arms were wrenched behind you, your wrists bound with coarse rope that cut into your skin. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of a single bulb overhead.

A figure loomed above you, his face obscured.

“Finally awake,” he said, his voice calm, almost casual.

You struggled against the restraints, your breath coming in sharp gasps.

“Don’t bother,” the man said, crouching to meet your gaze. “It’s just you and me now. And I don’t like it when people scream.”

He raised something shiny—a blade—and you froze.

The first cut was shallow, a deliberate line across your arm. Pain bloomed, sharp and hot, and you bit down hard on your lip to keep from crying out.

“Good,” he murmured. “You’re strong. Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Time became a blur after that. The pain was relentless—cuts, bruises, burns. He was methodical, asking questions he didn’t seem to care if you answered. You tried to focus on anything else—your training, the team, Spencer—but the agony kept dragging you back.

At some point, you lose consciousness again.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spencer’s POV

When they found you, Spencer nearly collapsed with relief—and horror.

You were slumped in the corner of the room, your clothes torn and blood staining your skin. Cuts and bruises covered your body, and your face was pale, almost unrecognizable.

“Y/N!” Spencer was the first to reach you, dropping to his knees beside you.

Your eyes fluttered open, but there was no recognition in them, only fear.

“It’s me,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “It’s Spencer. You’re safe now.”

Your lips moved, but no sound came out.

Hotch and Morgan secured the unsub, who was screaming as they dragged him out of the building. Spencer barely registered it. All he could focus on was you—broken, fragile, and trembling in his arms.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

The ride to the hospital was a blur. You were dimly aware of Spencer’s hand gripping yours, his voice low and soothing as he spoke to you, though you couldn’t make out the words.

The pain was overwhelming, but worse than that was the fear—the raw, unrelenting terror that you were still there, still in that room.

It wasn’t until you were in the hospital, surrounded by the sterile smell of antiseptic and the soft hum of machines, that you began to feel grounded again.

Spencer stayed by your side the entire time.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You didn’t want to go home.

The thought of returning to the BAU, to the same desks and faces, felt impossible. But Hotch had insisted you needed to recover somewhere familiar, and the team had gently assured you they’d be there every step of the way.

You sat alone on the plane, staring out the window, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The team kept their distance, speaking in hushed tones as they gave you space.

You hated how broken you felt. You hated the way the memories of that room kept flashing through your mind, the way your skin still crawled despite the warm blanket Garcia had draped over your shoulders.

And yet, when Spencer moved to sit beside you, you didn’t pull away.

You stayed silent as he settled in, the faint scent of his cologne reaching you. After a long moment, you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

Spencer stiffened for half a second before relaxing, his arm curling around you protectively. He didn’t say anything—didn’t need to.

The rest of the team exchanged quiet glances but said nothing. They knew better than to interrupt.

For the first time since the ordeal, you felt… safe.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spencer’s POV

She didn’t say a word the entire flight, but Spencer didn’t mind.

When she’d leaned into him, something in his chest had cracked open. He didn’t know what to say or do, but he knew he’d do anything to protect her from feeling that way again.

As the plane descended toward Quantico, he tightened his arm around her, silently promising her—and himself—that he’d be there for her, no matter what.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

Recovery wasn’t linear.

You thought it might be—thought you could box up what happened and file it away in some corner of your mind. But the scars on your body weren’t just physical, and no matter how hard you tried, the memories of that room clung to you like smoke, thick and suffocating.

You barely left your apartment in the weeks after the case. The team gave you space but stayed present in small ways: a text from JJ checking in, a phone call from Morgan offering to bring dinner, Rossi dropping off an expensive bottle of wine “for when you’re ready.”

But Spencer and Garcia… they were different.

They didn’t just check-in. They showed up.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It started with the nightmares.

They came like clockwork, dragging you from sleep with a gasp and leaving you trembling in the dark. At first, you tried to handle them on your own. You’d curl up on the couch with a blanket, the TV murmuring softly in the background as you willed yourself to calm down.

But after one particularly bad night, your hands shaking so hard you couldn’t hold the phone steady, you called Spencer.

He answered on the second ring, his voice groggy but alert. “Y/N?”

“I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, immediately regretting the call. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t apologize,” he interrupted gently. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. But he waited, his patience endless.

“I had a nightmare,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

There was a pause, then: “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the line had already gone dead.

When Spencer showed up at your door, his hair mussed and his sweater slightly wrinkled, you felt a pang of guilt.

“You didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did,” he said firmly, stepping inside.

He didn’t press you to talk about the nightmare. Instead, he made tea while you curled up on the couch, his calm presence enough to ground you. He stayed until the sun came up, his hand resting lightly on your arm as you drifted in and out of an uneasy sleep.

That became your new normal. Every time the nightmares came, Spencer would be there, no matter the hour.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Garcia was the first to call you out on your self-imposed isolation.

“Okay, honey, I love you, but you’re starting to worry me,” she said one afternoon, her voice tinged with concern.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, though even you didn’t believe it.

“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly unconvinced. “So fine that you’ve become a hermit. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m just… not ready to go out yet.”

Garcia was quiet for a moment, then her tone brightened. “Alright, challenge accepted. If you won’t go to the world, the world will come to you.”

The next day, Spencer and Garcia showed up at your apartment with an armful of books.

“Welcome to the world’s tiniest bookstore,” Garcia announced, sweeping into your living room like a tornado.

“I may have gone a little overboard,” Spencer admitted, setting the books down on your coffee table.

“A little?” Garcia scoffed. “Reid, this isn’t overboard—it’s a full-on invasion.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you flipped through the stack, your chest tightening at the sight of your favorite titles mixed in with a few new ones.

“You guys didn’t have to do this,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.

Garcia waved you off. “Please. This is nothing compared to the epic coffee shop we’re planning for tomorrow.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Coffee shop?”

“Just wait,” Spencer said with a small smile.

The next morning, your living room was transformed.

Garcia had brought fairy lights, a Bluetooth speaker, and pastries from your favorite bakery. Spencer had set up a coffee station, complete with syrups and a milk frother.

“Order up!” Garcia called, handing you a steaming cup of your favorite drink.

You curled up in your armchair, the faint sound of jazz playing in the background as you sipped your coffee. For the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of something like peace.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It was Spencer’s idea to bring the theater to you.

He showed up one evening with Garcia in tow, a projector tucked under his arm and a bag of popcorn balanced precariously in Garcia’s hands.

“Movie night!” Garcia declared, dropping the popcorn onto your kitchen counter.

“What’s all this?” you asked, watching as Spencer set up the projector.

“Well, we figured since you’re not quite ready to hit the theaters yet, we’d bring the theaters to you,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes warm.

They went all out, dimming the lights and piling your couch with blankets and pillows. Spencer even gave a little lecture about the history of film before the movie started, earning an affectionate eye-roll from Garcia.

By the time the credits rolled, you were smiling—a real, genuine smile—and for the first time since the case, you felt like yourself again.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You weren’t fully healed. The nightmares still came, and there were moments when the memories felt too heavy to bear. But Spencer and Garcia didn’t let you carry it alone.

With every late-night visit, every carefully planned surprise, they reminded you that you weren’t broken. You were still you, even if it took time to feel whole again.

One night, as you sat on the couch with Spencer beside you, your head resting on his shoulder, you found yourself whispering, “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, his voice soft.

“For… everything,” you said, your words faltering but earnest.

He didn’t respond right away, but his arm tightened around you.

“Anytime,” he said, and you knew he meant it.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The turning point came on a quiet Thursday night when the weight of everything finally broke through the walls you’d built around yourself.

It started innocuously enough. Spencer had come over, as he often did, with takeout from your favorite Thai place and a new book he thought you’d enjoy. The two of you had eaten in companionable silence, the TV murmuring in the background as the sky outside darkened.

You hadn’t planned to say anything. You hadn’t planned for any of it.

But then Spencer said something—something small and offhand about how strong you were—and it hit you like a freight train.

The tears came suddenly, unstoppable.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spencer’s POV

He’d never seen her cry before.

Not during cases, not after the ordeal in Colorado, not even during the nightmares that haunted her nights. She’d always held herself together with an almost unnerving composure, her pain buried so deeply that even Spencer, with all his insight, couldn’t reach it.

But now, as she sat across from him on the couch, her head in her hands and her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, Spencer felt utterly helpless.

“Y/N,” he said softly, setting his food aside and leaning toward her. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, her voice muffled. “I—I can’t…”

“Can’t what?” he pressed gently.

“I can’t keep pretending I’m okay,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m not okay, Spencer. I keep telling myself to move on, to be strong, but I—I don’t know how.”

Her admission shattered something in him.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he said, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. “Not with me. Not with any of us.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes red and shining with tears. “But what if I never feel normal again? What if I’m always this… broken?”

Spencer didn’t hesitate. He reached out, his hands enveloping hers.

“You’re not broken,” he said firmly. “You’re healing. And healing isn’t linear—it’s messy and hard, and sometimes it feels impossible. But you’re not alone in this. I’m here. We’re all here.”

For a long moment, she just stared at him, her breath hitching. Then, slowly, she let herself lean into him, her forehead resting against his shoulder.

Spencer held her carefully, his arms wrapping around her as though she might shatter.

“You’re going to be okay,” he murmured. “I promise.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

It felt like something had shifted that night.

You’d spent so long keeping your pain locked away, afraid that letting it out would make you weak, make you a burden. But Spencer hadn’t turned away. He’d held you, his presence steady and unwavering, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe.

Over the next few days, you found yourself opening up to him in ways you hadn’t before. Little things at first—a comment about how much you missed running, a quiet confession about a song that made you cry. And then bigger things, like the fear that still gripped you every time you stepped outside, or the way your scars made you feel like a stranger in your own skin.

Spencer listened to it all, never interrupting, never judging.

And when the words ran out, he simply stayed.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The real turning point came a few weeks later, when you found yourself standing in your kitchen with Spencer, the two of you cooking dinner together.

You’d insisted on making something from scratch, though Spencer had warned you that his cooking skills were questionable at best. He was carefully chopping vegetables under your watchful eye when he suddenly stopped, his brow furrowing.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

He hesitated, his gaze flicking to you. “I was just… thinking about how different things are now.”

“Different how?”

He set the knife down, leaning against the counter. “When you first joined the team, you were so… reserved. It felt like you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. And after Colorado, I thought…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“You thought what?” you prompted, your voice soft.

“I thought I might lose you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

The air between you seemed to shift, the unspoken tension that had been building for weeks finally coming to a head.

“You didn’t lose me,” you said quietly.

Spencer met your gaze, his eyes searching yours. “But I almost did. And it made me realize how much you mean to me.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I know this might not be the right time,” he continued, his voice steady but laced with vulnerability. “And I don’t want to make you feel pressured. But… I care about you, Y/N. More than I think I even realized until now.”

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest.

Then, slowly, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his.

“I care about you too,” you said, your voice trembling. “More than I’ve let myself admit.”

Spencer’s expression softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“We don’t have to rush this,” he said. “Whatever you need—however long it takes—I’ll be here.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but this time, they weren’t from pain.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Spencer squeezed your hand gently, his presence grounding you once again.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on your chest began to lift.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

In the weeks that followed, the fragile threads of your connection with Spencer began to weave into something stronger. There were no grand declarations or dramatic shifts—just quiet, intimate moments that built on the foundation you’d already created.

The nightmares still came, though less frequently now. Spencer was always there when you needed him, showing up at your door with that same gentle determination. But the dynamic had subtly changed.

One night, after a particularly vivid dream, you didn’t wait for him to pull out his phone or suggest tea. Instead, you moved closer on the couch, resting your head against his chest.

His arms came around you instantly, holding you securely as his steady heartbeat anchored you to the present.

“Better?” he murmured after a while, his voice low and soothing.

You nodded against him, your fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his sweater. “Better.”

From then on, it became your unspoken ritual. Spencer would hold you through the worst of it, and when the panic began to fade, you’d sit together in comfortable silence, your breaths syncing as the weight of the dream dissipated.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

One evening, as the two of you sat at your kitchen table playing chess—well, he was playing chess, and you were doing your best to keep up—Spencer spoke quietly, his gaze fixed on the board.

“You know,” he said, moving a pawn, “I’ve never been very good at relationships.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”

He gave a self-deprecating smile. “It’s true. My job, my… personality—it doesn’t exactly make things easy. But with you, it feels… different.”

“Different how?” you asked, leaning your chin on your hand as you studied his face.

He hesitated, then met your gaze. “Like I don’t have to try so hard to be understood.”

Your chest tightened at his words. “You don’t,” you said softly.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile, and you knew you’d said exactly what he needed to hear.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spencer showed his affection in quiet ways.

He’d slip a bookmark into the pages of your latest read with a handwritten note—a quote he thought you’d like or a simple “this reminded me of you.”

He’d remember your favorite tea and make sure the cupboard was always stocked, even if it meant sneaking a box into your cart during a grocery run.

He’d lend you his scarf on cold mornings, looping it around your neck with an almost reverent care.

You found yourself returning the favor in your own subtle ways. You’d leave post-it notes on his bookshelves with little comments about the titles you borrowed, enjoying the way he’d chuckle when he found them.

You’d teach him how to cook simple meals, laughing as he fumbled with the stove but never letting him give up.

And once, after he’d spent an exhausting day at the BAU, you’d shown up at his apartment with takeout and a copy of his favorite movie, sitting with him on the couch until he finally let himself relax.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The turning point in your growing relationship came during a particularly hard day at work. The case had been brutal, dredging up memories you’d tried to bury, and you’d found yourself withdrawing again.

Spencer noticed immediately.

“Y/N,” he said gently as the two of you worked late in the bullpen, the rest of the team long gone. “Talk to me.”

You hesitated, your hands tightening around the file in front of you. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t press, but his silence spoke volumes.

Finally, you set the file aside and looked at him. “It’s just… this case. It reminds me of Colorado. And I thought I was past that, but…” You trailed off, the words sticking in your throat.

Spencer reached across the desk, his hand brushing against yours. “Healing isn’t a straight line,” he said softly. “You’re allowed to have bad days.”

You swallowed hard, his understanding breaking through your defenses. “I don’t know how you always know exactly what to say.”

He gave a small shrug, his fingers curling around yours. “Maybe it’s because I know what it’s like to feel broken. And I know how much it helps to have someone who understands.”

You held his gaze, something unspoken passing between you. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“Always,” he said, his voice steady.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It happened on a quiet Sunday afternoon, as the two of you sat on your couch reading. The sunlight streamed through the window, casting a golden glow over the room.

You weren’t sure what prompted it—maybe it was the way Spencer had leaned closer to point something out in your book, or the way his hand lingered on yours for a beat too long.

Whatever it was, when you turned to look at him, you found him already watching you.

“Spencer,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze flicked to your lips, and for a moment, you thought he might pull back. But then, slowly, hesitantly, he leaned in.

The kiss was gentle at first, tentative and unsure. But as you relaxed into him, his hand came up to cup your cheek, deepening the connection.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads resting together, you couldn’t help but smile.

“That was…” you began, struggling to find the words.

“Long overdue?” he finished, his lips quirking in a shy smile.

You laughed softly, nodding. “Yeah. Long overdue.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

From that moment on, things felt… lighter.

You still had bad days, and Spencer still had his own struggles, but together, you found a balance. The quiet intimacy you’d built over months became the foundation for something stronger, something unshakable.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could face whatever came next—because you weren’t alone anymore.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Being with Spencer wasn’t like anything you’d experienced before.

It wasn’t a whirlwind romance filled with grand gestures or dramatic declarations. It was quiet, steady, and deeply rooted in trust. Spencer was the kind of person who noticed the small things—when you were fidgeting with your hands because you were nervous when you couldn’t quite meet his eyes because something was weighing on you, when your lips twitched ever so slightly at a joke you pretended not to find funny.

And, in return, you began to notice him.

The way he’d drum his fingers on his desk when he was deep in thought. The way he’d tilt his head slightly when he was about to say something he thought might make him sound awkward. The way his eyes lit up whenever you spoke, as though nothing else in the world mattered.

It was terrifying and comforting all at once, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spencer’s POV

Spencer wasn’t used to feeling this… settled.

He’d been in relationships before, but none of them felt like this. With Y/N, he didn’t feel the need to explain himself or hold back parts of who he was. She saw him—really saw him—and still chose to stay.

It scared him sometimes, the intensity of his feelings for her. But then she’d laugh at one of his rambling stories, or brush a strand of hair out of his face with a soft smile, and all his fears would melt away.

He didn’t know where this was going, but for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid to find out.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

One rare day off, Spencer showed up at your apartment with a grin that immediately set you on edge.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Put your shoes on,” he said, his tone practically vibrating with excitement.

You frowned. “Why? Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said cryptically, rocking back on his heels.

You groaned, but his enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself grabbing your jacket.

The “surprise” turned out to be a day at a local botanical garden. Spencer’s excitement was almost childlike as he led you through the winding paths, pointing out rare plants and rattling off facts about their origins.

“This one,” he said, stopping in front of a sprawling orchid, “is called Paphiopedilum rothschildianum. It’s one of the rarest orchids in the world and can take up to 15 years to bloom.”

You tilted your head, pretending to be unimpressed. “That’s nice, but can it make coffee?”

Spencer chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll add that to my list of criteria for impressive plants.”

Despite your teasing, you found yourself captivated by his passion. Watching him light up over something so simple was a reminder of why you cared for him so deeply.

Later, as you sat together on a bench surrounded by blooming flowers, Spencer reached for your hand.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“For what?” you asked, genuinely puzzled.

“For letting me share this with you,” he said, his voice earnest.

Your chest tightened, and you squeezed his hand. “Always.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Dating someone you worked with was tricky, especially at the BAU, where boundaries between personal and professional were already blurry.

You and Spencer had agreed to keep your relationship private—for now, at least. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust the team, but you both valued the quiet intimacy of what you’d built and weren’t ready to share it yet.

Still, there were moments when it was hard to hide.

Like when Spencer brought you coffee in the middle of a particularly stressful day and lingered just a little too long by your desk.

Or when Garcia caught the two of you exchanging a look across the bullpen and immediately raised an eyebrow.

“Spill,” she whispered to you later, cornering you in the break room.

“Spill what?” you asked innocently, though your cheeks betrayed you by turning red.

Garcia narrowed her eyes. “Uh-huh. You’re lucky I love you, or I’d make it my personal mission to find out what you’re hiding.”

You laughed nervously and quickly changed the subject.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The first argument you and Spencer had wasn’t dramatic, but it rattled you nonetheless.

It started over something small—he’d forgotten to text you after a particularly dangerous case, and you’d spent the night worrying.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Spencer said, his voice tinged with frustration as you stood in your living room. “I was just… caught up in the aftermath.”

“I get that,” you said, your arms crossed. “But you know how I feel about not knowing if you’re okay.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not used to this,” he admitted. “Having someone who worries about me.”

The vulnerability in his voice softened your anger, and you stepped closer, your expression gentler.

“I’m not trying to smother you,” you said quietly. “I just… I care about you, and I need to know you’re safe.”

Spencer’s shoulders sagged, and he nodded. “I’ll do better,” he said, his voice soft. “I promise.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “That’s all I ask.”

The tension melted, and as Spencer pulled you into his arms, you realized that even your arguments brought you closer.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

As the months went on, your relationship deepened in ways you hadn’t thought possible. Spencer became your safe haven, the person you turned to in your darkest moments. And in turn, you became his—a steady presence in a world that often felt overwhelming.

There were still challenges, of course. The job was unforgiving, and your own lingering fears sometimes crept back in. But with Spencer by your side, you felt stronger—more capable of facing whatever came your way.

One night, as you lay in bed together, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your arm, he spoke softly.

“I love you.”

The words were quiet, almost hesitant, but they hit you like a tidal wave.

You turned to face him, your heart pounding. “I love you too,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears welling in your eyes.

Spencer’s lips curved into a small smile, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

In that moment, you knew you’d found something rare—something worth holding onto with everything you had.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It wasn’t like you and Spencer were trying to hide your relationship, exactly. You just… hadn’t told anyone yet. There was something comforting about keeping it to yourselves, about having a part of your lives that existed outside the chaos of the BAU.

But the team wasn’t made up of fools.

Between Garcia’s laser focus, Morgan’s teasing intuition, and JJ’s quiet observations, it was only a matter of time before someone put the pieces together.

The unraveling began on a Wednesday afternoon when Garcia came storming into the bullpen, waving her phone like a sword.

“Explain this to me!” she demanded, stopping in front of your desk.

You blinked up at her, confused. “Explain what?”

“This!” she said, thrusting her phone into your face.

On the screen was a photo Spencer had posted to his rarely-used Instagram: a blurry shot of a chessboard and two coffee cups sitting on a familiar coffee table—your coffee table.

“Why is Reid at your place drinking coffee?” Garcia asked, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

You scrambled for an excuse. “Uh, we were… playing chess. It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?” Garcia echoed, her tone incredulous. “Reid doesn’t even post pictures of his cat! And now he’s posting pictures from your apartment?”

Before you could respond, Morgan sauntered over, clearly intrigued. “What’s this about Reid and Y/N?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, your face burning.

Morgan raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Sure doesn’t sound like nothing.”

You glared at him, but before the conversation could go any further, Hotch called everyone into the briefing room, saving you from further interrogation.

For now.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The second slip came a week later when the team was out on a case in Seattle. You and Spencer had ended up sharing a room at the hotel due to a booking error, and you thought nothing of it. After all, you’d spent countless nights together—this was no different.

Except it was.

When Garcia called Spencer for an update, you could hear her voice loud and clear through the phone.

“Wait, what?” she screeched. “You’re sharing a room with Y/N?!”

“It’s not a big deal,” Spencer said, his tone even.

“Not a big deal?” Garcia repeated, her voice rising in pitch. “Are you two—oh my God. You are, aren’t you?!”

Spencer’s eyes darted to you, his face a mix of panic and amusement. “Garcia, can we focus on the case?”

“Oh, we’ll talk about this later,” she said ominously before hanging up.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “She knows.”

“She suspects,” Spencer corrected, though he didn’t look particularly convinced.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It all came to a head during one of Rossi’s famous dinners.

You and Spencer had arrived together, as usual, but this time, you’d carpooled, which immediately caught JJ’s attention.

“Did you two come together?” she asked casually as you handed her your coat.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “It was just easier.”

“Right,” JJ said, her smile a little too knowing.

The evening went smoothly—until it didn’t.

You were helping Spencer carry dishes into the kitchen when Garcia cornered you, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You know, you two make a terrible couple,” she said, her tone dripping with faux innocence.

You froze, a plate halfway to the sink. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on,” Garcia said, waving a hand. “We all know. You and Reid are about as subtle as a neon sign.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, Morgan walked in with a wide grin.

“What’d I miss?”

“Garcia’s accusing me of dating Spencer,” you said, your voice a little too defensive.

“Accusing?” Morgan repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Nah, sweetheart, we’re just confirming.”

Your face went red, and you glanced at Spencer for backup, but he just sighed and set the dishes down.

“They’re not wrong,” he said simply.

The room went silent for a beat.

“Wait,” JJ said, walking in with Rossi and Hotch close behind. “Are you serious? You two are together?”

You looked at Spencer, your heart racing. He met your gaze, his expression calm, but you could see the faint tension in his shoulders.

“Yes,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “We’re together.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Garcia’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “I knew it!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Oh my gosh, this is so much better than I imagined. You two are like—like a bookish rom-com come to life!”

“Garcia,” you said, your face burning, “can we not make a big deal out of this?”

“Are you kidding?” she replied, her voice high with excitement. “This is the biggest deal! You and Reid? It’s like finding out Clark Kent and Lois Lane are secretly dating!”

“Technically,” Spencer started, “Lois Lane wasn’t actually aware of—”

“Not the time, Reid,” Morgan said, grinning as he leaned against the counter.

JJ folded her arms, her smile soft. “So how long has this been going on?”

“Uh…” You exchanged a glance with Spencer.

“A few months,” he said, his tone even.

“A few months?” Rossi interjected, his eyebrows raised. “You’ve been hiding this from us for months?”

“It’s not like we were trying to hide it,” you said quickly, your hands fidgeting. “We just… wanted to keep it private for a while.”

Hotch, who had been standing silently in the doorway, finally spoke. “And your relationship isn’t interfering with your work?”

“No, sir,” Spencer said immediately. “We’ve been careful to maintain professionalism in the field.”

Hotch studied the two of you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded. “As long as that remains the case, I have no objections.”

Relief flooded through you, and you gave him a small, grateful smile.

Morgan, however, was clearly enjoying himself. “So, Reid,” he said, clapping Spencer on the shoulder, “you finally made a move, huh? About time.”

Spencer’s face turned pink. “It wasn’t— I mean, we— It wasn’t like that,” he stammered.

“Sure it wasn’t,” Morgan said with a wink. “I’ve been watching you moon over her for months.”

“Morgan!” you protested, your own face heating up.

JJ chuckled. “Don’t let him get to you. We’re happy for you guys. Really.”

Garcia practically bounced on her heels. “Does this mean I can officially call you my favorite BAU couple? Because I’ve been holding back for so long, and—”

“Garcia,” you interrupted, laughing despite yourself, “let’s take it one step at a time, okay?”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spencer’s POV

The teasing didn’t stop after dinner.

By the time everyone had moved into the living room, Garcia and Morgan were in full swing, grilling the two of you with questions about how you got together.

“Come on, give us something,” Garcia pleaded, her hands clasped dramatically. “Was there a grand romantic confession? A surprise kiss? A late-night stakeout where you realized you couldn’t live without each other?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Spencer said, his face still pink.

“She’s right,” JJ added with a laugh. “If anyone’s earned some privacy, it’s these two.”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Fine, fine. But don’t think this means we’re letting you off the hook completely. I’m keeping an eye on you, Reid.”

“Duly noted,” Spencer said dryly, though his lips twitched in a faint smile.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

By the end of the night, you were exhausted but relieved. The team’s reactions had been overwhelming at first, but their acceptance and teasing affection had left you feeling lighter than you had in weeks.

As you and Spencer walked to his car, the cool night air brushing against your skin, you glanced at him, your heart full.

“Well, that could’ve gone worse,” you said with a small smile.

Spencer chuckled, unlocking the car. “I think Morgan’s never going to let this go.”

“Probably not,” you agreed, sliding into the passenger seat.

As he started the engine, you reached for his hand, your fingers threading through his.

“Thanks for being honest with them,” you said softly.

Spencer glanced at you, his expression warm. “I wasn’t going to let you handle that alone.”

The drive back to your apartment was quiet but comfortable, the tension of the evening melting away.

When he walked you to your door, you hesitated for a moment before pulling him into a gentle kiss.

“Goodnight, Spencer,” you murmured, your voice soft.

“Goodnight,” he replied, his eyes shining with affection.

As you closed the door behind you, you couldn’t help but smile.

The team knew now, and while things might be different going forward, you felt ready to face it—together.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The team adjusted to your relationship with Spencer in their own ways, but the teasing never let up. It became a new dynamic, woven into the fabric of your daily lives at the BAU, and while it was occasionally embarrassing, you couldn’t deny that it brought a warmth to the team that hadn’t been there before.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Garcia

Garcia, predictably, went all in.

She was ecstatic that her two “favorite nerds” were finally together, and she wasn’t shy about expressing it. She’d leave little notes on your desks with messages like “Lovebirds hard at work!” or “OTP: Reid & Y/N forever” scribbled in glittery pen.

One day, you caught her sneaking a photo of you and Spencer sitting close together during a case briefing.

“Garcia,” you hissed, narrowing your eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” she said, attempting (poorly) to hide her phone.

“Penelope,” Spencer said, his tone exasperated but fond.

“Fine,” she relented with a dramatic sigh. “But you two are too cute, and it’s practically my duty to document it. What if your hypothetical future kids want to see their parents in their adorable early days?”

You buried your face in your hands as Spencer stammered, his ears turning pink.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Morgan

Morgan was relentless in his teasing, but you knew it came from a place of affection.

He had a knack for making both you and Spencer squirm in the most public ways possible.

“Reid,” he called out one morning as you all sat in the bullpen, “did you finally teach Y/N the quadratic formula last night? Or was it more of a hands-on tutoring session?”

You groaned, your face heating up. “Morgan, seriously?”

“What?” Morgan said with a grin. “Just trying to keep the workplace educational.”

Spencer rolled his eyes but shot you a small, reassuring smile. You’d both learned that ignoring Morgan was usually the best defense.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

JJ

JJ was quieter about her support but no less kind.

She’d give you subtle smiles when she caught you and Spencer exchanging glances or a soft nudge when the team’s teasing got out of hand.

One day, while you were working on a case together, she leaned in and said, “You’re good for him, you know.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“Spencer’s always been… a little isolated,” she said thoughtfully. “He has us, but he’s never really let someone in the way he’s let you in. It’s good to see him happy.”

Her words stayed with you long after the conversation ended, filling you with a quiet warmth.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Rossi

Rossi was the least vocal about your relationship, but his approval came through in other ways.

He started inviting the two of you to his dinners more frequently, always seating you next to each other and making subtle comments like, “It’s nice to see Reid eating something other than takeout. You must be a good influence, Y/N.”

Once, when you thanked him for the meal as you were leaving, he gave you a knowing look. “Just take care of each other,” he said simply.

You nodded, the weight of his trust settling over you like a blanket.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Hotch

Hotch was, as expected, professional about the whole thing. He never made any overt comments about your relationship but made it clear through his actions that he trusted you both to maintain your professionalism in the field.

That trust came to the forefront during a high-stakes case in New Orleans. You and Spencer were paired together to investigate a lead, and when the situation became tense, Hotch’s calm voice came through the comms.

“Reid, Y/N,” he said, his tone even. “I need you both to stay focused. You’re a team first.”

You could hear the unspoken meaning in his words: I trust you to keep your relationship separate from the job.

When the case wrapped successfully, he pulled you aside.

“You handled yourself well out there,” he said, his expression unreadable.

“Thank you, sir,” you said, standing a little straighter.

His gaze softened slightly. “You and Reid are good for each other. Just don’t let it cloud your judgment when it matters.”

“We won’t,” you promised, meaning every word.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

As time went on, your relationship with Spencer became a natural part of the team’s dynamic. The teasing remained, of course—Garcia’s glittery notes, Morgan’s innuendos, and Rossi’s subtle smirks were constants—but there was also an unspoken sense of support that ran deeper than you’d expected.

When cases got tough, the team knew to keep an extra eye on both of you, making sure the weight of the job didn’t pull you down too far. And when things were calm, they celebrated your happiness in their own unique ways, whether it was Garcia baking cupcakes with “R+Y” frosted on top or Morgan giving Spencer a mock toast at Rossi’s next dinner party.

You and Spencer never felt alone in your relationship—not with this group of people who had become your family.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Months turned into a year, and your relationship with Spencer became a steady, unshakable part of your life. What had started as a quiet connection had grown into something deep and enduring—something that didn’t just survive the pressures of the job but thrived despite them.

It was a rare night off, and you and Spencer were curled up on your couch. The soft glow of a lamp cast long shadows across the room, and the faint scent of coffee lingered in the air. A chessboard sat between you, though neither of you had made a move in over an hour.

Instead, your attention was focused on Spencer as he explained a theory about quantum mechanics with the same enthusiasm he brought to every subject. His hands moved as he spoke, his eyes alight with the passion you adored.

“Am I boring you?” he asked suddenly, noticing your quiet smile.

“Not at all,” you said, leaning forward to rest your hand over his. “I just love listening to you.”

Spencer’s expression softened, and he turned his hand over to intertwine his fingers with yours.

“You’ve changed my life, you know,” he said quietly.

You tilted your head, caught off guard. “I could say the same about you.”

He smiled, his eyes searching yours. “I mean it. Before you, I didn’t think I’d ever find someone who really… understood me. But you do.”

Your chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice, and you reached up to cup his cheek. “You make me feel the same way, Spencer.”

The kiss that followed was soft and unhurried, a quiet affirmation of everything you’d built together.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Rossi’s house was alive with the sound of laughter and clinking glasses. The entire team had gathered for one of his famous dinners, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how far you’d come.

You stood in the kitchen with Garcia, the two of you laughing as she recounted an over-the-top story about a case from her early days at the BAU. Across the room, Spencer was deep in conversation with Rossi, his hands gesturing animatedly as he explained something.

Garcia nudged you, her grin wide. “He’s crazy about you, you know.”

You smiled, glancing at Spencer. “I’m pretty crazy about him, too.”

“Well, duh,” she said, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “I mean, you’re practically the BAU’s golden couple at this point.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?” you asked, suddenly curious.

Garcia tilted her head, her expression softening. “Honey, weird doesn’t even come close to describing the BAU. But you two? You’re good for each other. And we’re all lucky to have you both.”

Before you could respond, Morgan called out from the dining room. “Come on, you two! Food’s getting cold!”

Garcia grabbed your hand, dragging you toward the table.

As you sat down beside Spencer, his hand found yours under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. You leaned into him, a quiet smile playing on your lips as the team fell into their usual rhythm of teasing and storytelling.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Later that night, as you and Spencer walked back to your car under the glow of the streetlights, you felt a sense of peace you hadn’t known was possible.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, his voice soft.

You nodded, your fingers laced with his. “Always.”

He glanced at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “What are you thinking about?”

You stopped walking, turning to face him. “How lucky I am,” you said simply.

Spencer’s eyes softened, and he stepped closer, his hands resting on your waist. “I’m the lucky one.”

The kiss you shared under the stars was filled with the quiet certainty that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you’d face them together.

You’d found your place—with Spencer, with the team, with the life you’d built. And for the first time in a long time, you felt whole.

[be4chywritez]

sweet like honey | max verstappen

max verstappen x fem!reader

"you're to sweet for me."

Max doesn't like how nice you are towards him.

beachy’s masterlist🐚

prompt list

Max isn't sure why he doesn’t like you. You’ve never wronged him, never talked bad about him, or been rude in any way. But for some odd reason, Max hates you.

Maybe it’s the Verstappen genes kicking in, that innate tendency to be an asshole. Or maybe it’s bred into him to keep sweet things like you at a distance. So, you can imagine his shock and horror when he sees you perched on the couch, flipping through a book in his friend’s Italian villa.

Your eyes meet his, and a smile graces your lips. You place the book in your lap, and he watches as your eyes brighten at the sight of him, the same way they might light up at the sight of a pretty flower.

Your small yellow sundress barely covers your upper thighs, and Max can’t help but stare before quickly looking down at his phone, not wanting to be too obvious about his boyish gawking.

“Max,” you say softly, your voice warm and rich like honey, drawing his attention whether he wants it or not.

He hears you, of course, but pretends to focus on his phone. His thumb moves slowly over the screen, though nothing he sees holds his interest. It’s the way you say his name that sticks in his mind, making it impossible to ignore.

“It’s nice to see you,” you continue, your tone sincere as if you mean it more than you should. You settle back into the cushions, your dress slipping a little higher on your thighs, and he catches himself glancing before looking away again.

Max lets out a quiet huff, his eyes still fixed on his phone, but his attention is all on you now. “Didn’t know you’d be here,” he murmurs, his voice lower than usual, almost guarded.

You shift, crossing your legs under you, the air feeling warmer, closer. “A surprise, I guess,” you reply, a faint smile tugging at your lips, the kind that lingers, soft and effortless.

Max clenches his jaw, forcing himself to look back at his phone. Still, he’s hyper-aware of your presence, of the subtle scent of your perfume lingering in the room. He swallows hard, trying to steady himself, even as his chest tightens.

“Yeah,” he mutters, almost under his breath, like he’s afraid to say anything else, and you let the moment settle, content with the quiet between you.

Just then, his best friend Jamie stumbles in, holding a glass of chardonnay. “Maxie,” he coos, squishing Max’s cheeks together, making his lips pucker. Close behind comes your best friend, Mila—Jamie’s girlfriend.

A few others join the group, a mix of Jamie and Mila’s friends, and Max’s brow furrows as he realizes that they’re all couples. He internally groans, watching your eyes flit around like a lost puppy.

“Alright, everyone,” Mila announces with a clap of her hands, “time to head up. We’ve got a long day ahead tomorrow.”

One by one, the group starts dispersing, grabbing their things and heading upstairs. Max lingers, scrolling aimlessly through his phone, but he’s acutely aware of you standing up from the couch, smoothing down the hem of your dress.

You move with an easy grace, slipping past him with a soft, “Goodnight, Max.” There’s no sarcasm, no bite—just genuine kindness that he doesn’t understand. You flash him a small smile before heading toward the stairs.

Max’s jaw tightens as he watches you go. You’re far too calm, far too kind for his liking. It makes him uncomfortable, like you’re holding a mirror up to the way he behaves, forcing him to see the stark contrast between you.

He takes a deep breath, tucking his phone into his pocket, and follows behind the group. The villa is beautiful, the soft glow of the lights casting long shadows across the walls as everyone makes their way to their respective rooms. His room is at the far end of the hall, and as he reaches it, he notices you standing just outside the door next to his.

“Looks like we’re neighbors,” you say lightly, your voice warm and soft. You hold your toothbrush and a towel, your yellow sundress replaced by pale pink silky pajamas, and there’s something almost disarming about how comfortable you seem.

Max nods, his expression neutral. “Yeah.”

You don’t push the conversation, only smile again as you step into your room. “Sleep well, Max,” you say over your shoulder, as if you mean it.

He huffs quietly, more out of habit than frustration, and slips into his own room. The door closes with a soft click, and he leans back against it, rubbing a hand over his face.

For a moment, he stands there, in the silence of the room, staring at nothing in particular. He doesn’t know why your kindness unsettles him so much. It’s not like you’ve done anything wrong, but that’s exactly the problem. You’re too nice. Too understanding. And for some reason, it gets under his skin.

Max changes into a T-shirt and shorts, moving about the room on autopilot. He keeps hearing your voice, soft and sweet, lingering in his thoughts.

Finally, he pulls back the covers and slides into bed, trying to shut everything out. But it’s quiet now—too quiet. And even though you’re just on the other side of the wall, he can’t stop thinking about you.

In the middle of the night, he’s still awake, tossing and turning, when there’s a soft knock on his door. Max sits up, frowning slightly, wondering who it could be at this hour.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and pads across the room, opening the door just a crack. It’s you, standing there, a little sheepish, your arms crossed lightly over your chest.

“Sorry,” you whisper, barely audible, “I didn’t mean to bother you. It’s just… my room's really hot. I think the AC is broken.”

Max blinks, unsure of what to say at first. Part of him wants to tell you to deal with it yourself, but another part of him can’t ignore it.

His eyes linger on you more than he’d admit—your hair sticking to your neck from sweat, your cheeks flushed, and you nibble your lip nervously. Your tank top has ridden up, a sliver of your hip exposed, and Max does everything in his power to push those thoughts away.

“Uh… you could just crack open a window,” he suggests, his voice a bit rough from sleep. He knows the words sound hollow even to him. He doesn’t want you in his space, yet part of him doesn’t want you sweating alone either.

You fidget slightly, your gaze dropping to the floor. “I tried, but it didn’t help. I just thought… maybe I could crash in here?” The words hang in the air, hopeful yet tentative.

Max’s heart races at the idea. The prospect of sharing the bed makes his palms sweat. It’s one thing to be in the same room, but sharing a bed? He hesitates, biting the inside of his cheek as he weighs his options.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asks, trying to sound casual, but there’s a hint of something deeper in his tone. The image of you curled up beside him—too close for comfort—sends a shiver down his spine.

“Yeah, no, you’re right,” you offer a nervous smile, clearly not wanting to invade his space, so you back away, ducking into your room. He watches you until the door is shut behind you.

Max stands in the doorway, his heart racing as he processes the moment. He’s not sure why he feels such a strong urge to call you back, to insist that it’s okay, but the words remain stuck in his throat. He runs a hand through his hair, feeling a mix of irritation and something else—something he’s not ready to name.

As he paces back to his bed, he tries to shake off the lingering image of you standing there, your flushed cheeks and nervous smile. He lies down again, staring at the ceiling, trying to focus on anything but the fact that you’re just a wall away.

A few moments pass before he hears a soft, muffled noise from your room—a sniffle, maybe? It makes his chest tighten at the thought of you crying because you're uncomfortable.

“Damn it,” he mutters to himself, tossing an arm over his eyes. He’s not going to sleep if he keeps thinking about you like this.

After what feels like an eternity of tossing and turning, he finally sits up, his decision made. He stands up, his heart pounding in his chest, and makes his way to your door. He raises his hand to knock but hesitates, uncertainty flooding in.

“Why the hell am I doing this?” he mutters, his self-doubt creeping back in. But the thought of you feeling uncomfortable alone is enough to push him through. He knocks softly, the sound barely more than a tap.

“Hey,” you call from inside, and he can hear the surprise in your voice. “Is everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” he replies, his voice worse than he intended. “I… just thought maybe you could come back. It’s probably not that hot here.”

There’s a brief silence, and he can imagine the look on your face—surprised and perhaps a little hopeful. “Really?” you ask, and he can’t help the slight smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

The door swings open, revealing you still in your silk-clad pajamas. He rips his gaze away, feeling a tightness in his throat. He doesn't utter a word, just turns around, walking to his room. He can hear your feet padding behind him, and you close the door behind the both of you.

Max keeps his back to you as you quietly follow him into the room, closing the door behind you with a soft click. The air feels heavier now, thick with unspoken tension as you stand there in the dim light, waiting for him to say something. But Max doesn’t. Instead, he heads straight for the bed, pulling back the covers on one side, his movements stiff and a little too deliberate.

“You can take the right side,” he mutters, not looking at you, as he slides under the covers on the left. His heart is pounding, though he tries to act like everything is fine.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure whether to thank him or just keep quiet. Deciding not to push it, you simply nod, even though he isn’t looking at you. You cross the room and slip into the bed beside him, careful not to make any sudden movements.

The mattress dips slightly under your weight, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he can feel the same tension thrumming between you that you do. The bed feels impossibly small now, the space between you a thin sliver of air that crackles with awkwardness.

You lie still, facing away from him, but you can feel his presence—so close and yet so distant. The sound of his steady breathing fills the room, and you wonder if he’s doing the same as you, staring at the ceiling, trying to will himself to sleep.

Minutes stretch on, and the silence between you is deafening. Every creak of the bed, every shift in the sheets seems louder in the stillness of the night. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice so soft it barely breaks the silence. You don’t expect a reply, and for a few moments, there’s nothing but the sound of your own breathing.

Then, finally, Max shifts slightly beside you. “Yeah, whatever,” he grumbles, his voice low and rough, but there’s something different in it now. Something that isn’t as cold as before.

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. Maybe he isn’t as indifferent as he wants you to think. You curl up a little more, trying to make yourself comfortable, even as the tension lingers in the air between you.

As the night drags on, you begin to drift in and out of sleep. The heat from the earlier part of the night is gone now, replaced by a cooler breeze that drifts in through the open window. The sheets are soft, and for the first time since you entered Max’s room, you start to relax.

Just as you’re on the edge of sleep, you feel something shift again. Max turns slightly, the mattress dipping as he moves closer—just barely, but enough for you to notice. His arm brushes against yours, and the warmth of his skin sends a small jolt through you.

You stay perfectly still, wondering if he did it on purpose or if he’s just restless. Either way, you don’t move, afraid to disturb the delicate balance between you.

Your mind races—what if you roll over onto him in your sleep? What if you start snoring?—and the nerves bubble up, spilling out before you can stop yourself.

“So… I haven’t slept in a guy’s bed in ages,” you blurt out, staring at the ceiling. Max barely reacts, his only acknowledgment a low, noncommittal “Mhm,” but it doesn’t stop you from talking.

“Yeah, it’s been, like… a long time. I’m more of a 'sleep with a thousand pillows' kind of person, you know? Gotta have the right setup.” You laugh a little, mostly to yourself, feeling the need to fill the quiet. Max doesn’t respond, but you keep going, too nervous to stop. “Oh, and I’m really bad with directions, like, I get lost in grocery stores. Once, I ended up in the freezer aisle for thirty minutes just trying to find the cereal.”

“Mhm.”

His replies are half-hearted at best, but you don’t mind. If anything, the sound of his quiet indifference weirdly helps soothe your nerves.

“Oh! And I can’t swim,” you say with a laugh, thinking it’s just another random fact to throw out there. But this time, Max’s head snaps toward you.

“You came to the amalfi coast, and you can’t swim?” he asks, his voice sharper than before, with a hint of amusement. His eyes narrow slightly, and you can’t help but grin.

“Yeah,” you reply, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “Figured I’d just, you know… stay on the shore.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “That’s stupid.”

“Maybe,” you say, laughing softly, your nerves easing a bit. “But I’m good at other things. Like… did you know I can recite the entire script of Finding Nemo? Well, mostly.”

Max rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Great skill.”

You keep talking, the words flowing easier now. Your voice fills the room, soft and rhythmic, and even though Max doesn’t say much, you can feel the tension in the air start to shift. His body relaxes slightly, the space between you feeling a little less awkward.

“And another thing, I’m a terrible cook. Burnt spaghetti once. Didn’t even think that was possible. It’s water and noodles, right?” You laugh again, and this time Max lets out a quiet huff—almost like a chuckle, though he’d never admit it.

Your voice is like a steady hum, lulling the room into a gentle calm. You talk about everything and nothing, the words spilling out in a quiet stream. Max listens, his responses becoming softer, almost inaudible, but it doesn’t matter. His breathing slows, his eyes fluttering shut as your voice washes over him.

You don’t notice when he finally drifts off, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. But somehow, you feel it—the way the energy in the room has shifted, his earlier sharpness melted away into something softer, more relaxed.

The next morning, sunlight spills through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. You stir first, the warmth of the bed enveloping you, your body reluctant to wake. For a moment, you forget where you are, and then it hits you—Max’s bed, Max’s room. You blink your eyes open slowly, turning your head slightly to see him still there, asleep.

He’s lying on his back now, the sheets tangled around his waist, his chest rising and falling with each slow breath. His face is serene, the harsh lines you’ve come to associate with him softened by sleep. His hair is slightly tousled, giving him an almost boyish look, something so different from the hard-edged man who usually glares at you.

You feel a strange flutter in your chest as you look at him, this version of Max—unguarded, vulnerable. It’s a side of him you never thought you’d see, and it’s almost too intimate, too close. You shift a little, trying not to make any noise, but the bed creaks softly under your weight.

Max stirs, his brows furrowing slightly as he slowly wakes up. His eyes open halfway, still hazy with sleep, and for a brief moment, he looks at you without the usual edge in his gaze. It’s like he’s forgotten for a second who you are, where he is.

Then, reality seems to settle back in, and his eyes narrow ever so slightly, though there’s no real malice there. Just a kind of gruff annoyance.

“Mornin’,” he mutters, his voice rough and low, thick with sleep.

“Good morning,” you reply softly, offering a tentative smile.

He shifts, pushing himself up on his elbows, the sheet falling further down his waist, revealing more of his toned torso. You can’t help but glance, quickly averting your eyes when you realize you’re staring.

Max runs a hand through his messy hair, yawning as he glances at you. “You talk a lot in your sleep too, or is that just when you’re awake?” he asks, a hint of that familiar sarcasm creeping back into his tone, though there’s no real bite behind it.

You chuckle lightly, relaxing a little. “Only when I’m awake, I promise.”

He grunts, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting up. For a moment, neither of you says anything, the silence between you less awkward than you would’ve expected. It’s almost… comfortable.

Max stretches, his muscles flexing slightly as he does, and you try not to let your eyes linger too long. You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, and you’re grateful when he doesn’t seem to notice.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “how’d you sleep?”

He glances back at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he shrugs. “Fine, I guess.” There’s a pause, and then he adds, almost begrudgingly, “Didn’t mind all the talking.”

Your heart skips a beat at that, the small admission catching you off guard. You smile, warmth spreading through you. “Glad to know I didn’t annoy you too much.”

Max doesn’t respond, just grabs his phone from the nightstand and checks the time. But you catch the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips before he turns away.

He stands, pulling on a shirt and running a hand through his hair again before heading toward the door. “We’re leaving for breakfast soon,” he mutters. “Don’t take too long.”

He steps out before poking his head back in his face serious, “Don’t tell anyone about this,” he says gesturing a finger around towards you and him, right asshole Max is alive and well.

“Right.” you deflate, but none the less walk to your room. You notice the AC now works. 

The warmth of the Italian sun is already starting to filter in through your window as you slip into your pale yellow babydoll dress. The soft fabric feels light against your skin, perfect for the warm weather and the laid-back vibes of the villa.

When you finally make your way downstairs, the smell of fresh coffee and pastries fills the air, and you can hear the familiar hum of laughter and chatter. The villa’s terrace is bathed in sunlight, with everyone seated around the large outdoor table, enjoying breakfast. 

Max is already seated, of course, his usual stoic expression in place. He’s leaning back in his chair, sunglasses on, making it impossible to tell if he’s even noticed you. 

An array of colorful fruits and pastries litters the table, couples chatting and laughing as you offer everyone a warm smile while taking a seat next to Mila, who returns the gesture. “How was the room, darling?” she asks, taking a sip of her tea. You can feel a pair of laser beams on your face, as if Max is staring into your soul.

“Oh, it was truly nice,” you reply, feeling the tips of your ears heat up with nerves. Mila seems to buy it and turns to address the entire group.

“So, guys, today we’re going to take the yacht around,” she announces, eliciting a few excited hoots from your friends. Your stomach tightens at the thought of being stuck on a yacht, but you brush the anxiety aside.

As the chatter around the breakfast table grows, the knot in your stomach tightens at the mention of the yacht. You toy with the edge of your napkin, trying to suppress the wave of nerves that accompanies the idea of being out on the water, especially since you can’t swim.

Max, still leaning back in his chair, tilts his head slightly in your direction, as if he senses the unease radiating off you. His sunglasses shield his eyes, but you swear you can feel his gaze tracing over you. A small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, and you can almost hear his voice echoing in your mind: “You came to the Amalfi Coast, and you can’t swim?”

You swallow hard, forcing a smile as you join in on the group's excitement, even though the thought of being surrounded by water sends a shiver down your spine. Mila stands, gathering everyone’s attention, and starts guiding the group toward the dock.

The villa’s outdoor space spills into a sprawling garden, leading to a private path that takes you to where the yacht is docked. The sunlight glints off the water, almost blinding in its brightness, as you walk with the others toward the sleek, luxurious yacht. Everyone seems thrilled—laughing and talking about the views they’ll see—while you stay quieter than usual, taking deep breaths to calm your nerves.

You tug at the sleeves of your oversized polo, the fabric bunching slightly in your grip as you focus on steadying your breath. The path to the dock feels longer than it actually is, the sounds of the group’s lively chatter fading into the background. You glance at the shimmering blue water ahead and bite the inside of your cheek.

Max lingers just a few steps behind, and you can feel the weight of his presence even without looking. His footsteps are slow and deliberate, as if he’s watching you closely, waiting for any sign of weakness. You try not to dwell on it, though the image of him smirking at your fear lingers in the back of your mind.

As the group finally boards the yacht, you become hyper-aware of the water surrounding you. The boat rocks gently as everyone gets settled, and you grip the railing tightly, trying to hide your discomfort. Max watches you for a moment before walking past you, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours.

“Relax,” he mutters under his breath, not even looking at you, but there’s something almost reassuring in his tone. You exhale slowly, forcing yourself to take a seat with the others, letting the warmth of the sun and the sound of conversation distract you from the vast ocean around you.

As the yacht pulls away from the dock, you try to focus on the scenery. The Amalfi Coast is breathtaking—cliffs draped in greenery, colorful villas dotting the shoreline, and the ocean sparkling beneath the golden sunlight. Everyone around you laughs and soaks up the beauty of the day, but your hands remain clenched in your lap, your mind preoccupied with the endless expanse of water.

Despite your nervousness, you find yourself stealing glances at Max. He’s sitting at the back of the yacht, one arm draped casually over the side, sunglasses shielding his eyes as he stares out at the water. He looks so at ease, completely unaffected by the swaying of the boat or the openness of the sea.

The breeze picks up, ruffling your hair, and as you turn your attention back to the group, you feel the yacht slow down. Mila claps her hands, announcing that they’ve anchored near a beautiful cove, perfect for swimming.

Your stomach drops.

Everyone begins shedding layers, excitement buzzing through the group as they prepare to jump into the water. You stay seated, gripping the edge of your chair as they leap overboard, laughter echoing around you.

Max stands, pulling off his shirt and revealing the defined muscles of his back and shoulders. Your eyes linger for a moment longer than you intend. He catches your gaze just before he moves toward the edge of the yacht, that same smirk playing on his lips.

“You coming in?” he asks, his voice low, almost challenging.

You shake your head quickly, offering a small laugh. “No, I think I’ll just… stay here and enjoy the sun.”

Max arches an eyebrow, clearly not buying your excuse, but he doesn’t push it. He gives you one last look, his smirk still in place, before diving effortlessly into the water.

You watch as your friends giggle and enjoy themselves. Mila waves up at you, and you give her a fake salute. She giggles and goes back to swimming. A few minutes later, several members of the group come up to take a break, Max among them. You hate to admit it, but you watch the water droplets roll off him, his cheeks flushed from the sun, and a tight feeling blooms in your core as you force yourself to look away.

The group is lively, and at one point, Jamie, always the instigator, starts playfully shoving friends toward the edge of the boat, teasing and laughing. You stand at the back, watching, hoping to stay out of the chaos.

But in a moment of playful exuberance, Jamie swings his arm and accidentally nudges you forward. Time seems to slow as you lose your balance, and before you can even process what’s happening, you tumble over the side of the yacht. The water crashes around you, and as you hit the surface, the cold rush envelops you, sending panic gripping your chest. Instinctively, you kick your legs, but the water pulls you under, and you flail in confusion. The world above disappears, and the muffled sounds of laughter and splashing fade into silence.

Just as you start to lose hope, a strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back to the surface. You gasp for air, blinking the water from your eyes, and find yourself face-to-face with Max. His expression is intense, irritation etched on his features.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he snaps, though his grip is steady and reassuring as he keeps you afloat.

You can’t help but laugh nervously, trying to shake off the fear. “I didn’t want to go in!” you manage to sputter, still clinging to him for dear life.

Max rolls his eyes, the frown returning, though it’s softer this time. “You need to stop thrashing around,” he says, his voice lower now.

As he helps you back onto the yacht, the warmth of the sun hits your damp skin once more. Laughter and cheers erupt from the group as they realize you’re okay, but Max’s presence is the only thing that matters to you in this moment. He doesn’t say anything; his expression remains unreadable as he sets you down.

You catch your breath, water dripping from your hair and running down your arms. “Thanks, Max,” you say, trying to brush off the embarrassment. His usual smirk is absent, and for a split second, you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he cares.

But as soon as you’re on the boat, he steps back, leaving you with the others. “Try not to drown next time,” he says, his tone flat as he pulls his shirt back on, the fabric clinging to his damp skin. It feels more like a reflex than a genuine jab, but you let it slide, laughing it off. “I’ll try my best.”

He turns away, and you can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. You shake your head, trying to focus on the laughter around you as Jamie and Mila check to make sure you’re okay. “Really, I’m fine,” you assure them, even as your heart races from the close call.

Just like that, everyone goes back to normal. Lunch is served, and as the yacht heads back to the dock under the fading light, you’re the first one off, eager to touch solid ground once more. You don’t bid anyone goodnight; you’re all too tired for that. You head upstairs to your room, closing the door behind you and shrugging off your damp polo and swimsuit. You hop in the shower, rinsing the salt water off your skin.

After your shower, the soft sound of knocking pulls you from your thoughts. You wrap yourself in a towel and open the door to find Mila standing there, concern etched across her features.

“Hey, just wanted to check on you,” she says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. Her eyes scan your face, searching for any signs of distress. “That fall looked pretty rough.”

You chuckle softly, waving it off. “I’m fine, really. Just a little embarrassed.”

Mila raises an eyebrow, a sly smile creeping onto her face. “You sure it’s not because of Max? I saw the way he pulled you out of the water. It looked pretty… intimate.”

The mention of Max sends a warmth flooding through you, one that you quickly dismiss. “Oh, please. He was just being a jerk, as usual.”

She smirks, crossing her arms. “Or maybe he just likes the attention.”

“Yeah, right,” you scoff, but a small part of you can’t help but wonder if there’s more to it. “He’s just… Max. You know how he is.”

Mila studies you for a moment, trying to read between the lines. “Well, just think about it. He’s not always the way he acts, you know?”

With that, she leaves, and you find yourself lost in thought, her words echoing in your mind. What if Max really did care?

Later that night, curiosity gets the better of you. You stand in front of Max’s door, your heart racing as you knock softly.

“Come in,” he calls, and you push the door open cautiously. He’s lounging on his bed, scrolling through his phone, and for a moment, you’re struck by how at home he looks.

“Hey,” you say, your voice soft. “I just wanted to thank you… for earlier.”

Max looks up, a flicker of something in his gaze before he masks it with indifference. “You mean for saving your ass?” he quips, his smirk returning. “Don’t mention it.”

You roll your eyes, stepping further into the room. “You know, for someone who supposedly doesn’t care, you sure have a funny way of showing it.”

His expression shifts, annoyance flickering across his features. “What do you want me to do? Throw you a parade for not drowning?”

“Maybe just a little acknowledgment would be nice,” you counter, crossing your arms defensively.

He stands, taking a step closer, and the air between you crackles with tension. “I don’t like how sweet you are,” he says, his tone sharp. “It’s annoying.”

“Annoying?” you challenge, feeling a rush of defiance. “Is that really all you’ve got? Because it sounds like you’re just scared of someone actually caring.”

Max’s eyes darken, and for a moment, you think he might snap back. But instead, he steps even closer, invading your personal space. “You think you’re so great, don’t you? All sunshine and rainbows, but it doesn’t work with me.”

Before you can respond, he closes the distance, and suddenly, his lips are on yours—fervent and demanding. His warmth envelops you, slightly chapped against your own, igniting a spark that sends a thrill coursing through your entire body. You’re caught off guard at first, but your instincts take over, and you melt into the kiss, feeling his hands slide around your waist, pulling you closer.

As the kiss deepens, you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. He presses you against the door, his body firm and solid against yours, radiating heat that makes your pulse quicken. The kiss is intoxicating; every second stretches into eternity—his lips moving against yours in a dance that feels both wild and tender.

When you finally pull away, breathless, your heart races as you search his eyes. “Wait… Max—”

He leans in again, his breath mingling with yours, heavy with longing. “You taste sweet,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, a smirk tugging at his lips.

A rush of warmth floods your cheeks at his words. “Is that all you have to say?” you tease, a smile breaking through your fluster.

Max steps back slightly, his hands still resting on your hips as he watches you intently. “What do you want me to say? That I’m an asshole who can’t help but want you?”

The air between you buzzes with unspoken tension—a mix of frustration and attraction. You feel exhilarated yet confused, unable to ignore the thrill of being this close to him, the chemistry crackling like electricity.

“Maybe you could start by admitting you actually care,” you challenge softly, a playful glint in your eyes.

“Maybe,” he replies, a hint of seriousness in his tone before leaning in again, capturing your lips with his. This time, it’s even more intense; his hands grip your waist as he deepens the kiss, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he can’t get enough of you.

But as the moment stretches on, you pull back slightly, breathless. “Max—”

He leans in again, and you find yourself needing to physically stop him, your hands resting on his chest. “Wait, we can’t just—”

“Why not?” he presses, his voice low and needy, his eyes dark with desire. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

You’re both panting, caught in an electric moment. “You’re infuriating, you know that?” you say, a smile creeping onto your lips despite the chaos swirling around you.

Max smirks, his expression softening just a fraction. “Yeah, but you like it.” He crashes his lips against yours once more, and as he pulls away, he runs his tongue along his lower lip, a boyish smirk breaking through. “Sweet like honey,” he teases, prompting you to laugh and tilt your head back. Without thinking, you pull him down by his shirt collar, kissing him again, lost in the moment.

[pandapetals]

Crush

logan howlett x fem!shy reader - slight angst, misunderstandings, struggle expressing feelings, crushes, introvert reader, x-men cameos, logan being jealous, fluff at end

You have a crush on Logan but being shy and introverted makes it hard for you to tell him that.

read on Ao3

You had a painfully obvious crush, at least to yourself. You kept it locked away, buried under layers of awkwardness and forced indifference. There was no point in admitting it, no point in setting yourself up for the kind of rejection that would leave you reeling for weeks. That’s why they called it a crush—it hurt. And you’d rather avoid the sting altogether.

Logan, of all people, would never look at you that way. Why would he? The man was a living embodiment of rugged confidence, the kind of guy who attracted the attention of bold, sexy women without even trying. Women who exuded confidence, who knew how to flirt without stumbling over their words or turning beet red at the slightest hint of interest.

You were not that woman.

You were awkward, sometimes downright clumsy with your words, and whenever Logan was nearby, you either avoided him completely or turned into a jittery mess. The few times you’d actually spoken to him, you’d kept it short, clipped even—anything to hide the way your heart raced whenever he was within arm’s reach.

But today? Today, fate was not on your side.

"Hey," Logan’s low, gravelly voice cut through the air, pulling you out of your swirling thoughts.

You jumped, nearly dropping the stack of books in your arms as his voice startled you. A squeal escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you cursed under your breath, feeling heat flood your cheeks.

"Hi!" you blurted out, avoiding his gaze as if your life depended on it. Your eyes darted anywhere but at him, settling on the wall, the floor, even the damn ceiling—anywhere but on Logan’s piercing hazel eyes.

You stood there, clutching the books like they were some kind of shield between you and him, your heart hammering in your chest. Logan stood in front of you, his hands casually in his jacket pockets, looking as effortlessly cool as ever. His brows furrowed slightly, probably trying to figure out why you were acting like a deer caught in headlights.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice gruff, though there was a hint of amusement in it.

You nodded quickly, a little too quickly, your palms suddenly sweaty. "Yep, fine," you muttered, shifting your weight from one foot to another. “Just busy.” You gestured vaguely to the books in your arms as if that explained your entire existence.

Logan's gaze lingered on you, those damn intense eyes scanning your face, trying to read something in your expression. You swallowed hard, willing yourself to act normal, but normal wasn't exactly your strong suit when he was around.

"Right," he said, his tone skeptical but not unkind. "You sure? You look like you’re about to bolt."

You forced a laugh, though it came out more like a strained chuckle. "No, no bolting," you lied, though the urge to flee was strong. Your nerves were screaming at you to make up some excuse and leave before you made an even bigger fool of yourself.

Logan didn’t move, didn’t let you off the hook that easily. He stood there, hands still in his pockets, watching you with that calm, unshakable presence that made him impossible to ignore.

"So, I was thinkin’," he started, his voice a little softer now, almost hesitant—something you weren’t used to hearing from him. "You and me, we should... hang out sometime."

Your heart nearly stopped. Hang out? Logan wanted to hang out with you?

Your brain went into overdrive, trying to process the words, but instead of the cool, collected response you wished you could give, you blurted out, “Why?”

The word came out sharper than you intended, and you immediately winced, mentally kicking yourself. Of all the ways you could’ve responded, why was probably the worst? It sounded rude, and defensive, like you couldn’t believe he would even suggest it.

Logan raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Why not?”

You blinked, feeling your face grow even hotter. “I-I don’t know, I just—” You stumbled over your words, trying to backtrack but only making it worse. “I mean, you don’t usually talk to me, and I figured you’d rather—uh—hang out with someone else, you know?”

The smirk on Logan’s face softened, his eyes narrowing slightly in the way they did when he was trying to figure someone out. "I’d rather hang out with you," he said, his voice low and steady, without a hint of hesitation.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, your mind reeling. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t mocking you. He was... serious and that realization only made you more nervous.

You shifted on your feet, clutching the books tighter. “I’m... not exactly the best company,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze again. “I’m awkward, and—well, I’m not really good at this kind of thing.”

Logan chuckled, the sound low and almost warm. “Darlin’, you think I’m lookin’ for someone perfect to hang out with? I’m about as rough around the edges as they come.”

You hesitated, sneaking a glance at him from under your lashes. He was still watching you, but there was something softer in his expression now, something that made the knots in your stomach loosen just a little.

“I don’t know,” you murmured, feeling your voice wobble under the weight of everything unsaid. Uncertainty hung in the air between you and Logan, thick and suffocating, making your chest tighten with every awkward breath.

Logan stepped closer, his usual gruffness softened by the unspoken question in his eyes. His hand moved toward your face, almost instinctively, but he stopped short, his fingers lingering just inches from your cheek, as if he was afraid to touch you—afraid of crossing a line. His jaw clenched the hard edge of frustration in his expression barely masked by the vulnerability he wasn’t used to showing.

“Do you hate me or somethin’?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, so sudden and raw that they knocked the wind out of you. Hate him? Your throat tightened as you stared at him, the disbelief written all over your face. How could he think that? How could anyone hate Logan? The idea was so far from the truth that it left you speechless for a moment, caught between the shock of his question and the overwhelming desire to fix whatever misunderstanding had led him here.

“No—” You shook your head, the word falling out of your mouth clumsily, but it wasn’t enough to erase the hurt that flickered behind his eyes.

Logan’s face hardened, that familiar guarded look slipping back into place like armor, shielding him from whatever pain he thought you were hiding. He shifted his weight, his arms crossing over his chest in a way that felt more like a barrier than anything else. “Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered, his voice low, almost resigned. “You don’t talk to me. Hell, you barely look at me.”

You winced, feeling the truth in his words like a knife twisting in your gut. He wasn’t wrong. You had been avoiding him, dodging his gaze in hallways, keeping your conversations short, brushing him off whenever he tried to get close. But it wasn’t because you hated him—not even close. It was because every time he looked at you, your heart raced in a way that terrified you, a way that made you feel like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall.

The last thing you wanted was to fall for someone who could never want you the way you wanted him.

Logan took your silence as confirmation of his worst fears. His jaw clenched tighter, the hurt in his eyes hardening into something closer to anger, though not quite—more like frustration and resignation rolled into one. “Look, if I’ve done somethin’ to piss you off, just say it,” he said, his voice rough around the edges, but quieter now, like he was trying not to let the hurt show. “But this whole… act? This avoidin’ me all the damn time? I don’t get it. I ain’t done nothin’ to deserve this.”

His words cut deep, guilt gnawing at the edges of your heart. You could see it now—how your awkwardness, your fear, had been misread as rejection. How Logan, of all people, had been standing there, arms outstretched, only to be met with walls you didn’t even realize you were building.

You opened your mouth to explain, but the words wouldn’t come. You didn’t know how to explain the mess inside your head, the way you’d convinced yourself that keeping distance between you and him was safer, easier, than admitting how much he affected you. How much you wanted him, despite everything telling you it could never work.

Logan’s eyes flashed with frustration as the silence stretched between you. He ran a hand through his hair, his rough fingers tangling in the strands like he was trying to keep himself from saying something he’d regret. “You’re really not gonna say anything, huh?” His voice broke a little, rawer now, like the frustration had finally worn him down.

Your heart hammered in your chest, the weight of his words suffocating. The look on his face—the quiet hurt, the way his eyes flickered between anger and something far more vulnerable—was too much. It was too much to bear, too much to know that he’d spent all this time thinking you hated him when the truth was the exact opposite.

“I don’t hate you,” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips, but they carried more weight than you realized.

Logan stilled, his eyes locking onto yours, searching for something—some hint of truth, some explanation that made sense of all the confusion that had built between you. “Then what the hell is it?” he asked. “’Cause I don’t get it, darlin’. One minute you’re actin’ like I don’t exist, and the next you’re—” He stopped himself, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to find the right words. “I just don’t know what the hell I did wrong.”

Your heart ached at the pain in his voice, at the way he seemed so sure he was the problem. The truth weighed heavy on your chest, but fear kept your mouth shut—fear that once you said it, once you admitted how you felt, there’d be no going back.

Logan wasn’t going to wait forever. He took a step back, pulling his hand away from where it had hovered near your face, his eyes flickering with something close to disappointment. “Forget it,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m not gonna beg.”

He turned as if to walk away, and panic surged through you, your chest tightening with the fear that you’d let him leave without explaining, without fixing what you’d broken. Your hand shot out instinctively, grabbing his arm before you even realized what you were doing.

“Wait—Logan, please.” Your voice cracked, your grip on his arm tightening. He stopped, glancing down at your hand, then back up at you with those sharp hazel eyes, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

He waited. His silence a heavy, painful thing as you struggled to find the right words. “I don’t hate you,” you repeated, more firmly this time, your heart pounding in your ears. “I… I just—” You swallowed hard, your chest aching with the weight of what you were about to admit. “I didn’t know how to be around you.”

Logan frowned, his brow furrowing as he studied your face. “What d’you mean?”

You bit your lip, your mind racing for an escape, any way to pull yourself out of this vulnerable moment. You could feel the truth bubbling up inside you, threatening to spill out, but fear clenched around your chest like a vice. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t tell him.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, your voice tight, forced. Your eyes flickered to the floor, your stomach twisting as you scrambled for something, anything, to steer the conversation away from the truth. A lie formed on your tongue, half-formed and desperate, and you latched onto it before you could stop yourself. “I’ve just been... distracted.”

Logan’s frown deepened. “By what?” His voice was quiet, but there was a sharpness to it, a need to understand that made your stomach churn. He was getting too close, too damn close.

Panic surged through you, and before you knew what you were saying, the words tumbled out. “It’s... someone else.” You cringed inwardly as the lie left your lips, feeling the weight of it settle between you like a barrier.

Logan’s expression shifted, confusion flickering across his face, and then something darker. He tightened his jaw as his eyes hardened. “Someone else?” he repeated, his voice low, carefully controlled.

You nodded, your heart sinking. You couldn’t stop now. The lie was out, and you had to commit to it. “Yeah, um... it’s just—I’ve been kinda... into someone from the team.” The words felt foreign, clumsy like they didn’t belong to you. You hated how easily they fell from your lips, how they felt like a betrayal of everything you actually wanted to say.

Logan’s eyes narrowed, his arms crossed over his chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he studied you. “Who?” The word was clipped, sharp, like he was bracing himself for something he didn’t want to hear.

You froze. Who? You hadn’t thought that far ahead. Your mind raced, and in your panic, you blurted out the first name that came to you. “Scott.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Logan’s reaction was immediate—his jaw clenched so tight you thought you could hear his teeth grind. His eyes flickered with something hot and dangerous before he quickly masked it. He took a step back, his hands curling into fists at his sides, his posture rigid. “Scott, huh?”

You nodded, swallowing the guilt that rose in your throat like bile. “Yeah,” you mumbled, hating yourself more with every second that passed. “I mean... I know he’s kinda, you know with Jean but...you can see why I didn’t want anyone knowing—”

Logan let out a sharp breath, cutting you off. His eyes, usually so intense but warm, were cold now, narrowed and unreadable. “That’s why you’ve been avoiding me?” His voice was rough, edged with something that made your heart ache. “Because you’re into Scott?”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak. You just nodded, the lie sitting heavy on your chest, suffocating you.

Logan’s laugh was humorless, more of a bitter scoff than anything else. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair, his movements tense, almost angry. “Well, should’ve seen it.” 

You stood there, the room suddenly feeling too big, too empty, the weight of your lie pressing down on you like a heavy stone. Logan had left without looking back, his words still ringing in your ears—“Should’ve seen it”—and you wished, more than anything, that you could take it all back. But the damage was done, and now you were left with nothing but the bitter taste of regret.

You slumped into a chair, burying your face in your hands, replaying the moment repeatedly, wishing you’d had the courage to just tell him the truth.

Meanwhile, Logan was storming down the hallway, his mind a tangled mess of frustration, confusion, and something he couldn’t quite name. He wasn’t one for feelings—hell, he’d spent most of his life trying to bury them—but this? This hit him differently. The thought of you having a crush on Scott had thrown him, and for his life, he couldn’t figure out why. What the hell did you see in the guy?

His footsteps echoed through the mansion as he made a beeline for the training room, where he knew Scott would be. When he pushed through the door, the room was mostly empty, save for Scott, who was busy adjusting one of the control panels near the Danger Room entrance.

"Summers," Logan growled, his voice low and sharp as he approached.

Scott turned, eyebrows raised beneath his visor, clearly not expecting Logan to barge in like this. "Logan," he said, keeping his voice neutral. "What’s going on?"

Logan stalked closer, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Did you know she had a crush on you?" he demanded, his voice rough with barely contained frustration.

Scott blinked, clearly confused. "Know about what?"

"Her," Logan snapped. "She’s got a crush on you. You knew about that?"

Scott looked completely taken aback, his mouth slightly agape before quickly composing himself. "Wait, who are we talking about?" he asked, genuinely bewildered. "Are you talking about... her?"

Logan clenched his jaw, the muscle ticking beneath his stubble. "Yeah, her. She told me she’s been into you, and now I’m tryin’ to figure out what the hell’s goin’ on."

Scott’s confusion deepened, and he shook his head. "I had no idea," he admitted, sounding as baffled as Logan felt. "I thought she had a thing for Kurt."

Logan's scowl deepened. "Kurt?" he repeated, the name coming out like a low growl. "You’re sayin’ she’s into Nightcrawler?"

Scott shrugged. "That’s what I thought. I’ve seen them talk a few times, and she seemed... I don’t know, shy around him. Figured she liked him."

Logan’s frustration flared even higher, his temper fraying as the conversation spiraled further away from what he thought he knew. First, he’d thought you were into Scott, and now Scott was telling him you might have a crush on Kurt? None of it was making any sense, and the knot in Logan’s chest tightened.

"Thanks for nothin’, Summers," Logan grumbled, already turning on his heel and heading for the door.

Scott held up his hands, his visor catching the light. "Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just telling you what I saw."

Logan grunted in response, barely acknowledging Scott as he stormed out of the training room, his mind racing. If Scott didn’t know, and if you weren’t into him... then maybe Kurt had the answer. Logan’s jaw clenched at the thought, a surge of jealousy he hadn’t expected twisting in his gut. He needed to get to the bottom of this, one way or another.

Logan found Kurt in the garden, perched on a stone bench, lost in thought. The air around him was peaceful, the soft sound of birds chirping and the rustling of leaves in the wind providing a calm backdrop to the scene. But Logan wasn’t here for calm.

"Kurt," Logan called, his voice cutting through the serenity like a blade.

Kurt looked up, his yellow eyes widening slightly as Logan approached, clearly sensing the tension rolling off him. "Logan," he greeted cautiously, his tail twitching nervously. "Is something wrong?"

Logan stopped a few feet away from him, crossing his arms over his chest. "You and her," he said bluntly. "There somethin’ goin’ on there?"

Kurt’s brows furrowed in confusion, his tail curling around the leg of the bench as he tilted his head. "Her?" he echoed, trying to follow Logan’s line of thought. "Who are you talking about?"

Logan huffed in frustration, running a hand through his hair. "The girl," he growled. "You’ve been talkin’ to her. Scott thinks she’s into you. Is that true?"

Kurt blinked, completely thrown off by the accusation. "Into me?" He shook his head quickly, standing up from the bench. "No, Logan, that’s not true. We’ve spoken, yes, but nothing like that. She’s... well, she seems reserved around everyone."

Logan’s jaw tightened. "So you’re tellin’ me you haven’t noticed her actin’ strange around you?"

Kurt smiled gently, trying to diffuse the situation. "Everyone acts strange around me at first, Logan. But no, I don’t believe she has feelings for me. I think you might be mistaken."

Logan let out a frustrated sigh, feeling no closer to an answer than when he’d started this ridiculous search. "Great," he muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "First Scott, now you... I don’t know what the hell’s goin’ on."

Kurt watched him for a moment, his expression softening with understanding. "Perhaps," he began carefully, "you’re looking for answers in the wrong place. If you want to know who she cares about... maybe you should ask Ororo."

“Why would I ask her?” Logan growled, more to himself than anyone else. “What’s she got to do with this?”

Kurt, ever patient, tilted his head and gave Logan a knowing smile. “Because she and Ororo are friends. I’ve seen them spend a lot of time together. If anyone knows what’s going on, it’s her.”

Logan grunted, rolling his shoulders, his tension palpable. He didn’t want to involve Ororo—didn’t want to turn this into more of a thing than it already was. But if Kurt was right, and Ororo knew something… well, he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Thanks,” Logan muttered, already turning to leave.

Kurt nodded, watching Logan go, but his yellow eyes were filled with something more than amusement—something that hinted at the truth Logan was too stubborn to see for himself just yet.

Logan found Ororo in the greenhouse, tending to a row of plants that thrived under her careful touch. The humid air clung to him as he stepped inside, the smell of earth and rain filling the space. Ororo didn’t look up at first, her focus on the delicate leaves of a blooming flower, but she knew he was there. She always did.

“Logan,” she greeted calmly, her voice like the soft rustling of leaves in the wind. “What brings you here?”

Logan wasted no time, his frustration still simmering just below the surface. “I need to ask you somethin’,” he said, his tone gruff as usual.

Ororo finally looked up, her serene expression unwavering. “Go ahead.”

He hesitated for a second, feeling foolish now that he was standing in front of her. Ororo wasn’t the kind of person you grilled for answers, but he was desperate. “You and her,” he started, his eyes narrowing. “You two are close. Has she… said anythin’ to you about someone she’s into?”

Ororo raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “Why do you ask?”

Logan’s jaw clenched. He hated this dance, hated feeling like he was walking into a trap he couldn’t see. “Kurt said you’d know. I’m tryin’ to figure out if what I heard is true, that she’s got feelings for Scott.” The name came out like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Ororo tilted her head, her expression softening. “Logan, what exactly are you trying to figure out?”

Logan scowled, feeling the question cut too close to something he hadn’t fully confronted. “I just… need to know if she’s into someone. That’s all.” His words were clipped, defensive.

Ororo’s eyes sparkled with quiet understanding. She didn’t say anything for a long moment, just watched him with that unnerving calm that made him feel like she could see right through him.

When she finally spoke, her voice was gentle but firm. “Logan, if you’re so concerned about who she’s interested in, perhaps you should ask yourself why.”

Logan stiffened, his muscles coiled tight. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Ororo’s smile softened, but she didn’t back down. “You’re chasing answers about her feelings, but I think the real question is about yours.”

He blinked, thrown off by her words, but before he could snap back with his usual gruffness, something clicked—something that made his heart tighten in his chest. Jealousy.

Was that what this was? All this running around, demanding to know who you were interested in, snapping at the thought of you liking someone else… it wasn’t about figuring out the truth. It was about him. It was about the way his heart twisted at the thought of you being with anyone but him. The way he couldn’t shake the anger, the gnawing insecurity, because deep down, he wanted to be the one you were looking at, thinking about.

Ororo watched the realization settle over him, her gaze steady but compassionate. “You’ve been chasing the wrong answers, Logan,” she said softly. “If you want to know how she feels, ask her. But first, figure out how you feel.”

Logan stood there, his fists clenched at his sides, the weight of her words sinking in. He didn’t respond, didn’t know how to. Instead, he gave a curt nod, turning on his heel and stalking out of the greenhouse, his mind a mess of conflicting emotions.

The rest of the day, Logan couldn’t get Ororo’s words out of his head. Jealousy. He wasn’t the type to get jealous. He’d lived too long and seen too much to get caught up in feelings like that. But damn it, whenever he thought about you with someone else—Scott, Kurt, anyone—it made his blood boil in a way he couldn’t explain.

By the time night fell Logan had had enough. He needed answers. He needed to know the truth, not just about you, but about himself.

With a deep breath, he made his way to your room, his pulse thrumming with a mix of frustration, confusion, and something he wasn’t quite ready to name yet.

When he knocked on your door, he heard the soft shuffle of footsteps inside. A moment later, you opened the door, looking surprised to see him standing there. The expression on your face quickly turned to confusion when you saw the intensity in his eyes.

“Logan? What’s going on?”

He didn’t waste any time. “We need to talk.”

You frowned, your hand tightening on the doorknob. “About what?”

Logan stepped closer, his voice low and rough. “About you. Who the hell you’re really into?”

Your eyes widened, panic flashing across your face. “W-what are you talking about? I already told you—”

Logan cut you off with a growl, his frustration boiling over. “Don’t lie to me. I’ve been runnin’ around all day trying to figure this out—askin’ Scott, Kurt, even Ororo. And you know what? None of them know a damn thing. So I’m done with the guessin’. You’re gonna tell me the truth. Right now.”

Your heart pounded so hard you were sure Logan could hear it. The weight of his words, the raw frustration in his voice, wrapped around your chest like a vise. This was it—the moment you’d been running from, the one that made you feel exposed, vulnerable, and terrified.

You couldn’t run now. 

You swallowed hard, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. “Logan... I don’t like Scott. Or Kurt. That was just—I panicked,” you confessed, the lie sitting heavy between you both, a truth finally dragging itself into the light. 

Logan’s eyes, usually so unreadable and guarded, were stormy with confusion and something sharper, something closer to hurt. He stared at you for a moment, trying to make sense of what you’d just said. “Why did you lie?” His voice was rough, almost accusing. “If you hate me, then just admit it.”

The way he said it—the bitterness in his tone—cut through you like a knife. Hate him? The idea was ridiculous, absurd, and yet it was clear Logan had convinced himself of it as if you avoiding him, your awkwardness, could only be explained by disgust.

“I don’t hate you!” you blurted, more forcefully than you intended. Your voice cracked with the weight of your own emotions, and you immediately took a step back, trying to gather yourself, but Logan wasn’t letting you go that easily.

“Then why does your heart race every time you see me?” Logan pressed, his voice low but intense. He took a step toward you, the space between you growing smaller, the air thick with tension. “I must scare you, right? You must be terrified of me because you hate me.”

The words hit like a wave, your breath catching as his eyes bore into yours, a mix of frustration, vulnerability, and anger swirling in his gaze. He was waiting for you to confirm it, to say what he thought was the truth—that you couldn’t stand to be around him.

Your throat tightened, your pulse hammering in your ears as you struggled to find the right words. How could you explain what you felt when even you didn’t fully understand it? The confusion, the fear of rejection, the way being near him made you feel so exposed like he could see through every wall you’d ever put up. 

“You don’t scare me,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Logan, it’s not that.”

“Then what?” His voice was still rough, but there was a flicker of something softer underneath—like he was holding on to the hope that maybe there was more to this than he thought.

“I don’t hate you,” you said again, your voice steadier this time, though your chest still felt tight. “I just... I didn’t know how to act around you. Because every time I see you, every time you’re near me, I—”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. Logan didn’t move, his eyes still locked on yours, waiting, watching, almost daring you to finish.

“I feel something,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “And it scares me.”

Logan’s expression shifted, the anger fading as something else settled in—something that made your stomach twist in anticipation. His jaw clenched, his fists relaxing at his sides, and for a moment, he just looked at you, really looked at you, like he was seeing you for the first time.

“What’re you sayin’?” he asked quietly, almost hesitant like he didn’t trust himself to believe what he thought he was hearing.

Your breath hitched as his question hung between you, the truth teetering on the edge of your tongue. You had been running from this moment for so long, hiding behind your awkwardness and your fear. But now? Now you had to say it.

“I’m saying...” you began, your heart pounding as the words finally came, “that I could never hate you because I don’t know how to handle…you.”

Logan’s eyes softened, the frustration melting away as the truth hit him. He took another step closer, his presence almost overwhelming, but not in the way you feared. It was grounding, steady, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like running.

“I make your heart race because... you like me?” he asked, his voice low, the disbelief in it unmistakable.

You nodded, your chest tight with anticipation, your eyes locked on his. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I do.”

Logan exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe it. He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again, softer, more open than you’d ever seen it.

“All this time,” he murmured, his voice rough and full of something raw, something you weren’t used to seeing in him. “You’ve been drivin’ me crazy, and I thought—” He stopped himself, his lips curving into a small, rueful smile. “I thought you couldn’t stand me.”

You felt a wave of relief crash over you, the weight of your unspoken feelings finally lifting. “I couldn’t stand being around you,” you admitted with a nervous laugh, “because every time I was, I couldn’t think straight. I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

Logan chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, like a quiet rumble from deep in his chest. He took another step closer, his hand reaching up, this time closing the distance and gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. His touch was warm, his fingers rough but careful as they lingered there.

“Well, now I know why you kept avoiding me,” he muttered, his smirk softening into something more tender. “Guess I should’ve figured it out sooner.”

You smiled, feeling your heart flutter in your chest as you looked up at him, the tension between you shifting into something deeper, something that felt like it had always been there, just waiting for the right moment to come to light.

“So... what now?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s eyes darkened with something unreadable, but his smile stayed, slow and easy. “Now?” he murmured, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Now…I would really like to kiss you.”

He leaned down, his lips hovering just above yours for a heartbeat, waiting, giving you the chance to pull away—but you didn’t. Instead, you leaned in, your heart racing as his lips finally pressed against yours, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring the moment he thought he’d never have.

The kiss was gentle at first, cautious, but it didn’t take long for the heat between you to build, the months of longing and tension finally breaking through. When you pulled away, your breath shaky, Logan’s forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“Should’ve told me sooner,” he muttered, his voice low, teasing but soft.

You laughed softly, still catching your breath. “Yeah, well... better late than never, right?”

Logan smirked, his fingers brushing through your hair. “Right.”

[vigilante-3073]

Mouse

Rosalie Hale x Emmett Cullen x Female Vampire Reader

Summary: Bella observes the relationship between Rosalie, Emmett and Y/N.

TW: Throuple, vampire mates, mentions of death and torture.

In the time that Bella had spent as a human while dating Edward, she learned very little about the young vampire who Rosalie and Emmett shared as a mate. Y/N was quiet and reserved, which made her stand out in the relationship with her mates.

Rosalie had an anger that burned like the hottest flame and Emmett was always the loudest one in the room. Someone so calm and soft-spoken didn't seem to fit into their relationship dynamic.

Y/N almost seemed to get lost behind their big personalities, but they always saw her in a way that others didn't. Rosalie and Emmett always had some innate ability to sense their mate in every situation. They gravitated towards each other like magnets and could always be found together.

One thing Bella had come to notice about Y/N is that her love language was physical touch. Y/N was always touching one or both of her mates in some way. Bella was almost alarmed to see how different Rosalie could be when she was interacting with her young mate.

Rosalie tended to be a bit more protective than affectionate towards Y/N when Bella had first come around, but after some time she gradually started to see Rosalie soften.

Bella would always remember the day she saw them all together for the first time. She had walked into the living room with Edward only to find Y/N sitting sideways on the couch with her back leaned against Emmett's side and his arm wrapped around her body, a baseball game playing on the television. Rosalie sat next to Y/N with her mate's legs draped across her lap while she flipped through a magazine. The sight caught Bella off-guard, but then she started to notice it more and more.

On another day, Y/N was walking through the woods after a hunt with Emmett's arm wrapped around her waist and his hand slipped into the back pocket of her jeans. Her other hand was holding onto Rosalie's as they talked about whatever came to mind.

The day after that Bella saw Y/N sitting on Emmett's lap while she talked to Rosalie about a book that she had just finished. The blonde listened to her intently with a soft smile on her face as Emmett brushed his thumbs back and forth over her hip bones.

At first glance, they seemed like they would never fit together in a million years, but Bella had never seen a closer relationship in her lifetime. There was some unexpected gravitational pull that kept them orbiting around eachother. Y/N grounded the pair in a way that was necessary when they got riled up, bringing everything back into focus.

...

Bella learned that Y/N's human life had ended tragically like many of her family members. She wouldn't talk about it, but Edward knew about what she had endured.

He told Bella that he could feel it when her mind drifted to those memories. The first time it happened, he had frozen in his tracks and his body locked up in a way that he had never experienced before.

Y/N had been walking home after a closing shift at the diner she was working at. A car pulled up beside her and a man offered to drive her home, he pulled a gun on her when she refused. Y/N got into the car and it was definitely a decision that she would regret for the entirety of her human life.

Edward had never known someone who had experienced as much suffering as Y/N had. The man kept her chained up in his basement for weeks, he beat her, starved her, cut her, burned her and forced her to endure many other kinds of torture while under his imprisonment.

Y/N barely managed to escape with her life, her bones were broken and the blood loss had made her weak. She ran from the house until her body collapsed into unconsciousness. Y/N thought that she would die in her place on the damp grass, she could feel herself fading away and she decided that it wasn't the worst place to die.

Someone had found her in the morning and called the authorities, she was taken to the hospital and she would have died from her injuries if Carlisle hadn't been working that day. It took almost a week for her body to put itself back together after she had died.

Y/N's death was traumatic and she was never the same after she had reanimated. Y/N was quiet and reserved, slipping back into those dreadful memories.

She was terrified every day, especially around the men in the house and no one could question her reasons. She gradually formed a friendship with Rosalie, bonding over their shared trauma and Y/N slowly began to come out of her shell a bit.

No one could pinpoint when exactly Y/N and Rosalie's relationship had changed into a romantic one, but it had. Rosalie was Y/N's protector and they hardly ever spent any time apart.

Carlisle felt relieved to see the girls finding something in their lives that was worth carrying on for. They had both been through so much and their willingness to create a relationship let him know that they were adjusting to this new life.

Y/N and Rosalie spent every possible moment together and when Rosalie found Emmett, he was brought into their dynamic seamlessly. If anyone chose to question their relationship, Rosalie would be on them in a second.

Rosalie had a ferocious love that no one could ever mess with. She allowed herself to be used and walked over in her human life, the loss of that life made her stronger and showed her that nothing lasts forever.

Their relationship had endured years of traumatic experiences and bloodshed, built on the back of a curse that provided eternal life.

...

Hearing about their relationship from Edward's point of view gave Bella a better understanding of who they were to each other. Though no recognition could be given to their union at the time, they were all married to each other. It didn't matter to them that it wasn't legal, they knew that their bond ran deeper than any laws ever could.

Bella respected the love that they all had for each other, it was fierce and strong like nothing she had ever seen before. It made her look at the other relationships that had blossomed within the Cullen family and she quickly found that none of them were the same.

They may have had similar values, but their dynamics were all vastly different. Her own relationship with Edward was romantic, tumultuous and tragic. There would always be parts of their lives that would never be possible if they stayed together.

Edward had lived for many years before he met her, forming relationships and losing people that Bella would never know. Bella would likely never know who he was before he died, time changes so much and it would likely be impossible for him to remember now.

If Bella transformed into a vampire to stay at Edward's side, she would lose whatever future she could have had as a human. She would never be able to have children or grow old with her friends or family. Eveyone would die around her and she would remain unchanged with Edward and his family as her only solace in a changing world.

Her fascination with Y/N's relationship had served to put things in perspective for her regarding what she could gain and lose in this life. None of the Cullen children had a choice in whether or not they pursued this life. Bella seemed to have tunnel vision on the topic, always worrying about how much time she was wasting.

Every day that passed made her feel physically older, every scrape or bruise on her skin made her feel like her body would just crumble underneath her. Bella knew that her worries were nothing that a teenager should be concerned about, but she had seen what a future could look like.

Bella was staring down the finish line of a marathon that she had been treating as a sprint. She didn't have to rush, she didn't have to make a choice now.

Y/N, Rosalie and Emmett never would have found each other if it hadn't been for the horrific way that their human lives happened to end.

Bella felt like she could finally understand that this choice shouldn't be rushed, it needed to be carefully considered. Bella didn't need to push the envelope and choose a tragic end for herself when she had the luxury of time.

She would become a vampire, but she could definitely choose to enjoy her life as a human for a while.

[lowkeyren]

—childhood sweetheart!

in which : as kids, you gave him a lollipop to thank him for his help, though you had no idea your kind gesture would spark a blossoming friendship —that would soon evolve into something far sweeter than candy.

pairing : alhaitham x gn!reader

wc 3.6k, childhood friends to (implied) lovers, one bittersweet scene but it's 99% tooth rotting fluff, kaveh n sumeru gang cameo!!, art by @/anno_meiji on x. reblogs r much appreciated!!!

@tragedy-of-commons @iceunhie fellow pissoners that told me to @ them + special thanks to beloved @synqiri for giving me ideas when i wrote this, salutations.

the house of daena was quiet, the air thick with the comforting scent of old books and polished wood; soft chatters among akademiya students drifted through the air, a gentle hum that mingled with the rustling of pages as scholars immersed themselves in their studies. 

at a corner, you sat cross-legged, surrounded by volumes of scholarly tomes. yet, the real challenge before you  wasn’t the big words or thick pages —but a far more irritating one: your shoelaces.

no matter how many times you tried, the laces refused to cooperate. they twisted and knotted themselves in ways that made you feel as if they had a mind of their own. you tugged at them over and over again, your small hands growing clumsy with frustration, making your struggle feel even more monumental. 

you let out a small, exasperated sigh, your cheeks growing warm with the mounting irritation. who lets a five-year-old wear shoes with laces anyway?

a few feet away, sitting at a low table, was a boy a few years older than you, absorbed in a thick book that looked far too advanced for his age; the dense text and intricate diagrams didn’t seem to faze him at all. his expression remained one of calm detachment, his eyes moving over the pages meticulously. though even amidst his immersion in the book's complex diagrams and equations, your struggle still drew his attention.

with a sigh that sounded more out of obligation than concern, he set his book aside with precise care and approached you with a smooth, deliberate stride. his expression remained neutral, his eyes barely meeting yours as he knelt beside you.

“you’re having trouble with your laces,” he remarked, his tone even and matter-of-fact.

you looked up and nodded at the boy, relief evident in your eyes. “can you help me?” you asked, your voice wavering slightly with embarrassment.

without a word, he reached for your laces. you watched as he deftly untangled the mess you’d created, his movements precise and unhurried. with a few twists and loops, he had the laces neatly tied in no time. “there,” he said, standing up and brushing his hands off. 

“thank you for helping me... um—” 

“alhaitham,” the boy, who you now knew as alhaitham, spoke in a calm voice.

you smiled in return, relieved. “thank you, alhaitham.”

“it was nothing. i’m glad i could assist.” he said before glancing down at your shoelaces again, his tone as impersonal as ever. 

you reached into your pocket and pulled out a small, brightly wrapped lollipop, its cheerful wrapping seemed almost too vibrant for his reserved demeanour. nevertheless, you held it out to him, “i want to give you this,” you said earnestly. “as a small token of my appreciation!”

he glanced at the lollipop, then back at you. you simply tilted your head in response. after a brief moment, he accepted it with a slight nod. “thanks,” he said simply before pocketing the sweet.

you smiled, “i’m [name], by the way.”

“i’ll remember that,” he replied, his tone softening slightly. 

with that, you gathered your books, carefully stacking them in your arms as you rose to your feet. “i need to go now. see you around, alhaitham!” you grinned and gave a small wave before turning to leave, your footsteps growing faint as you walked away.

and though little-you didn’t know it at the time, that small act of kindness, wrapped in bright paper, would linger in his memory for years to come.

years passed. by now, it was clear that alhaitham was a prodigy, the sharpest of minds among those his age —a teenager admired by many, regardless of age. yet, such exceptional talent often attracts a level of jealousy that goes beyond mere admiration.

however, much like his aloof demeanour, he remained indifferent to the opinions and whispers of displeasure of others, even now, as he stood surrounded by students, their voices dripping with sarcasm and disdain.

"so, alhaitham," one of them jeered, "being a genius must be lonely, huh? too smart to have any real friends?" the others snickered along, clearly revelling in his deliberate silence. they envied the recognition and success he had achieved —things they could only dream of, and that envy fueled their petty desire to bring him down, even if only for a fleeting moment.

enough was enough. 

“hey, give it a rest,” you interjected, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “oh, wait —it’s not like you have anything better to do than make fun of someone who’s actually achieved something, right?”

the laughter from the group began to die down as they turned their attention to you, the tension in the air thickening. 

you tilted your head in feigned curiosity. “or is it the only thing you’re good at?”

the student’s face twisted into a scowl, clearly caught off guard by your retort. after a moment of fumbling for words, he muttered defensively, “whatever. like you’re so perfect yourself.”

you crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow. “seriously? that’s the best you’ve got?” 

you met their gazes with a defiant smirk, enjoying the way their bravado faltered under your words. “it’s one thing to have nothing between those ears of yours, but there’s no need to be a jerk about it.”

they hesitated for a moment, stung by your remarks and clearly feeling their egos take a hit, they found themselves at a loss for words. finally, one of them muttered something under his breath before they all turned and slunk away, embarrassed.

as the last of their footsteps faded, you turned back to alhaitham, who was watching you with a slightly raised eyebrow. "you didn’t have to do that," he murmured. you shrugged, offering him a wry smile. "i know. but i wanted to.”

“besides, someone has to keep those idiots in check."

alhaitham regarded you for a moment longer before the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. "thank you.” you caught the subtle shift in his expression, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips. it was rare to see him react this way, and it made your small victory feel all the more rewarding.

you couldn’t help but grin. 

“—you smiled!”  giggling, you leaned in closer to him, as if sharing a secret. “i didn’t think i’d ever see that day.”

“no, i did not.” his expression snapped back to its usual deadpan, as if his momentary lapse had never happened.

“no? well, then you should smile more.” you slid into the chair next to him, 

“why?” 

you pulled out your book and opened it to the page marked by your bookmark. “you look good when you smile,” you said casually, your eyes still focused on the material in front of you as you unwrapped a candy and chewed on it, savouring the sweet taste.

alhaitham didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed intently on the pages in front of him. though when he briefly turned his head to the side, his stoic expression faltered.

a faint smile tugged at the edges of his lips; he angled the book slightly higher, hiding his expression from view, while the subtle curve of his lips remained just barely visible.

it was a fleeting moment —nearly imperceptible, but unmistakably there.

“happy birthday, [name]!” 

you clink your glass with dehya’s, the sound of the toast ringing out amidst the lively chatter. she grins and downs her drink in one swift motion, her laughter echoing as the others join in, raising their glasses to you. 

nilou approaches you with a soft smile, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “i have something for you,” she says, holding out a small, intricately wrapped box. you open it to find a delicate bracelet nestled inside. 

“i hope today brings you as much joy as you bring to us.” you smile and thank her as she helps you fasten the bracelet around your wrist. 

you glance over to where alhaitham is sitting, only to find him already looking at you; he gives you a slight nod before burying his face back into his book. though you notice that alhaitham's usual noise-cancelling headphones are conspicuously absent, as if choosing to be fully present, especially when you're near.

suddenly, you feel a tap on your shoulder. when you turn around, you’re greeted with kaveh’s unmistakable grin, “surprise!” he exclaims with a flourish, his voice brimming with infectious enthusiasm. he extends a beautifully hand-carved, ornate wooden box to you, “go on, open it!” he urges, barely containing his excitement.

with a nod, you carefully lift the lid, revealing the contents inside. the box is lined with rich velvet, and nestled within is a tiny, intricately designed music box and a set of miniature sculptures —as expected, his craftsmanship is nothing short of impeccable. you thank him graciously and carefully set the box down on the table beside tighnari’s gift. 

as the evening unfolds, you notice alhaitham occasionally glancing up from his book, his gaze fixing on you, each glance subtly drawing your attention. his eyes, typically so absorbed in the pages, now linger on you with a soft intensity that speaks volumes.

it’s obvious that the night has come to an end when you glance to your side and can’t help but chuckle at the sight of kaveh, completely blackout drunk and slumped over the couch. 

“don’t worry, we’ll handle him,” cyno heads for the door after lifting kaveh over his shoulder with ease; he shares a knowing glance with tighnari. “enjoy the rest of your night!” with a final wave, they disappear out the door, leaving you and alhaitham alone in the cozy tranquillity of your home. 

“looks like it’s just us now,” you say, sinking onto the sofa beside him and stifling a yawn, the night clearly taking a toll on you.

“indeed,” alhaitham replies, his gaze softening as he looks over at you. he reaches behind him and holds his hand out towards you with his fist closed.

“here, a reward for your hard work,” he opens his palm to reveal a small piece of your favourite candy resting on it. “happy birthday, [name].”

the light from the candles flickers softly, casting a warm glow that dances across the room. it bathes the space in a gentle radiance, highlighting the perfect angles of his face and making him look all the more handsome.

alhaitham had never been a big fan of sweets. to him, they were a trivial indulgence, neither particularly enticing nor off-putting. 

but for you, he might learn to like it more. 

after all, if all it takes is a piece of candy to see your smile —sweeter than any treat known to mankind, then maybe there's a reason to enjoy them after all.

as you begin to nod off, he gently strokes your hair and carefully adjusts your position, guiding your head to rest on his chest.

with a soft sigh, he blows out the candles. 

perhaps rationality has its limits when it comes to matters of the heart, for he can’t help but feel that love, in all its irrationality, defies the logic he clings to so fiercely. “love” didn’t follow the neat, predictable patterns of reason —it was wild, unpredictable, and utterly beyond his control. 

yet, despite its chaos, or perhaps because of it, he was okay with it —he was okay with you.

“is it necessary for you to leave?” 

“sorry haitham, it's for my research. but i’ll be gone for just a few years, and we'll cross paths again before you know it.” 

just a few.. years? you must’ve really underestimated how long that’ll feel. he lets out a disapproving huff, his brows knitting together. “...where will you be going?”

“fontaine,” you replied, “the leylines there hold the key to my research, and it’s an opportunity i can’t pass up.” you hesitate for a moment before adding softly, “i wish you could come along… but with your duties as the acting grand sage, i understand that it’s not possible.”

“i suppose you’ve already made up your mind.”

you nodded, trying to muster a reassuring smile. “i have. but i’ll make sure to write whenever i can!” he studies your face for a long moment, as if committing every detail to memory, afraid he’ll forget the moment you turn your back to him. 

“just... promise me you’ll take care of yourself,” he finally said, his tone more tender compared to a moment ago. “and don’t lose yourself in your research.”

you reach out, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “i promise, haitham.” you open his palm and place a small candy in the centre before closing his fingers around it. “something to remember me by,” you add, your voice barely above a whisper as you look up at him.

his eyes trail your figure, his hands clutching the candy tightly, the wrapping paper crinkling in his fist as you start to walk away. midway, you pause, turning around to look at him once more, you flash him a warm smile before waving goodbye.

this time, unlike the first time you met, he returns the gesture with a wave of his own.

it’s unusual, uncharacteristic for alhaitham to lose his focus so easily. 

the subtle crease in his brow —a dead giveaway to anyone who knew him well; and being his roommate, kaveh noticed it first.

leaning against the table, he glanced at the open book, then back at alhaitham. "you know, that page won’t read itself," he quipped, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

alhaitham didn’t bother looking up, his finger idly tracing the edge of the page. "i’m well aware." after a moment, he finally turned the page with a slight frown, his mind clearly not on the book.

cyno, sitting across from him, folded his arms and leaned back in his seat. "you’ve been staring at that same paragraph for nearly an hour.” he remarks, his tone laced with amusement. tighnari raises his eyebrows, lightly swirling the drink in his cup, “it’s rare to see you this distracted. must be something—or someone—truly exceptional."

alhaitham finally looks up, meeting their gazes with a flat expression, “you all certainly have a lot of free time," he remarked dryly.

cyno shrugs, shaking his head. "you’re just making it too easy, alhaitham."

tighnari, however, leans forward slightly, his gaze softening with genuine concern despite the playful edge in his voice just a minute ago. “but seriously,” he adds, “it’s perfectly fine to admit you miss [name]. we all do, after all, it has been a year.”

alhaitham sighs heavily, closing the book with a soft thud. “i’m perfectly fine."

"sure you are," kaveh drawls, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "it’s not like you’ve been more irritable than usual —or, i don’t know, distracted by a certain someone who’s not here."

for once, alhaitham doesn’t offer a retort. instead, he quietly unwraps a candy and slips it into his mouth, letting its sweet taste wash over him.

but that is all the answer they need. 

unbothered from the looks he receives from his friends, he signals the manager over, “boss, a box of macaroons to go, please.” 

later that night, alhaitham sits in his room —he absently reaches for the box of macaroons but his hand lands on the bright candy wrapper crumpled on the table, though it seems out of place amidst the quiet room, it remains a perfect, poignant reminder of you, in his heart.

the notion of your sweetness is tantalising, one that mingles with the lingering taste of the macaroons on his palate, making him yearn for the real experience, to discover if you, too, could leave such a lasting impression.

—and truth to be told, i really missed you too. there's so much more i want to share with you, so many things i’ve seen and felt that only you would truly understand. but lucky for us, i’ll be at l'encre des marées in the court of fontaine, for the next few days!  haitham, come visit me, will you?

alhaitham’s footsteps echo softly against the cobblestone street as he approaches the address you gave him.

a bookstore, huh. it seems fitting enough.

he folds your letter and slips it into the pocket of his coat; the gentle chime of the bell above the door announces his arrival. the warm, ambient light of the store envelops him —a voice rings out, welcoming him, but he pays it no mind.

he moves silently between the tall bookshelves, his gaze sweeping over the interior, searching for you within the labyrinth of aisles. though with no sign of you in sight, a faint crease forms between his brows, a subtle yet telling sign of his disappointment.

he comes to a stop in front of one of the shelves, the familiar scent of paper and ink wafting around him. might as well get something, he thinks. his hand hovers over the spines, his fingers brushing lightly against them; the choice is almost arbitrary, driven more by habit than intent. 

the title barely registers in his mind as he turns away from the shelf. with the book in hand, he makes his way towards the counter. he places the book down with a soft thud, and lets his mind drift to you —your latest letter, the anticipation of seeing you here, the subtle disappointment of your absence; he imagines the sound of your voice, the way you might have greeted him had you been there, the little gestures that are make you, so distinctly, you. 

the cashier’s voice pulls him back to the present. “thank you for your patronage!” the words are accompanied by the soft rustling of paper as the bag is handed over to him. he reaches out to take it, but just as he’s about to withdraw his hand, something else is pressed into his palm —a small lollipop.

he blinks, momentarily caught off guard. what? is this a… fontaine custom? he turns the lollipop over in his hand, the cashier’s voice continues, cheerful and slightly sing-song. “don’t forget to visit us again—”

or is he losing his mind? because the sound of your voice, so clear and familiar, “—alhaitham.” echoes his name as if you were standing right infront of him.

his eyes snap up, eyes widening ever so slightly as he looks at the cashier. and there you are, behind the counter, your gaze meeting his with a familiar warmth. he finds himself staring at you, the very person he had been hoping to see; you smile at him, the same smile he had imagined countless times... and his heart still skips a beat.

“life here in fontaine has been quite a journey.” you stroll side by side, alhaitham listens quietly, absorbing every detail as you recount your journey. your research, originally projected to take more time, has progressed exceptionally well; the results are promising, and you’re now ahead of schedule, which means that you’ll be back in sumeru in less than a week’s time (much to his pleasure).

as you both turn a corner, you suddenly stop and turn to face him. “i’ve been doing all the talking so far,” you smile up at him, “what about you?”

“nothing much, things have been…” he begins, pausing as he searches for the right words. he glances around, just as street lamps flicker to life before continuing, “...rather routine.”

(he’s not lying, no, never to you. “routine” as in routinely thinking about you nonstop —yes, that’s the underlying meaning, though his outward implication is quite… mundane.)

though what you didn’t quite expect next was for alhaitham to extend his hand towards you, his pinky raised in a gesture like an earnest request for a pinky promise. dumbfounded, you chuckle softly, “what’s this for?” 

without waiting for an answer, you decide to indulge him, linking your pinky with his. as your thumbs briefly touch, you catch the look in his eyes —serious, yet with a softness that makes your heart skip. “a promise that i’ll be by your side as long as sugar tastes sweet,” he says, his voice low and sincere.

he gently turns his hand downward, his fingers sliding smoothly between yours, interlocking them in a firm yet tender grip. slowly, he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the back of it. “so, come back with me, [name].”

his thumb continues to trace lazy circles on your skin, drawing you closer. leaning in, his breath is warm against your cheek, the space between you vanishes as he tilts his head slightly, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours, close enough that you can almost taste the promise in his words. 

his eyes flicker down to your lips, then back up. you catch his gaze and a small smile starts to form, “you don’t have to ask me twice.”

your eyes flutter shut as his lips brush softly against yours —and he tastes the first bite of a sun-warmed strawberry, a burst of sweetness that lingers on his lips, leaving him craving more. utterly intoxicating, like the scent of honey carried on a warm breeze, filling the air with a fragrance that makes him close his eyes and breathe deeply, savouring the moment.

you taste just like summer —vivid, unforgettable, and leaving him yearning for those endless days and nights, where his world is alive with sparking memories he clings to as the seasons change; so much so that even when autumn's chill begins to settle, he can't help but reach out for the warmth that only your presence can bring.

but most importantly,

you taste unbelievably sweet.

good question google

MASTERLIST.

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 33: Ghosts of the Past

Summary: It can't be a coincidence anymore.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 5,411 words

Warnings: ANGST, emotional turmoil, panic and panic attacks, anxiety, drugs used for drugging, very brief mention of predatory behavior, author can't write call of duty missions for shit, withholding the truth, hints at betrayal, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, very much leaning into that AU now, brief mention of guns and bullets

A/N: Ummm...yeah. You'll see. Bit shorter than normal but my obsessive need for cliffhangers prevents me from shoving it all into one chapter.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

Her head is spinning. There’s a steady throbbing behind her eyes, her blood pumping in her ears. Her shoulder aches from the cold tile floor under her. She can’t quite bring herself to move yet, the deep ache in her bones still lingering. She pushes through the haze in her mind, trying to bring up the memories of what happened. 

Someone had entered her office. She hadn’t even had time to turn around when she was hit from behind. That explains the throbbing in the back of her head. Likely concussed, though it hadn’t been a hard hit. Not hard enough to do serious damage, not even hard enough to make her see stars. Just enough to incapacitate her so she couldn’t fight back. There had been a sting of a needle in her neck. Whatever it was, it was fast acting, maybe a minute before she lost consciousness. 

Ketamine...maybe fentanyl. 

She pushes herself up to sit, blinking back the dizziness and the nausea. Whoever attacked her wanted her out of the way, incapacitated for long enough to do something. 

A horrifying thought flashes through her mind as she comes back to reality. She’s one of the few on base that knows you’re completely alone. She’s likely the only one who would care if you went missing. She tries to keep herself calm, tries to slow her breathing as she feels her pockets, pulling herself up onto her knees, gripping the side of her desk as she fights the nausea and pounding in her head that nearly blinds her. 

Her phone is gone. 

Her legs shake as she forces them under her, pulling herself up. She needs to get to the barracks, needs to check on you. She stumbles to the door, pushing it open as she tries to keep her breathing under control. You’re smart. You’re going to hide, or run, from any threat. You’ve learned your lesson from the last time. You won’t go easily again. 

The walk to the barracks feels like it takes forever as she half stumbles her way across the base, fighting the wind still whipping through the open areas between the buildings. Her head is throbbing, the haze of the drug still lingering. It’s the terror in her mind, the horrible thoughts of what might have happened keeping her moving forward. She only gets glances as she crosses to the 141’s barracks. None of them even think to ask her if she’s alright. 

There’s no help from the others. 

She pushes open the door to the barracks, blinking through the burning of the bright fluorescents. She feels for you, having to exist in such a bright, clinical space. 

Dread begins to fill her as she reaches your door, finding it open. The door jam is broken, the wood around the lock splintered. Your dresser had been pushed behind the door, but it hadn’t stopped whoever wanted to get in. The window is open, and she can only hope you crawled your way through to safety. She steps up to your desk, books and snacks in disarray, some having fallen to the floor. She swallows thickly as she stares down at the wood, her fingers shaking. 

Her phone is sitting on the desk. 

She picks it up, the screen flashing on. There’s a missed call from you. Whoever had broken in must have made it look like she was the one responsible. She goes through her contacts, finding your number before calling. She doesn’t have hope that you’ll answer, but she has to try for her own sanity. 

The phone doesn’t even ring before it goes to voicemail. 

She steps out of your door, going through every room she can in the barracks, shouting your name. She doesn't have hope, except maybe that you doubled back and barricaded yourself somewhere. It’s not likely you would answer to her anyway, if you thought she was the one behind all of this. 

She heads outside, trying to catch any lingering hint of your scent, but the wind has dispersed it completely. There’s soldiers milling around, likely on their afternoon breaks. She doesn't hesitate as she approaches them, asking every soldier she sees in the area if they’ve seen you. 

“I saw her.” One finally says. Allen, his patch reads. “Running towards the trees.” 

“Was anyone following her?” She asks. 

He shrugs. “Dunno. Didn’t stay long enough to see.” 

She feels the urge to punch him, to yell at him for not helping, but she knows they have strict orders to keep away from you. They might have not known any better, or wanted to risk a reprimanding if they disobeyed orders. 

She continues to take deep breaths as she glances towards the trees. It won’t do her much good to try to go looking by herself. You wouldn’t have followed the trail. You’re too smart for that. She’d need a whole army to search the base for you. 

Her hands shake as she searches through her contacts. She’s not expecting an answer. She’s probably busy with the 141 away on a mission. No one will know. No one will know until it’s too late. She’s not sure what to do. Would the commanders on base believe her? Would they organize a search based on her word alone? By then it might be too late. It might be too late now. 

“Laswell.” 

“Kate, Kate I can’t find her.” She gasps out, spinning around in the middle of the road, as if you might come popping out of thin air, or creeping out from behind a building. She’s panicking, speaking the words aloud feeling like an absolute truth, as if she’s speaking it into existence. 

“Who?” Kate asks, sounding confused. 

She chokes out your name, her hand pressed to her chest to try and calm the panic quickly rising in her. “She’s gone.” 

Kate takes a deep breath to keep her head clear and calm. It’s far too much of a coincidence to deny it now. The cameras, the sudden deployment, the call from Shepherd for the whole team, the discovery of the files. 

Now this. 

“Kate?” 

She’s never heard Christine so emotional, so uncomposed before. “I’m here.” She says, composing herself. One of them needs to be clear-headed and logical. “I’m going to contact command, alert base security. You look everywhere you think she might possibly be.”

“Yeah, okay.” Christine lets out a breath. “I can do that.” 

“I’ll call back as soon as I can.” She says. “If you find anything, I need to know immediately.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Kate knows she’s trying to calm herself, get her head on straight again. “Christine? We’ll find her. No matter what it takes.” 

“You don’t....you don’t think she’s...” She can’t manage to finish the sentence. 

“No.” Kate says, not even having to ask what she means. It’s not a lie, though. If the conspiracy that’s been brewing in her head is true, you’re more valuable to them alive. “If what I think is happening is actually happening, she has to be alive. She’s no use to anyone dead.” She says, speaking the thoughts aloud for the first time since the delivery of the cameras into her hands. 

“I hope you’re right.” 

Kate holds her phone in her hand, taking a breath. She’s not sure how it happened, how you managed to disappear out from under Christine’s watchful eye. Something must have happened that separated the two of you long enough for you to disappear. Christine wouldn’t just leave you like that unless it was something important, or if she sensed something wrong, something that might put you at risk. You wouldn’t have left the barracks on your own, not unless something forced the two of you apart. 

She should call them, make them aware. 

She can’t bring herself to. Not yet. She can’t distract them. The job comes first. She’s always hated those words in the context of the initiative. Why would they put an omega through this? What was the real reason? The idea of the initiative always left a bad taste in her mouth when she thought about it too much. She’ll know soon. She’ll get her answers as soon as her team finishes combing through those files. 

She won’t call them until they know for sure. Not until they’re positive, not until there’s proof. They’re not in a place they could easily leave, either.

Sometimes the greater good has to come first. 

Her hands are shaking as she dials the number for the base commander. They have an omega to find. 

Christine’s heart is pounding as she races around the base, checking everywhere she can think of. She’d gotten looks as she combed through the mess, wide eyed and nearly shaking with fear. Her scent must have been projecting, all the control she’d mastered slipping away. She’s never felt panic like this before, not even in the toughest situations with omegas. This is different though. You’re her only patient. She had been tasked with keeping watch over you, they had trusted her enough to take care of you in their absence again, even after everything had happened. 

Your mental state scared her. Seeing you like that wasn’t a surprise after everything you’ve gone through these last few weeks, but that doesn’t stop the worry, the concern as your doctor. Sure, whoever took you, if they took you, might want you alive...but can your mind keep itself alive for that long? 

She asks everyone she can in the mess, the kitchen staff and everyone sitting near the doors if they’ve seen you. 

No one. Not a single soul saw you. It was unlikely you’d run to the mess, but that would have been the logical move. Run where there’s a crowd, though if you thought they wouldn’t help you, you might have avoided it. 

She checks the med center next, combing every inch of it she can. She’s not sure you would have risked running there if you thought she was behind it. Did you see your assailant’s face? You must have, if they drugged you too. You wouldn’t go quietly, so they would have had to reveal themselves to you. 

You know it’s not her behind it. 

She tells herself that to make herself feel better. 

Would you think she was, even if evidence pointed to it? Would you think she would betray you like that? They would have taught you not to trust anyone, but why now? Why would she strike now when she’s been with you in your weakest moments over the last two weeks? There were plenty of times she could have done something, yet she hadn’t. She wouldn’t have. There was no amount of money in this world that would have convinced her to turn against you, betray you and your pack. 

She had been willing to fight tooth and nail to avoid sending those files to Shepherd if John hadn’t told her to do it. He trusted her. 

That trust will be broken now. 

She left you alone, and now you’re gone. 

Or dead. 

There would be no escaping their retribution. They’d hunt her down to the ends of the earth. Alex would never forgive her. Hell, he’d probably join them. 

She checks the gym, even though she doubts you’d run there of all places. She combs every corner she can, getting one of the soldiers to unlock the training rooms just in case, even though it was illogical to think you’d be able to get in with them locked. She can’t be too careful, though. Maybe they taught you how to pick locks. 

She even checks the pool, looking at every inch just to be sure. 

She’s not sure if it’s a relief she can’t find you compared to the alternative, or if it’s almost worse. At least if she found a body there would be closure. The panic could ease for a moment and she’d know. She’d be sure. 

She runs through the barracks once more, combing through every closet and toilet stall, but as expected there’s nothing there. Just your forced open door and the open window. Whatever happened, you did what you were supposed to. You called her and you ran. You learned your lesson, the lessons they’ve all taught you. You did your best, and that is enough, even if her darkest thoughts are true. 

You must have run for the trees. It’s the most logical place to run. There’s plenty of places to hide, lots of space to run and double back on your trail, to confuse whoever was following you until they gave up. 

Would they give up? Or was their motivations strong enough to keep them prowling, hunting every inch of the forest to look for you. 

What if they’re still out there looking for you? What if you’re still out there, afraid and alone. 

She hadn’t seen your phone in your room. She prays you grabbed it before you left. Maybe you’re out there trying to call Kate, trying to call anyone who might be able to help. She wishes you’d call her, but why would you if you think she’s still behind it? 

Whoever did this planned this out perfectly. 

It’s all premeditated. All of it. 

What if you’re out there distressing? 

She feels like vomiting, her stomach churning uncomfortably. You were already so worked up about your pack being gone, something like this might have sent you right over the edge. She curls her hands into fists, trying to stop them from shaking. She doesn’t know what to do. 

For the first time in a long time she doesn’t have a solution to a problem. 

She leans against the wall outside the barracks, taking deep breaths. She’s no good to anyone if she’s panicking. You need help. You’ll need her if they find you. She’ll be the only one that will be able to help you. She’s not even sure your pack knows yet. Could Kate tell them? It’s been weeks and there’s been no word. Kate hadn’t been able to give her anything as expected, only that she’d pass the word along once they had a moment. 

Had she been lying, or had they truly been off the grid completely? Has this deployment really been that serious? They had called in the whole pack. Or had that been premeditated too. Get you alone and wait for the perfect moment. It can’t be coincidence that they waited until you were distressed enough being separated from your pack for so long. 

None of it is a coincidence. 

Would Kate tell them this happened? Would she risk it now that your life is in danger?

Or is Kate in on this too? 

She shakes the thought from her head. She knows Kate. Kate had picked her specifically for this job. She spent weeks with Kate interviewing and being debriefed for this position. Kate wouldn’t do something like this, not with how close she is to John and the pack. They trust her and she knows them enough to pick an omega that fits in seamlessly with them. She wouldn’t betray them and you like this. 

Something is going on behind the scenes. Something has happened to cause all of this. It’s all related. It has to be. It’s all too convenient, all too orchestrated. It has to revolve around the cameras. There’s no other thing she can think of that might cause this series of events. 

Unless it goes even deeper than that. 

“Dr. Keller?” She looks up when she hears her name. 

“Yes?” She says, pushing herself to stand up straight as an officer approaches.  

“Lieutenant Colonel Woods, Base Commander.” The officer holds out his hand. 

She shakes it, her palms sweaty but he doesn’t seem to care. 

“We’re rounding up everyone who is still on base.” He says. It’s the weekend. A lot of them will have left. All the more easy to sneak you away. “We’ll search through every building and send out parties to comb through the forest.” 

She nods, taking a deep breath. “Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel. I’ve checked everywhere I can think of. There’s no sign of her.”

“If she’s still on base, we’ll find her.” He says, far more confident than she feels. 

If you’re still on base. The words make her want to vomit. 

“The front gate guards are compiling a list of everyone who has come on base and left base within the last two hours.” He continues. “If someone took her, we’ll know.” 

“I’m worried about her.” She says, the only thing that’s coming to her mind. It’s true. She’s never been quite so invested in the wellbeing of a patient as she has you, but then again, she’s never been this involved in the life of a patient before. “A lot of things could go wrong quickly.” 

“We’ve got a lot of boots on the ground out there looking.” He says. He’s trying to be comforting. She knows this, but that stiff military mindset keeps it from sounding more than cordial and practiced. What if they’re all in on it? “We’ll find her, or we’ll get answers to what happened.” 

The wait is the worst part. She’s going crazy, waiting for any word. Anything that might hint at what’s happening. There’s been nothing yet, no sign of you, but it’s hardly been twenty minutes. She can’t stop the spiraling thoughts. She can’t take her own advice, apply her own knowledge and teachings. Not right now. Not while she’s bordering on a crisis. She needs to find you. She needs to know you’re alright. 

Don’t let them find a body. 

She’ll never live with herself. She left you alone. She let this happen. She was supposed to be watching you, taking care of you, and now you’re gone under her watch. 

They’ll never trust her again. 

Her phone ringing nearly has her jumping out of her skin. She fumbles for it in her pocket, her fingers trembling. Please let it be you. She lets out a breath of disappointment before answering. 

“Kate?” Her voice shakes. 

“Any news?” Kate asks. She sounds disheveled herself. 

“Nothing.” She swallows thickly. “They’re still looking.” 

Kate sighs. “I don’t think she’s on base.” 

Hearing it nearly makes her legs give out. She’s known that’s likely the case since she called Kate the first time, but hearing it out loud solidifies that as a fact. She’s been keeping a fool’s hope that you managed to hide somewhere, that you got somewhere safe, even if she knows better. 

“This goes a lot deeper than we all thought. It was never about the cameras or the initiative.” Kate continues. 

“The reports, the prying.” She says. “It wasn’t about tracking progress for the sake of progress.” 

“No, it wasn’t.” 

“Sir.” A soldier approaches, saluting the Lieutenant Colonel. 

“We might have some news.” She says, putting her phone on speaker. She hopes it’s true. If they can get a name, then they’ll have an easier time finding you. 

“At ease.” Woods says. 

“We have the list of everyone who left base in the last two hours.” He says, handing over a tablet. “There’s only one.” 

“Colonel McKinney.” Woods says. 

“He left in his personal vehicle 50 minutes ago.” The guard says. 

“Give me every detail you can on that car.” Kate says. 

“It’s a blue Ford Fiesta, registration plate Papa Juliet 64, Hotel Tango November.” Woods says.

“I’ll get eyes on that car.” Kate says. 

“I’ll alert local police.” Woods says. 

“We will find her.” Kate says, and Christine knows she’s trying to reassure her. 

“Do they know?” She asks. 

“Not yet.” Kate says. “They’re not in a place where they can do anything about it, and the last thing they need is to get distracted.” 

“They're not going to like being kept in the dark on this for so long.” She says. 

“I know. But it’s for their own safety above all else.” 

And the greater good of the world, Christine knows, even if Kate doesn’t say it out loud. It’s always for the greater good. That’s why the job comes first, even if it’s at your detriment. She feels like screaming, like throwing her phone. 

It’s not fair. 

Her hands are still shaking as she ends the call with Kate, not feeling any more comforted than she had before. It’s possible Corporal McKinney was involved. It’s too coincidental that he left base within the time you went missing. Why would he take you, though? Was he involved in all of this too? She’s never heard you mention his name before, nor have you brought up any strange feelings about any of the soldiers on base. Omegas are good at reading others' energies. It’s a natural defense mechanism and with your pureblood status, it makes you all the more aware of things in your environment. 

Then again, you kept the cameras from all of them. What else have you been hiding? 

She pushes the thoughts away. Now is not the time for conspiracies she can’t get an answer to. They need to find you first and ensure you’re alright. That’s the most important thing. 

“Lieutenant Colonel!” A soldier says, approaching their makeshift headquarters. “We found something, sir.” 

“What did you find?” He says, standing up straight. 

“A bullet on the trail, sir.” He places the bullet in Woods’ hand. “About a quarter of a mile from the trailhead.” 

Christine feels like passing out. Her legs are wobbling, knees shaking as she stands there, staring at the bullet. She needs to sit down, she needs to breathe. 

Don’t let them find a body. Please don’t let them find a body. 

The tear that trails down her cheek is hot against her clammy skin. 

Kate sighs as she puts down the phone. She wants to put her head in her hands, scream, punch something, anything. She can’t, though, she’s doing double duty. She’s the only one she trusts to do both of these things. This pack is hers to watch over, hers to help, and that includes the entire pack. 

Not much can be done until Corporal McKinney and his car are found. There won’t be any leads until then, unless they come across something on base. She hates it, that she can’t do more. She knows if she tells John, they’ll abandon this mission and be on a flight home in a heartbeat. It won’t do anyone any good until they know more, until the 141 are in a safer position. 

She hates keeping it from them, but it’s for everyone’s safety. 

Especially if what she uncovered is true. 

She can hardly believe it herself. Her eyes keep flickering to the files her team had uncovered, the truth finally spilling out about everything. There is no initiative. There was never going to be an initiative. They were all pawns being placed for a move like this, for a situation that calls for such drastic measures. 

The last few hours have hardly felt real. 

“Bravo 0-6 to Watcher 0-1 how copy?” John’s voice comes through the comms, almost startling her. 

She still has a job to do. 

“Loud and clear, Bravo 0-6.” She says, clearing her throat. 

“Kate, there’s nothing here.” 

Kate blinks at the screen, at the map that had been carefully laid out with exact points, confirmed visuals. “Come again?” She says, praying it was her overactive mind that misheard. 

“The warehouse is empty. There’s no sign of any missile having been here in the first place.” John says. 

What? Kate flips through files, scanning every bit of intel that had been given to her. 

They’re all pawns. 

There was no missile. There was no real intel. A red herring.

Separating the pack leaves members vulnerable. Take away the four and leave the omega alone and unprotected. Separate her from the one person left to keep watch over her, leave her vulnerable. 

It’s what they wanted all along. That was always the plan. 

“John, there’s...” She trails off as dots begin appearing on the map. She zooms in, her stomach dropping. “Four vehicles approaching your position.” 

“Friendly?” He asks, but she can hear the doubt in his voice. He knows they’re not. He’s done this enough times. 

“I don’t think they're meeting you for a picnic.” She says, trying to identify the vehicles. 

“We’ll dig in here. Keep them from getting in.” John says. 

“John...” Kate says. She should tell him. She needs to tell them before something goes wrong. If this was all a trap, then things will go wrong, yet she can’t bring herself to say it. Not yet. “Don’t come out of there in a body bag.” 

“Don’t give up hope on us yet.” He says before the line goes dead. 

Kate lets out a long breath, rubbing her eyes. It’s going to be a long next few hours. 

Your head is pounding. There’s a throbbing behind your eyes beating in time with your heart. It hurts, a quiet groan leaving your lips. The world is spinning and you haven’t even opened your eyes. Your entire body feels like it’s twisting and turning, your organs wringing themselves like a washcloth. You’re going to be sick, but you can’t even manage to lift your head. 

Everything feels heavy. Nothing is moving despite your brain telling it to. There’s a deep ache in your muscles and joints like you’ve been immobile for far too long and need to stretch. Your limbs try to move, yet nothing happens except a sharp pain in your left calf. You let out another groan, fingers curling at the sharp pain that radiates up through your leg to your hip. The throbbing behind your eyes intensifies as your head is moved, tilting up before falling backwards weakly.  

“Easy.” A voice coos at you, easing your head back straight. It flops to the side, none of your muscles coordinating like they should. “...know...dose...twice.” 

The words float in and out, muffled like you’re underwater and just barely bobbing above the surface. You do feel a bit like you’re underwater, trying to kick up to the surface of consciousness. Something is holding you under, keeping you from reaching that surface. 

There’s a hand on your face holding your head up as your muscles fight to activate enough to hold it up themselves. The hand is warm against your skin, rough and calloused. There’s two textures, skin and rough fabric against your face. Awareness begins to come back to you slowly, your mind clearing the fog the longer you’re awake. Your body hurts, muscles aching. You try to move your arms but you can't, something biting into the skin of your wrists as you turn them. 

“Don’t hurt yourself.” The voice says, calloused fingers brushing your arm. 

You flinch at the touch, muscles contracting painfully before they relax. You let out another groan, your brows pinching as you try to get your eyes to open. The haze hasn’t entirely lifted from your brain yet as you slowly become more aware of your surroundings. It’s cold where you are, goosebumps forming on your skin. It’s uncomfortable, your body too exposed. You want a sweatshirt, a blanket, something to keep the cold away. Something tickles in the back of your brain as you begin to pick up scents, several all at once, meshed together. It’s overwhelming, too much information flooding your brain all at once. 

The motion is automatic and instinctual as you turn your face to press into the hand on your cheek. You inhale deeply, trying to block out the overwhelming wave of senses, trying to get a sense of who it is in front of you, who is with you in the room. 

Woody. Soft wood. Cedar? It smells like a candle your mother used to burn. 

Sweet? Something sweet. Chocolate? Richer. Dark chocolate. 

Memories begin to float back as you inhale the scent. You know that scent. You’ve smelled it before. Your frown deepens as you hold your face there, nose pressed against the palm as your mind sluggishly digs through your hazy memory banks. You can’t even remember where you are or how you got there. 

“Good girl.” 

You know that voice. You’ve heard it before. Somewhere in the back of your mind it triggers something, some faded memory shoved deep into the depths of your memory bank. You dig for it, mining your sluggish brain as you try to figure out who it is, why it’s all so familiar. 

The other part of your brain focuses on your body, waking your muscles back up. With it comes the pain, the achiness: the throbbing in your calf, the pulsing behind your eyes, the ache in your muscles and joints. There’s a light somewhere in front of you, bright and shining through your eyelids. You don’t want to open them. It feels wrong, the bright light right in your face. You don’t like it. 

You pull your face away from the hand, your head drooping forward slightly as the muscles in your neck finally begin to engage. The scent is wrong. It’s not the right kind of wood. There’s no damp earth after a spring rain, no scent of petrichor. The touch isn’t right. It’s not soft enough, not warm enough. 

It’s not your alpha. 

The tingling in the back of your brain intensifies as you shoot into hyper-awareness from your sluggish state. Your instincts are awake, suddenly overwhelmed by the explosion of scents and sounds. There’s voices all around, quiet and hushed, but they might as well be yelling in your ears. There’s so many scents blending together until you can’t tell one from the other. 

Except the one in front of you. 

Cedar. Dark Chocolate. 

Memories crawl forward from the recesses of your mind. Childhood. Texas. Summer heat. The charcoal in the barbeque. Cedar and chocolate always too close. You hated it. You’ve always hated that smell.

Your eyes force themselves open, eyelids peeling up like a damp window that’s been closed for a decade. The window had been hard to open, yet you managed it with the adrenaline pumping through your body. 

Your heart rate picks up at the thought, some fear you can’t quite conceptualize yet in your half-aware state burning in the back of your mind. You breathe heavily as you fight to get your eyes open, blinking against the obtrusive light. Fluorescent, too bright to be comfortable. 

White walls, bright lights. Boots on the floor. 

Your pack. 

Where is your pack? Where is your alpha? 

Where are you?

Finally your eyes open, squinting against the bright light. You can’t see anything, the light directly in your eyes. It burns, tears gathering on your lids as you fight against the oppressive, blinding sun being directed at you. 

Voices float in the background and suddenly the light is turned away. You blink away the bright spots left in your vision, a couple tears falling uncontrollably. Rough fingers wipe them off your cheeks almost tenderly, but not tender enough.

Rough fingers across your skin, gripping you tightly, anchoring you. A soft voice floats through the air, rough yet comforting with the soft words calming the panic in you.

It’s not right. 

Nothing is right. 

You’re breathing heavily as you finally get your eyes fully open, the muscles in your neck contracting as you slowly lift your head. There’s someone kneeling in front of you, arm draped across their knee. They’re like a shadow, hidden mostly from view as you blink clarity into your eyes. Your brows pinch into a frown again as you blink, your gaze focusing on the face in front of you. 

You know that face. 

“There she is.” 

You know that voice. 

It’s been years since you heard it last. Memories slam into you in an onslaught, memories from your childhood, back when things were fine, things were normal, things were as they should be. 

Family. Texas. Alphas.

Cedar and chocolate. 

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, blinking in shock. Your brows furrow in confusion, your still foggy brain trying to piece everything together. 

You know him. 

It’s been years but you’ll never forget. 

The light brown hair, bright blue eyes, dimples indenting with that too-friendly grin. 

Your mouth is dry, your tongue heavy as it opens, forming the name on your lips. The name. It comes out in a croak, barely audible and understandable, but laced with confusion and disbelief. 

“Phil?” 

NEXT ->

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[lvmimis]

“I just think you’d be happy with us,” Luffy insists for the fifth time that week, and exhausted, you reach over your shoulder, where he’s leaned over, practically resting his chin on your shoulder, and you grip his face, squishing his cheeks. 

He pouts, but doesn’t break free, and you turn to look at him, giving him a frown. Your eyes lock for a few moments as you challenge him to keep speaking, and he, never intimidated by you even for a moment, even when you are trying, continues talking.

“Just think about it more?”

You’ve thought about it, many times in fact, and every time he returns to this neck of the woods since you met just several months ago, a similar conversation arises. The naivete in the idea of you leaving behind everything you’ve built for this pirate you knew nothing about a year ago amazes you, but Luffy has always had such a confidence and almost innocent directness to the way he communicates his desires that you find it harder and harder to not question your own resistance each time. 

This time he’s particularly persistent, possibly to the point of being annoying. You apply a little bit more pressure to the grip you have on his face until his lips jut out and he whines.

“Hey, that hurts you know!” 

You let go, even if you know you could never truly hurt him, and sigh. 

“You know, asking more times won’t change my answer,” you remind him as he makes a show of stretching his face back to normal, then watches you stack a pile of books together and store them away into a cabinet. He’s keeping you company in your workroom as you finish up the last of your notes before leaving the clinic for the day. These days he no longer uses your friendship with Nami as a pretense to come and see you, and no one is sick - instead he strides in like he’s important to you in his own right, and you hate that he’s right about that. 

You wonder who even lets him in these days.

“What would it take aside from asking?”

You look at him again, tilting your head slightly. 

“To change my mind?” you clarify. 

Luffy nods. You’ve started walking, and he follows closely behind, your sweet shadow as you lock up the room and place the key in your pocket, hands behind his head as he accompanies you down the street to your favorite restaurant. 

Since the last time Luffy came to your city, a month has passed, and for the first time, you have admitted to yourself that you genuinely missed him - seeing his smile in an almost empty cup of coffee, or hearing his hearty laugh in a group of friends huddled at a bar, thoughts drifting to what it must be like for him on the sea whenever you have an idle moment.

Always joyous and free, sea salt and sunshine sinking deep into his skin.

Being by his side sounds more enticing every time he brings it up, but he doesn’t need to know that. In fact, perhaps he should think the opposite, you decide.

You stop suddenly in your tracks, and he stops too, watching you carefully as you make your first demand of him. 

“Bring me a pearl and I’ll think about it,” you start. Luffy looks confused for a second, eyebrows furrowed, and crosses one arm over his chest, his other hand tapping his chin. 

“I mean we could go to a jewelry shop right now but I don’t see why-”

Your look into his own eyes is fiery, interrupting him firmly. “As big as my head. The kind you’d only find hundreds of kilometers deep in the Calm Belt.”

The words are meant to be delivered neutrally, but their content is laden with irrationality.

You pause, waiting for his protest, but Luffy doesn’t complain. Instead he’s listening intently, dark eyes just as focused on yours, on the drivel coming from your lips and perhaps on deciphering the unspoken code beneath it.

Code that isn’t I don’t want to go with you, but Why would you go through the trouble for someone as bothersome like me?

Perhaps he picks up on the subtext a bit, too smoothly. “Is that all you want?” he asks, finally.

You inhale sharply, and resume your walk.

“Yes. Unless you bring me one of those, I don’t want to talk about ever leaving with you again, Luffy. Don’t even come back to see me.”

Unfazed, Luffy smiles even though you’ve given him a nigh impossible task - in fact, you’re not sure these giant clams exist at all, and it would be a fool’s errand to search for one, but he laughs. 

“Deal.”

Leaving the matter as it is, you resume your walk, and at some point Luffy must have taken your hand, because by the time you’ve made it to where you’ll have dinner together (and invariably he’ll clean out your wages for the entire week just in meat), your fingers are interlocked as though they’ve belonged linked the entire time. 

—

Luffy leaves the next day, leaving a note that is short and sweet on your kitchen table.

Be back soon.

You figure you’ve possibly seen the last of him in a while and your stomach turns gently at the thought.

—

Three days pass and because your friend Nami hasn’t yelled your ear off by transponder snail, you figure Luffy has dropped the entire ordeal and not wasted his crew’s time by going off track to do something absolutely stupid at your request. 

Another three pass and you worry he is stupid enough to try to do it despite being hated by the sea, and you resist the urge to call it off yourself. 

But you have to trust that he could understand how you felt. 

As impossible as it is for him to do this for you, it’s impossible for you to leave your earthbound life.

—

But ‘impossible’ sits on your nightstand that night.

A perfectly round pearl, as big as your head (bigger even if you were to hold it up and compare the object in a mirror)and polished to an impeccable shine, waits for you, with another note.

You ran out of food. Be back in a moment.

When Luffy comes back, large bags of groceries in hand to restock your empty fridge (even though he’d end up cleaning it out himself that night), he finds you in quiet tears.

Slowly, he lowers himself to the ground, allowing his arms to wrap carefully and gently around your body until you’ve leaned into him fully, your sniffles muffled as you let your face hide pressed against his forearms.

You don’t ask how he did it because the act itself is enough, and he doesn’t speak until you open your mouth first -

- to say “Hi, I missed you,” even if you’re overwhelmed. 

Luffy hums in assent, and lets his face nuzzle into your hair further, the simple act asking you again, please come with me without him needing to say it out loud, even if the pearl he’s moved heaven and earth to bring to your doorstep allows him to.

To which your heart, as though you were being proposed to with this very act, finally says yes.

[retroaria]

⊹₊⋆.˚ Confessions ⋆.˚₊ ⊹

summary: the bllk boys and their romantic confessions, some are love, some are not! all of them are pretty cute though, not gonna lie…

BLUE LOCK M.LIST | requests are open! | enjoy 💋

⊹₊⟡⋆ Isagi Yoichi ‹𝟹

isagi makes it a point to confess to you in person. he spends a few days thinking (and overthinking) exactly what words to use. he wants to make sure he can confess his true feelings and also let you know how lucky he would feel if you accepted him.

once he’s ready he’d send you a text or call you, asking you to meet him somewhere quiet, maybe just his house or yours. the two of you meet up and he’s immediately flushed. he’s nervous and excited all at the same time. he’s the kind of guy that would want to have built a strong friendship and bond before confronting his feelings for you, so he’s confident that you guys will be ok no matter what happens.

he’d take your hands in his and look you in the eyes while he confesses. his gaze would be warm and sweet, he’s just glad he could even get the opportunity to express himself to you.

“I’ve really love having you with me. You make me feel better, even when I thought I was fine before, being with you just feels better. The closer we’ve gotten, and the more I’ve seen of you and your world, the more I realize how badly I want to be a part of it.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Bachira Meguru ‹𝟹

as soon as bachira realizes he has feelings for you, he feels immediately ready to tell you. he’ll let the feeling settle for a little and try to tell you in an indirect manner. he’ll swoop in with a surprise kiss on your cheek, giggling as he watches your flustered expression. or maybe he’ll leave little notes around for you, in your bag, in your car, in your pockets, in your books, etc. they’d say silly little things about how adorable you were that day or he’ll briefly write about something that reminded him of you, maybe some mediocre poetry he thought up in his love sick state. you’d catch on pretty easily that it was bachira, and he never intended to keep that a secret.

then after a few days of messing with you, he decided he’d tell you the next time he saw you. when the two of you met up he immediately sucked you into a bone crushing hug, like he was holding on for dear life. he’d pull away, “hey cutie~ guess what…” he’d coo at you.

“i like you! Like, I really like you. Maybe I even love you. actually, yeah, love sounds better. I love you! I wanna take you on a date and kiss your stupid face. I know you feel the same, I wish you could see how red you are right now.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Nagi Seishiro ‹𝟹

Nagi realized he loved you when he began to notice how sad he would get when you leave. being sad is a serious pain for him. he doesn’t like the way it makes his brain and body feel all fried and stressed, he hates not wanting to do anything even more than he already does, yet simultaneously willing to do anything to get you back in his apartment. Nagi would beg you to sleepover every time you hung out at his place, he’d sometimes try to wrestle you into the bed. you were just so kind and warm and calming to him. he felt graced by you and your presence.

his confession would come out of him like a nice long sign of relief. he’s been having this strange internal battle between his love for you and his love for laziness. it’s a hassle to have to confess and then put in the effort to build up a romantic relationship, but in the end he decides it’s even more of a hassle to not tell you how he feels. plus, you’re so worth it.

“It just doesn’t feel right when you’re not with me. It’s like I don’t really know what to do with myself. You make me feel alive. That sounds cringe. I love you, is what im trying to say. I hope that makes sense.”

disclaimer: do not date a guy like nagi in real life you cannot gentle parent this man child lol

⊹₊⟡⋆ Reo Mikage ‹𝟹

Reo’s confession was a long time in the making. he clung to his feelings for as long as he could until it really felt like he was gonna explode if he didn’t tell you. he did that because he wanted to wait for the timing to be perfect. he wanted to find the perfect spot to do it, the perfect words to say, all at the perfect time in both of your lives. but of course, things rarely work out that way.

what actually happened is he blurted it out in the middle of you talking one day. you were telling him about something you were working on, something you loved and were really proud of. he was listening so intently, or at least trying to. his thoughts kept stringing him in a different direction and before he knew it, he dropped the L word on you like a nuclear bomb.

“I-uhh…Ok listen, I’m sorry I promise I was listening to you it’s just…you look so beautiful right now and you sound so cute and excited. It got me all frantic, I didn’t mean to drop that on you so out of nowhere…it’s true though, I do love you. I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Michael Kaiser ‹𝟹

(unless you speak german) kaiser has already confessed to you a million times. “ich liebe dich~” he’d say to you upon every parting, telling you it was simply a term of endearment. if you did happen to know what that meant already, or if you took the time to search it up, he’d be like “yeah, I said that, so what?” this man would propose to you in the middle of times square in broad daylight he’s so confident but that’s a different hc for another time lmaoo.

his confession is charming and flattering. he truly worships the ground you walk on while also believing that he’s the only one who could appreciate you as you deserve. his hands cup your face and his eyes fall warmly on yours. his voice is direct and steady. not a twinge of nervousness can be seen, just pure love and admiration. he speaks to you with a calm and lulling voice, a tenderness he only lets linger when he’s with you.

“Liebe, don’t you see how soft you make me? I’d hate for you to not realize how I feel for you. I want you to be mine, if you’ll have me, that is.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Rin Itoshi ‹𝟹 (i wrote so much for rin wtf)

Rin has walls that he has spent a lot of time and effort building up over the years. they’re forged to keep out anything and everything that may be a distraction from his goals, but if this is the guy you’re going for, i’m sure you’re a persistent little pest. you’d sneak your way into his life, just by being there, texting him, talking about him. soon enough you’d infested his mind as well, suddenly he’d find himself thinking of you when he least expects it.

one day he was on the pitch, just a practice game, but you were in the stands watching him. throughout your friendship you’ve done this quite a few times, so he has no reason to pay much mind to your presence in the middle of the match. today was different though, you were up close, eyes beaming at him in the center field, hands at the side of your head clutched together in a little cheer. he hadn’t done anything yet, the match just started, what were you even cheering for? it was cute, he decided. that’s why it broke his focus long enough for the other team to score. actually, it was adorable. so adorable it tugged the corners of his lips upward slightly, which he quickly moved to cover with his hand. he just threw a match and he was smiling? what were you doing to him?

after some time of thinking you might be employing psychological warfare against him, Rin decided it was time to really sit down and confront his feelings. he’d go a few days, maybe even a week or more without speaking to you. don’t worry, he was thinking about hardly anything but you the entire time.

“Sorry for ghosting you, I just needed to think about some things. It made me a little sad to be away from you too. I hate you a lot less than I hate everyone else, you know? Don’t get cocky about that. Also, don’t leave me ok? I’ll be nicer, yeah sure. Maybe I can walk you home…or something. Here, let’s hold hands.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Sae Itoshi ‹𝟹

he’s way more flustered about it than you might think. he’s not embarrassed or nervous necessarily, he just hasn’t expected to feel this way about anyone. similar to kaiser, sae thinks he’s the only person who could truly love and appreciate you as much as you deserve. this typically stoic and selfish man finds himself smiling in your presence and wanting to give you everything you want and more.

your relationship until this point has been uhh… “transactional” we’ll say. the two of you liked going out and hanging out together, but no feelings attached. a few kisses were shared here and there, he’d take you back to his apartment to cuddle sometimes, but wouldn’t ever let you sleepover. eventually things started to get a little more *intense*. you did start staying over, a lot. so much so that you had a toothbrush on his bathroom sink and clothes in his closet. the first time he ever had the thought of being in love with you was when he realized his sheets always smelled like you now, and he wanted it to stay that way.

the fact that you were enough to turn his head, take over his thoughts, and make him fall in love with you feels like proof beyond the reasonable doubt that you are perfect.

“You can move in, if you want. I wouldn’t mind. We’re basically already dating, so I don’t see the point in denying it anymore. Yeah, I didn’t think it would go this far either. I like knowing you’re here at my place, with me and not with anyone else.”

HONORABLE MENTIONS

⊹₊⟡⋆ Oliver aiku ‹𝟹

“You know I love you, let’s stop pretending. Seriously, you could keep me on a tight leash if you really want. Promise, I’m not going anywhere, babe.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Kunigami Rensuke ‹𝟹

“I love you, I want you to know that. It’s ok if you don’t feel the same. I want to care for you and keep you safe, you mean so much to me, you don’t even know.”

i love this post so much, the nagi disclaimer i had to put, the strange onion analogy for rin, the flustered reo moment. also just isagi being here, the man that you are, Isagi Yoichi. i had so much fun making this - aria

divider - @enchanthings

[bluesidez]

[The Ideal Gaze]

lab tester: @ichigosluvrr 🩻

pairing: DadBod!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

summary: Miguel is feeling a bit out of your league, so you remind him that he’s just in your lane. 

content warning: established relationship (they’re married with kids!), domestic fluff, mild hurt/comfort due to Miguel being an idiot that does not understand The Female Gaze, some miscommunication between reader and Miguel, 18+ so MDNI, a little raunchier than I intended tbh but hopefully I presented DB!Mig well, body worship, heated tension, reader is like obsessed with Miguel’s new Dad Bod, deepthroat 😗, missionary position, unprotected p in v sex (WRAP IT UP 🫵🏾), the word Ma as a term of endearment from Miguel to reader two times

word count: 5.3k, halfway proofread

a/n: Fulfilling this first because this was technically my first request! I added a few more elements (thank you Miguel server!), so I hope you don’t mind. There were no specific requests other than fluff and smut, so I went with the flow. I hope you enjoy! (Also, I found the original artist's post here!! Go give them some love!)

Your blood is pumping as you round the corner, only a few more steps until you reach the driveway. 

The jog today was pretty refreshing. There were no calls from work asking about things that could wait until 8 AM, no toddler fussing about waking up, and no child whining about getting homework done. It was just you, your FitBit, your steamy audiobook, and the lingering thoughts of meeting your husband’s eyes this morning. Lately, it’s been like a little game to rile him up. 

You’ve been married for a few years and a family of four for seven years with a sweet little girl, a second grader with the attitude of an old lady, and a precious little boy, a preschooler with keen intuition. With your lives being consumed with work and taking care of the kids, you feel like your relationship has been put on the back burner. Long gone were the days in which you two made love at the drop of a hat, fucking on anything that could hold you. Now, you were lucky enough to get a little dry humping.

It was getting depressing, and more annoyingly, frustrating, so you started to put your riled-up energy elsewhere. You were up at the crack of dawn making everyone’s lunches and going on occasional jogs, you were using your PTO for brunches with the girls and spa days, you had regular pilates classes, the real pilates, and most importantly, you were finding small pockets of time for yourself. 

From buying yourself small gifts to filling your Kindle with romance books to pleasuring yourself on the nights Miguel worked overtime. You were sure to keep yourself busy. All of that, and you still couldn’t get the thought of Miguel entangled with you out of your head. 

You heaved out as you stopped at the end of the driveway, taking a few breaths to calm your state. The book you were listening to was on a particularly enthralling scene and you wondered if it was something that Miguel would be interested in trying. 

You looked down at yourself and decided to unzip the top of your athletic jacket, letting the tightness of your bra and the fabric push your cleavage up. One smooth swipe of your clothes and you were walking to the front door. 

It was 6:40 AM, so there was plenty of time to have a little quiet moment with your husband. 

You walked into the kitchen and saw him standing in all of his glory. A newspaper in his left hand, because some things didn’t need to be digitized, a “Best Papá Ever” mug in his right hand, black glasses on his face, and your favorite thing, a naked plush torso on display. 

In the first years of parenthood, his metabolism was through the roof. Despite him joining you for every snack, meal, and midnight dessert, he never lost that tiny little waist or those washboard abs. It wasn’t until your youngest was born and babbling that his appearance started to change. His arms became a mix of muscle and cellulite, his thighs were softer than ever, his chest was full and plump, and his waist widened gifting you with his soft belly and a happy trail that continued to his belly button. 

The early time didn’t stop the coil of neediness in your stomach from forming. 

“Good morning, hubby,” you say with a lilt to your voice. You walked closer to him, an extra bounce in your step, and leaned on the island. 

Sure enough, Miguel was peeking at your chest from over his glasses, mug hovering over his lips. 

You only smiled coyly, waiting for his response. 

“Good morning. How was your jog?” he puts the newspaper and mug down, folding his arms under his chest. 

You stared at his bulging arms, pressed-up pecs, and his tummy that moved with him and almost whined. 

“It was really good. Super nice and refreshing. Maybe a little warm,” you crossed your legs, impatient. “How’s your morning so far?”

“It’s better,” he says, making the short distance to crowd your space. He leans over you, hands going to the island. “My wife is here now.”

You smile at his words, hands itching to touch him but not wanting to ruin the stride. Instead, you look up at him and pan his lips. 

“I’m feeling better, too,” you whisper, waiting. 

Miguel leans forward to press his lips onto yours, the smell of coffee hitting your senses. You feel little fireworks go off as he starts to open your mouth. Everything felt just right in this moment. 

When his hand slid across your back, you almost jumped up to wrap your legs around him. You tilted your head and wrapped your arms around his neck. You could feel yourself slipping against the counter, but Miguel was right there to steady you. 

For what felt like hours to you after so long of a heated connection, the two of you made out on the kitchen island. Only some birds chirping, the occasional car passing by, and the hum of the washing machine could be heard next to the sound of you both breathing into each other’s lips

“Come with me to the shower?” you say, eyes heavy and pleading. 

You could feel Miguel tense up, back rigid as he moved back. 

“I better stay. Raul might wake up soon and he was having a hard time sleeping last night.”

Your heart dropped at the rejection. You were hoping that this would be the one, the moment that you’ve been anticipating for months. Some form of sexual connection. 

“Ok. I’ll be out soon,” you turn and go to the master bathroom, tugging the zipper down hastily. You felt a bit dejected and embarrassed, but you’re trying to let it go. Your mommy side knows that your youngest woke up in distress last night so it makes perfect sense that Miguel wants to be alert for his cries, but your wife side wants her husband back and can’t help but feel like he didn’t want you. 

With this brisk shower, you hoped this self-doubt and neediness washed away with it. 

You tapped your fingers against the desk, staring off at your computer. Work today was slow, which you didn’t mind because that meant you could frequent your watchlist, but your mind kept wandering off while watching some random K-drama. 

Last night, you woke up to what sounded like Miguel getting off in the bathroom. 

He got off work super late that day, so you took the initiative to get the kids to bed and go to bed early. 

What you didn’t expect was to wake up to the sound of his grunts coming through the bathroom door. 

At first, you were a little hurt that he didn’t wake you up to help him out, but then you were so overcome by the sound of him whimpering and moaning that you couldn’t help but pleasure yourself. 

He sounded so desperate and wanton, cursing every once in a while. You bit your lip as you imagined him right next to you, voice right in your ear. You wanted his weight on you. You wanted to feel his skin against yours. 

You lay in the empty bed rubbing yourself until you came, his noises stopping a while before you finished. You were hoping he would come out and see you so you prolong your orgasm to no avail, sleep coming to claim you before he did. 

When you tried to ask him about it in the morning, he kept avoiding your eyes, saying something about his stomach giving him the blues. 

You let it go then, but that didn’t stop you from thinking about it all day. 

In a spur-of-the-moment decision, you decide to text him a flirty message, running to the bathroom to take a picture to match. You waited a little bit, hoping that he could take at least a peek. 

“You look gorgeous, honey.”

Just gorgeous? Not hot? Not good enough to make him want more?

You scrunched your mouth to the side, asking if he could send a picture back.

“Baby, you know I can’t. I’m at work right now.” 

You huffed at that. You knew he was just in his lab by himself. There was plenty of time and solitude to take a picture. He used to send random pictures of himself all of the time. 

For the rest of the day, you were irritated, feeling slighted at the hands of your husband.

You took a break from trying to seduce your husband, tired of the pushback. You put your all into taking care of the kids and maintaining the house when you could.

“And how many sticks does that leave Cassie with?” you asked Gabriella. You both were at the dining table with her math homework sprawled everywhere while dinner was in the oven. 

“27!” she shouted, voice becoming more confident over the course of the math sheet. 

“Correct! You’re knocking ‘em out, girl!”

“Buen trabajo, mija,” Miguel said with vigor as he came by to kiss the top of her head. “You’re doing so well.” (Good job, mija.)

“Does this mean I can get a cookie?” she asked, quick to melt her father’s heart.

“Not before dinner, Gabriella, you know this,” Miguel bounced Raul in his arms, a little fussy and sniffly. 

“Please, papá!” she looked up at him with big brown eyes and a pout.  

Miguel sighed, unable to say no to her 9 times out of 10. 

He looked at you frantically, watching you snickering behind your hands, “You have to ask Mamá.”

Whenever he really wanted to say no, he used you as a trump card.

Gabriella’s shoulders drop as she turns to you, already knowing the drill.

“The answer is no. You can wait until after dinner,” you say, squeezing her cheek.

“You always say no,” Gabriella whines dramatically, slumping in her seat with her arms crossed, pout just like her dad’s.

“And you can always go to bed with no cookies,” you chide as you get up to go check on dinner. “Now go put your homework up and wash your hands, dinner is almost ready.”

She puts her papers back in her folder with the theatrics of a Broadway actor, sighing dramatically with each step she took to her room.

Miguel laughed at her actions watching her leave, “She’s just like her Mami when she gets like that. Fussy.”

You pause to put your hand on your hip, “No, she’s just like her Father when she can’t get her way. Whiny.” You open the oven and pull the lasagna out to the stove to cool a bit. 

“Well, I can’t say no to her just like I can’t say no to you,” he says, placing Raul at the table with a hand running over his soft hair. “You both have the same puppy-dog eyes.”

“You like leaving the hard parenting to me.”

“That is not true. I just tussled with a four-year-old to get him to take his cold medicine and made a promise of not one, but two bedtime stories,” he says, coming up behind you as you reached to get the dishes. He got them down for you instead, hand on your hips and stomach pressed against your back.

You bite your tongue in order not to will your negligent, horny brain from awakening. You didn’t have time for those thoughts, little feet were near, and every advance you gave him ended in failure. 

“Is he doing ok?” you say, referring to Raul he sat at the table with his head down, a teddy bear hugged against him as he pitifully moved his toy car back and forth. It was definitely a big shift from his usual talkative demeanor.

“We might have to go to the doctor again. His allergies are really acting up.”

You leave Miguel’s side to go squat down by Raul, “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

You rubbed his back, trying to see if he felt warmer than usual and sure enough, he was burning up.

“My throat hurts, Mama,” he said, little voice just about gone. 

“Oh, I know, my sweet baby,” you say with a soft voice. “Do you want me to make you some alphabet soup?”

Raul’s face twists up, lip a little wobbly, “But I want some cheese noodles.”

“Hey, it’s ok!. You can have some lasagna. I just want your throat to feel better. Hot things will make it feel better.”

“The cheese noodles are hot, too.”

You smiled, “That’s right, the cheese noodles are hot, but I mean a hot liquid.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, hands squeezing his teddy bear as he thought, “Can I have hot chocolate?”

“Of course you can. Can I give you a kiss?”

He nods his head slowly and you lean over to kiss his head. You needed to get him under the covers soon. Before you could pull away, he wrapped his arms around your neck, snuggling up to be held. You couldn’t resist holding your baby, especially when you couldn’t take his pain away. 

You get up to see Miguel helping Gabriella plate the slices of lasagna on each plate and setting up the side salad. Your heart filled with joy watching them giggle over the stretchy cheese. It was moments like this that reminded you that you were taking the right steps, that this was the perfect little life.  

As they set up the table with the plates and drinks, you kept Raul in your arms, ready to help him with tonight's dinner. 

“Thank you for the food, Mommy,” Gabriella said with a toothy smile. 

“You’re welcome, baby,” you say, cutting Raul’s food up even smaller, not wanting him to struggle any more than he had to tonight. 

The table was quiet, save for Gabriella and Miguel smacking their food occasionally and Raul’s wheezy breaths. 

By the time dinner was over, Gabriella was buzzing in her seat for cookies, and Raul was close to falling asleep in your arms. 

You couldn’t ask for anything better. 

With Raul sound asleep, Gabriella tucked in bed, and Miguel watching cable, you had a moment to yourself to think. 

Did today’s small touches mean anything?

You stood in the bathroom moisturizing your skin after a hot bath. You said you were going to stop trying to fish for your husband’s attention, but if you were honest, today’s brief moment of connection did it for you. You couldn’t stop your thoughts once you were alone.

You decide to wear just a pair of panties and one of his old t-shirts to bed: a look that wasn’t trying too hard to get his attention, but you’re sure he’s going to notice it. 

You sat on the bed and decided to read until he came into the room. You hope you were giving a sexy girlfriend vibe. Your skin was all smooth, you smelled good, and you knew you looked good. 

When Miguel walks in, he pauses at the door to stare at you. 

“Why are you looking at me like that? Come to bed,” you say. 

Hook, line, and sinker. 

Miguel shuffled over, eyeing you from head to toe. He looked delicious in his tank top, fabric stretched in the best possible ways.

He crawled on the bed next to you, “My band t-shirt?”

“Yeah! It’s comfy.”

He rubbed his hand up your naked thigh and your nerves started to sing. Any further up, and you might just wet your panties from his touch alone. You missed it so much. 

He leaned over to kiss the juncture your neck and shoulder, your neck, your cheek, and then he stopped. 

He just…stopped.

“Well, I gotta go in earlier tomorrow, so I’m going to sleep early. Is it ok if I turn this light off?

You felt your throat dry up, “Yeah, ok.”

He got under the sheets and switched his lamp off, leaving you in the dark with the faint light of your Kindle illuminating the room.

“Goodnight, honey,” he said with a yawn. 

“Night.”

You turned your Kindle off and just sat in silence, his snores breaking the illusion of the dark consuming you. 

You’re starting to think the worst. 

You kept up a number of tactics subtle to glaringly obvious to appeal to your husband from changing up your perfume to what you would say was an amazing strip tease. Absolutely nothing is working. 

He kept listing off excuses from the kids to his job to his parents to his brother, anything to avoid an intimate session with you. He even chose a night out with his boys over a night in bed with you which was jarring because he always made you feel good before going out to have a good time. 

Did he not find you attractive anymore? You knew childbirth brought a lot of change, but you were still the same woman he met and fell in love with. 

Did he not love you anymore? He often praised you for being a good mom and his pet names never stopped, but after that, his declaration of love for you had been very surface-level.

Is he cheating on you?

You really didn’t want to entertain that thought, but your heart couldn’t take any more pain than it already had. 

So, one day when you say you’re taking the kids to the park, you drop them off at your mom’s place instead, hoping that if there was something going on, no little hearts would be broken once you unleash a beast in the house. 

You pull back in the driveway to see that he’s still here, just as you suspected. You make your way quietly through the house, inching closer to you all’s bedroom. 

Your heart almost stops when you hear the sound of Miguel’s voice, high and breathy in a way that should only reach your ears. You don’t think when you swing the door open, adrenaline pumping high.  

Miguel yells, scared to death but alone. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, voice frustrated.

“What am I doing? What are you doing?”

You look at the state he’s in, shirt up, waistband under his dick, and a mystery fabric in his hand. 

“Were you getting off?” you say, hands dropping to your side. “Do you…do you not love me anymore?”

“What?”

“Do you. Not. Love me anymore. You avoid me every time I’ve tried to initiate something with you. We haven’t made love in so long. You keep making excuses to not be alone with me. You don’t even want to do normal things with me like send pictures or makeout until we’re out of breath. I’ve heard you in the bathroom during the night and now you’re here doing the same thing, without me, your wife.” Your eyes start to water after it all, feeling utter defeat. 

“Cariño, this is a misunderstanding,” he pleads, voice distraught. “I do love you. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“Then why are you doing this to me?”

“Because,” he pauses, fixing his clothes to have some decency. “I…haven’t felt the greatest about my body.”

Your tears dry up as soon as the statement resonates, “What? What do you mean?”

Miguel sighs.

“Lately, it’s getting harder and harder for my old clothes to fit me anymore, I’m way too busy to hit the gym and more than anything, I think you deserve a man who’s a little less,” he gestures to himself, “let go.”

“Says who?”

He looks at you as if you’ve grown two heads, “Uh, everybody?”

“Well, who is everybody because I’d like to strangle them for letting you think that my husband isn’t good enough for me.” You walk deeper into the bedroom crowding Miguel’s space. “You’ll always be perfect for me. The vows I promised to you will not be broken over something so normal as weight gain.”

He looked like he could cry. 

“Why did you hide you were feeling this way, baby?” you hold his head in your hands scratching at his scalp. 

“It felt stupid and silly. You’ve been doing so well socially and physically, I wanted to see if I could fix it on my own before bringing you down with my problems.”

“Miguel O’Hara,” you say, gripping his jaw firmly. “I’m your wife. I might not be able to solve everything, but at the very least, you need to talk to me. Tell me how you’re feeling, express yourself with words. Don’t hide.”

He wrapped his arms around you, sniffling, “I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

You pressed a long kiss into his scalp, rubbing his back. 

“Oh my gosh,” you chuckled. “You were feeling so much internally, meanwhile I was practically screaming at you to fuck me. I thought you weren’t attracted to me anymore.” 

So much for communication. 

Miguel just burried his face in your chest while he groaned, “That’s the thing! You were driving me crazy with your tight little workout clothes and your lingerie. You looked so good, but I couldn’t get out of my own head. I’ve been…”

“You’ve been what?”

“I,” he got red in the face. “I’ve been using your underwear.”

You look down to Miguel’s crumbled up hand and it was in fact your underwear from the night you wore his band t-shirt, drenched in his essence.

Your stomach turned with excitement.

“So this is what you were doing in the bathroom in the middle of the night, hm? Using my panties? Giving them more action and attention than me?”

Miguel nodded, eyes hazy.

“Did it feel good?”

Another nod.

“I bet it did. I would wake up and hear you trying so hard to cum.”

You don’t know how, but his face got even warmer.

“You left your poor wife all alone, thinking about you on top of her until she came too.”

“I did?”

“You didn’t know?” you ask, playfully. “I was up all night imagining you walking out to see me. I wanted these arms to come and hold me.”

You squeeze at his arms on your sides. 

“I wanted your weight on me. I wanted your chest against mine.I needed you so bad.”

You move to sit in his lap, knees on the side of him.

“You do such a great job of being a father. This beautiful change in your body is only proof of your hard work and dedication. It’s proof of love for your family.”

Miguel only melted in your hands, face a cloud of emotion.

“I love you, Miguel. I adore you. I yearn for you. I want you.”

With every declaration, came a kiss to his lips.

“Can I show you how much I love you?”

“Please.”

With that, you took his shirt off and made your way down his chest. You lingered around his chest, holding his pecs as you kissed them all over. You couldn’t stop your moans as your tongue felt across the hairy planes of his chest, sucking and pulling on his nipples. Miguel shudders as you pay special attention to them, sensitive after not being with you for so long.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” you breathe into his skin. You slide onto the floor and just press your face into his stomach.

“You like it that much?”

“Love it. You look so yummy walking around. You could be just standing there and I get so,” you cut yourself off, trying not to overwhelm him with just how much you were feeling. “You’re hot, baby.”

You kiss down his happy trail to reach his pants, his stomach twitching. You tugged a bit too hard on his pants, causing him to laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” you say with a pout. 

“I haven’t seen you like this since we won that couple’s retreat.”

“Not my fault. You were all sexy up there, beating the other husbands with your big brain. It was doing something to me.”

You finished pulling and you could almost cry with joy when Miguel’s cock springs next to your head. The sound you make when you see it also has Miguel wound tight. 

Completely taken over by your neediness and desperation, you pull one of his thick legs over your shoulder, kissing and sucking on the skin while your fingertips dance around the entirety of his length. 

The display of strength shocks Miguel who drips and whines at your actions. 

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” he whispers. 

You cup him while you take his head in your mouth. It felt like pure bliss to have that familiar taste in your mouth. With the way you were humming, Miguel can tell that you were about to put him to sleep. 

You took no time letting your tongue stretch to take more of him in. Your cheeks hollow as you go further, one hand kneading at the thigh you were holding and the other switching from fondling him to wrapping around the base of his length. 

“God,” Miguel’s voice filled the room, the loudest it had been for the past few months. “I don’t think I’ll last that long.”

You let go of him and lick down the sides, “That’s because you’re too busy fucking other things instead of me.”

“’M sorry,” he whined as you went back down on him. “I-I was still thinking of you and, ngh, wanting you.”

“Mm hm,” your voice sent shocks down his spine as you didn’t let go. He moved his hips steadily, dick sliding in and out of your mouth and pudge occasionally pressing against your face. 

The faster he went, the noisier the sounds got. He moved his hands to your head, thighs eerily close to tightening around your face. You couldn’t have it any better. 

You dug your nails into his hips, throat contracting in order to take him in. Even with your jaw slacked, it’s been so long since you took him like this that you gagged more often than not. With every sound of your throat struggling, Miguel shouted your name, hands gripping tighter on your hair.

You could tell he was close by the way his thigh was tensing on your shoulder, so when he said the four words, you took him to the hilt, face completely pressed against him. 

“Shit!” he felt like passing out as he released into your throat. You swallowed as much as you could, but you couldn’t take it all, saliva and cum esxaping down your chin to his balls. 

He grunts when he pulls you off, chest moving sporadically. 

You lick your lips and let out a satisfied sigh, “Finally.”

Miguel could only chuckle as he laid back on the bed. You crawled on top of him, sitting on his thighs with a smile. You rub your hands on the skin of stomach, slowly getting to his chest, “I’m like, really wet right now if you want some more painties to use.”

He growled as he pulled you closer.

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope,” you say, popping the P. “I really want you to do it in front of me. Maybe send me a video for the nights you work overtime.”

He had the nerve to look embarrassed as he wrapped his arms around your back, “I might be able to arrange that.” He kissed your lips to distract you from speaking on it further.

After Miguel returned the favor with his head between your legs, the both of you were enjoying a quiet moment together before having to go pick up the kids.

“I can’t believe you thought I was cheating on you,” Miguel said as you were drawing circles on his chest.

“Miguel,” you say, lifting your head. “I pulled all the stops. I did things that I knew you loved: the t-shirts, going commando, the flirty pictures. I even brought whipped cream to the bedroom and you told me ‘I can’t eat that, it’ll blow up my stomach,’ when you were literally in the kitchen taking shots of it the night before.”

“Ok. So I see how you might have gotten to that ludicrous conclusion, but did you not notice how much I’ve been staring at you?”

You clicked your teeth, “Yeah, but what does that mean when you don’t act on it?”

Miguel twisted his lip, “Will you feel better if I told you that your work pictures turned me on too?”

You pinched him resulting in a yelp, “I’ll feel better right now if you give me a shower round.”

He pulled you in his arms as he got out of the bed, “Let’s go before your mom calls.”

You giggle and swing your feet on the way.

After your afternoon of praising his body, Miguel emerged as his previous confident self. This meant more days with him walking around shirtless, more quickies in the morning, makeouts that ended in pleasure, him smacking your ass, you smacking his ass back, and sex. Lots and lots of sex.

Right now, Raul was down for a nap and Gabriella was enjoying her tablet time. 

You, however, were clawing at Miguel’s back like a cat as he pounded you into the mattress. 

“Fuck!” you shouted, eyelids fluttering as Miguel’s cock dragged across your walls. “It feels so good.”

“Quiet, mi vida,” he whispered. “The kids are in their rooms.”

You were quick to cover your mouth, moans muffled. It really didn’t matter because the creaks of the bed were just as loud as you. One change in position and the headboard denting the walls could be added to it. 

It was all too much. 

First, he woke you up with kisses down your body and a promise to lighten your load around the house. Then, he got the kids up and prepared breakfast with the help of Raul. Later while you were out running errands, he sent you a coupon for a spa that just opened up down the street and warm message. 

Now, he has you losing your mind with his hips slapping against yours, whispering praises in your ear.

“Miguel!”

“Hm? Talk to me.”

“I-I can’t-” your voice keeps getting louder unintentionally. He was so calm while he was reaching so deep inside. Your mind was hazy, wanting nothing more than him to keep going.

“You’re doing so good, Ma. You’re so good to me and the kids. You’re such a beautiful wife. Such a pretty Mama. Just wanna make you feel good.”

You felt yourself clench around him at his words, tears falling across your temples. He kissed your tears tenderly, strokes getting deeper. 

“M-Miguel,” you say with your heart full. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. So, so deeply,”

That was all it took for you to suck him in and scream into his shoulder, nails digging into his shoulder blades. His release was soon after, painting your walls with his lips pressed against your ear.

“Papá! You have to be more careful,” Gabriella fussed with her hands on her hips while Miguel was in the kitchen trying to make the family a snack. “You got hurt at work!”

Miguel paused and reached behind his back, fingers roaming over the healing scratches on his shoulder from his last session with you. 

You covered your teeth with your lips as Miguel turned to look at you with his eyebrows raised. 

“It’s ok, mija. Papá is tough!”

“But you gotta put something on it,” Gabriella said with a huff.

“Thank you for your concern, nena. I’ll get Mamá to take care of it, ok?” he ruffled her hair as he handed her a plate of bunny-shaped apple slices. “Now go sit with your brother and watch some TV.”

Miguel huffed as he walked up to the side of you with his arms crossed.

“What? You should put your shirt on!”

“That’s not what you said when you-”

“Hush and go get the aloe.”

Miguel snickered as he gave your lips a peck, “Yeah, yeah.”

Life was wonderfully sweet.

With that, my first request is done! As always, like, reblog, and COMMENT. Let me know how you guys feel! 🩵

[liuhsng]

✩ˎˊ˗ between the shelves ( sjy ! ) — part 1

✩ˎˊ˗ part of the untouchable series | enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — jake x fem!reader ⤷ part 1 | part 2 ⤷ word count — 18.7k ⤷ taglist for the series — open ! ⤷ warnings — a/b/o au, foul language, fem!reader, strangers to lovers trope, kinda oblivious!jake, jake is in love-love, tooth-rotting fluff, mentions of the other parts from this series, not proofread

✩ˎˊ˗ summary: as the only son of a prestigious family and the student council secretary, sim jaeyun—or as his friends like to call him: jake has always been at the top. admired, respected, and burdened by responsibility. he’s used to handling everything himself, ensuring perfection in all that he does. and then there was you, someone he had always seen but never had the chance to approach, until fate handed him the opportunity. hiding from relentless admirers, he found himself in the library, where, to his surprise, you weren’t just another passing face. jake has always adored the idea of having a mate, but he never rushed fate, until you. before he knows it, meetings no longer hold his full attention, tasks he once insisted on doing himself are left to others, all so he can be near you.

A thick, leather-bound book rested in Jake’s hands, the pages filled with intricate Old English that he absorbed with minimal effort. The world outside didn’t exist in this moment. No expectations, no responsibilities, just the quiet hum of silence.

As a pureblooded Alpha born into wealth and status, moments like this were rare, but within the walls of the student council room, he could finally breathe.

His desk bore the title Council Secretary, and his scent of pine and oranges lingered in the air. His instincts, so accustomed to composure, were calm.

Until they weren’t.

The sharp bang of wooden doors slamming open shattered the silence, followed immediately by a heavy thud and the unmistakable sound of someone crashing onto the marble floor. A low growl echoed through the room, spilling through the air like a warning, but it was nothing Jake hadn’t heard before.

He shut his book with an irritated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can't even enjoy my mornings because of you mutts.”

Lifting his gaze, he saw Ni-ki sprawled out on the floor, groaning in pain, while Jay towered over him, phone in hand, grinning so wide his sharp canines glinted under the lights.

“That was pathetic,” Jay snickered, snapping another picture of Ni-ki’s crumpled state. “Hold still, I need a better angle.”

“Go to hell,” Ni-ki grumbled, pushing himself up on his elbows, glaring up at Jay like he was debating whether to lunge at him or play dead.

Jake sighed, setting his book down with patience before looking at them both with a deadpan stare. “If you two are done turning the council room into a wrestling ring, get out.”

Jay only grinned wider, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Relax your ass, Sim, we’re just having a little fun.”

Jake arched a brow. “And I was having a little peace. But as always, you two can’t seem to exist without disturbing the entire building.”

Ni-ki groaned again, rolling onto his back with a dramatic sigh. “For the record, I was thrown into the room.”

Jay shrugged. “You were in my way.”

Jake ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. Annoyed but amused, he couldn’t fight the small smile. This was routine, his peace ruined before the day even began. With a sigh, he leaned back. “Where are the others?”

Jay offered a hand to Ni-ki, easily pulling the younger Alpha up with no effort. As he did, he casually answered Jake’s question. “Heeseung, Sunghoon, Sunoo, and Jungwon are with their mates doing God knows what, and yeah, we're here, I guess.” He shot a look at Ni-ki, who was brushing himself off, looking more disgruntled than hurt.

Ni-ki, still in the middle of recovering his pride, added, “Jungwon was asking what you'd like for breakfast too.”

Jake leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the polished wood of his desk. He took a second to think, then hummed. “Any sandwich and tea will do.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk playing at his lips. “So Australian of you.”

Jake rolled his eyes, the smile still there. He couldn’t help it, his friends knew how to get under his skin but also how to make him laugh when he least expected it. “Fuck off,” he said with a laugh.

Jay and Ni-ki grinned before heading to their usual spots, each claiming their own desk within the spacious council room. They sprawled themselves out on the comfortable office chairs, limbs loose and postures unguarded, a contrast to the cold, poised way they carried themselves outside these walls.

Here, there was no need for their masks of control, no need to uphold the weight of their bloodlines with every carefully measured movement.

Jay leaned back, arms behind his head, his smirk fading into something more relaxed. Ni-ki, on the other hand, kicked his feet up on the desk in front of him. There was no need for perfection here, no calculating gazes from the elders who measured their worth in status and tradition.

Jake watched them settle, his fingers still tapping absentmindedly against his desk. It was an unspoken truth between them—this was a place where they weren’t heirs weighed down by the legacies of their families.

Jay let out a long sigh, staring at the ceiling. “So, what’s on the agenda today?” His voice was lazy, but there was curiosity beneath it.

Jake smirked, finally picking up his book again. “Not my problem until the first meeting starts. So, until then, entertain yourselves.” He flipped a page lazily before adding with a chuckle, “Besides, Jungwon’s the one holding it today.”

Jay let out a low whistle. “Poor guy.”

Ni-ki snorted. “He volunteered.”

“Still,” Jay stretched his arms over his head, “it’s cruel of you to let the kid handle all those reports first thing in the morning.”

Jake barely spared him a glance, amusement flickering in his eyes. “He’s the council president. He can handle it.”

Ni-ki hummed in agreement, already reclining further into his chair. “Fair point.”

Their silence was short-lived.

“Babe, I swear it wasn’t me!”

The frantic plea was followed by the sound of hurried footsteps before the doors were slammed open, again.

Sunoo stumbled into the room, half-dragged by Sunghoon’s sister, who had his wrist in an iron grip. Her eyes burned with fury, a stark contrast to Sunoo’s desperate expression as he tried and failed to reason with her.

Behind them, three familiar Omegas rushed in, all trying to calm her down, but their efforts were useless. She wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

The rest of the council members, scattered around the room, barely reacted, other than to smirk at the scene unfolding before them.

Jay leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Well, this is new. Usually, Sunoo's the one doing the chasing.”

Ni-ki snickered. “What did he even do?”

Sunoo shot them both a panicked look. “I didn't do anything!”

Sunghoon’s sister tightened her grip, making the pink-haired Alpha yelp. “Liar.”

Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, snapping his book shut with a dull thud before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Every damn morning with you people.”

Heeseung, Sunghoon, and Jungwon strolled in, Jungwon balancing a tray of drinks while Heeseung and Sunghoon carried bags of food. Sunghoon placed his down on the table with a lazy smirk. “Yeah, because clearly, I’m the one who forgot her coffee order. Really, Kim?”

Heeseung snorted as he set his own bag down. “Man, you really dug your own grave this time.”

Ni-ki snickered. “Or, y’know, not let your mate plot your downfall first thing in the morning.”

Jake shook his head, leaning back in his chair, already done with the day despite it barely starting. “Someone just make sure they don’t destroy the place before the first meeting.”

Jungwon, the only one actually preparing for said meeting, sighed. “Not my job.”

This was gonna be a long day.

Jake sat at his desk, his chin propped up on one hand as he lazily flipped through his book. His classroom wasn’t exactly his first choice for a hangout spot, but with an hour to kill before class started, the others had somehow decided it was the perfect place to loiter.

Heeseung and Jay were sprawled on the desks near the window, bickering over something trivial. Sunghoon sat with his arms crossed, seemingly unbothered, while Ni-ki stole Jungwon’s notebook, flipping through it with fake curiosity. Sunoo was slumped in a chair, spinning a pen between his fingers, looking as if he was ready to nap at any second.

The rest of the students in the room? Staring.

Seven pureblooded Alphas gathered in one place was enough to make anyone second-guess their presence. To most, they weren’t just intimidating—they were untouchable. A different breed entirely. Powerful, respected, envied. Gods among the mortals.

Jay stretched, letting out a loud yawn. “Y’know, for a guy who complains about us ruining his peace, you sure don’t kick us out.”

Jake didn’t even glance up from his book. “Because you’d just follow me somewhere else.”

Sunghoon snorted. “He’s got a point.”

Ni-ki, still flipping through Jungwon’s notes, suddenly looked up. “So, what’s the plan? We just sit here and let people gawk at us for the next hour?”

Sunoo groaned, tilting his head back. “Sounds exhausting.”

Jake sighed, shutting his book with a quiet thud. He knew better than to expect a moment of true peace when his friends were involved.

Jungwon tapped his fingers against the desk, glancing at the clock before looking around at the others. “We could go out and eat an early lunch or something.”

Jay, still balanced on the back legs of his chair, stretched his arms over his head. “Tempting, but do I look like I wanna move?”

Heeseung smirked. “Or… we could buy a new car.”

For a second, the room was silent. Then, with zero hesitation, the rest of them hummed in agreement.

“We should,” Sunghoon said, nodding as if it were the most logical idea.

“Yeah,” Ni-ki added, “we definitely should.”

Jake leaned back, unimpressed. “You guys can barely get out of those chairs.”

Sunoo, still twirling his pen between his fingers, shot Jake a lazy grin. “Exactly. We have the money, the connections, the resources… but no energy.”

Jay sighed dramatically, rubbing a hand over his face. “Such is the burden of being rich.”

Jungwon rolled his eyes. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Heeseung ignored him, leaning forward with a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Okay, but if we were actually buying one, what are we thinking? Another sports car? Something imported?”

“I’m feeling a custom build,” Sunghoon mused, pretending to consider the idea.

Jay grinned. “We could each get one.”

“We could,” Ni-ki agreed, nodding sagely.

They all sat there for a second, deep in thought. Not a single one of them moved.

Jake smirked, arms crossed over his chest. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Jungwon shook his head, muttering under his breath before sitting up straighter. “Okay, so lunch?”

Sunoo waved a lazy hand. “Too much effort.”

Jay sighed, finally letting his chair drop back onto all four legs. “Then what? We just sit here and rot?”

“Pretty much,” Sunghoon deadpanned.

Jake, who had been half-listening while flipping through the last few pages of his book, finally closed it with a soft thud. He stretched his arms over his head, rolling out his shoulders. “Well, unlike you guys, I actually have something to do. Gotta return this.”

Jay raised a brow. “You need someone to come with you?”

Jake scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m not like Ni-ki. I can survive a walk to the library alone.”

Ni-ki, who had been aimlessly tapping his fingers against the desk, snapped his head up. “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jake just shot him a grin before swiftly making his exit, his laughter echoing down the hallway as the youngest grumbled under his breath.

Jay snickered, nudging Ni-ki with his foot. “You gonna take that?”

Ni-ki huffed, slumping further into his chair. “I’m letting him have his moment. He’s gonna trip on air soon enough, and when he does, I’ll be there.”

Sunghoon smirked. “I’ll pay to see that.”

Luminous shades of gold bled through the library windows, casting soft halos of light over towering shelves lined with countless books. Dust particles floated lazily in the air, illuminated by the gentle glow, as the faint scent of aged paper and ink settled like a quiet hum in the silence.

Jake’s slow steps echoed against the polished floor, the only sound aside from the occasional page turning or scratch of a pen. Most students were in class, leaving the library nearly empty, just the way he liked it.

With one hand shoved deep into his pocket and the other gripping a newly found book by some historical author he had always meant to read, he allowed himself to get lost in the moment.

His gaze trailed along the rows of shelves, taking in the endless spines of stories and knowledge, before drifting toward the farthest section of the library, where the soft rustling of pages caught his attention.

There was someone else here. You.

Your figure stood among the books, reaching up to return a few to their rightful place. The way your fingers traced the spines, the natural ease in your movements—it was almost mesmerizing. Like you belonged to this place, like the library itself was an extension of you.

His grip on his book tightened. Where had he seen you before?

His gaze lingered on the soft flush of your cheeks, the way your lips, plump and untouched by any trace of worry, parted ever so slightly as you focused on the books in your hands. Everything about you was delicate, and it made something inside him stir.

Jake swallowed, shaking his head as if to clear the sudden haze clouding his thoughts.

His thoughts were interrupted by the soft thud of a book slipping from your hands.

The moment it hit the ground never came; because he was already moving, instincts sharper than his own awareness. His fingers wrapped around the spine just in time, catching it with ease. The world around him blurred, fading into irrelevance as he looked up, only to find you reaching for it at the same time.

Your fingers brushed against his: warm, soft, fleeting. But it was enough. Enough for something to stir deep within him, a current running sharp and fast through his veins. His grip on the book tightened slightly before he forced himself to loosen it, finally handing it back to you.

“Thank you,” you murmured, voice gentle, but it rang through his ears like a bell.

Jake swallowed. Up close, you were even more unreal than he had thought. The golden light framed you like you belonged to another world entirely.

And then, there was your scent.

Honey and seawater. Sweet, but fresh. Familiar yet foreign. It was intoxicating, wrapping around his senses and settling into his lungs like something meant to be there.

His own scent spiked before he could stop it—warm, rich, deep, like oranges and pine, crisp air after rain. Not overpowering, but enough. Enough to see your breath hitch, your lashes flutter as you blinked up at him.

Jake silently thanked the universe at that moment for making him a pureblooded Alpha. Because if he weren’t—if he didn’t have the control, the discipline, the sheer force of will ingrained into his very being, he might’ve done something reckless.

He might’ve stepped closer. Might’ve let himself breathe you in for a second longer. Might’ve said something that would betray the way his entire body was suddenly on high alert, every nerve tuned in to you.

But instead, he did what he did best. He played it off, a lazy smirk curving at the corner of his lips as if this moment hadn’t just turned his world on its axis.

“No problem,” he finally said, voice smooth, calculated.

He made sure his tone was effortless, made sure his expression stayed composed, like his heart wasn’t hammering against his ribs, like his senses weren’t still tangled up in the traces of your scent lingering in the air.

He let his gaze flicker over you one last time before he forced himself to look away, shifting his weight slightly, fingers drumming against the cover of his book as if his entire body wasn’t still hyper-aware of your presence.

You gave him a small nod, your lips curling into a polite smile before turning back to the shelves. And that should’ve been the end of it. That should’ve been his cue to walk away, to let this moment dissolve into nothing more than a short interaction.

But Jake didn’t move.

Instead, he stood there, gripping his book a little too tightly, watching as you reached for another volume on the top shelf, your fingers brushing against the spine with ease. He watched as a stray beam of light caught in your hair, making it glow, as if the sun itself had taken a liking to you. He watched the way your lashes fluttered when you scanned the titles, the way your lips parted slightly in concentration.

And for the first time in a long time, Jake found himself at a complete loss.

He had met hundreds—thousands—of people. He had seen beauty in all forms, had been in the presence of those who were revered, admired, worshipped even. Yet somehow, none of them had ever managed to unravel him like this. None of them had ever made the air feel heavier, had ever made him question if he had truly seen them before, or if they had only existed in the parts of his mind he hadn’t dared explore.

Why did it feel like he should know you?

“You come here often?” The words left his mouth before he could think better of them, and for a second, he almost cringed at himself. He wasn’t that guy. He could do better than that.

You turned to him, one brow raised in mild amusement. “To the library?”

Jake chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, okay, that sounded dumb.”

“A little,” you teased, your lips curving into the softest smile. “But to answer your question, I do. I help here when I have free time.”

Something about that made too much sense. You belonged in a place like this, where everything was calm, where the scent of books and ink lingered in the air, where the golden light spilling through the windows made you look almost ethereal.

“Huh,” Jake mused, nodding.

Your brow furrowed slightly. “Why? You don’t come to the library often?”

“Only when I need to,” he admitted with a smirk. “Or when I’m trying to get away from certain people.”

“Ah,” you nodded knowingly. “So, I’m guessing today is one of those days?”

Jake let out a breathy chuckle. “Something like that.” He tilted his head slightly, curiosity getting the better of him. “What about you? You actually like being here?”

Your gaze softened, trailing over the rows of books surrounding you. “Yeah. It’s quiet. Peaceful.” You glanced back at him, a playful glint in your eyes. “And usually free of distractions.”

Jake placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “Ouch. Are you saying I’m a distraction?”

You bit back a laugh. “I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to,” he shot back, his smirk widening.

For a moment, silence settled between you both—not the awkward kind, but something softer, something comfortable. Jake found himself memorizing the way the light reflected in your eyes, the way your fingers brushed against the book in your hands absentmindedly.

Then you tilted your head. “What book is that?”

Jake glanced down at the book he had been gripping this entire time. “Something I just finished.”

“Was it good?”

He studied you for a moment before a teasing glint flickered in his gaze. “Maybe you should borrow it and find out.”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “What if I hate it?”

Jake grinned, tilting his head, eyes glinting with mischief. “Then I’d seriously question your taste in books, and possibly in people.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, but you couldn’t help the amused chuckle that escaped. “Wow, so judgmental.”

He shrugged, unbothered. “I have standards.”

You laughed softly, reaching for the book. Your fingers brushed his—warm, electric. Jake’s scent spiked before he could stop it, oranges and pine, rich and inviting.

You didn’t say anything, but you hesitated, your fingers lingering against his for just a fraction longer than necessary. That momentary pause tells him you noticed.

Jake cleared his throat, flexing his fingers slightly before shoving one hand into his pocket. He watched as you flipped open the book, eyes scanning the first few lines. The sunlight filtering through the library windows caught in your hair, giving you an almost ethereal glow. You looked so focused, so at ease, and yet…

There’s something about you that tugs at something buried deep inside him.

“You’re sure we haven’t met before?” he asks, voice quieter this time, like he’s speaking more to himself than to you.

You glance up, brows furrowing slightly. “You seem familiar.” Your voice is careful, as if testing the words. “And not just because you’re the student council secretary.”

Jake watches you closely as you tilt your head, lost in thought.

“I feel like I’ve seen you before,” you continue. “At dinners, at events.” A small sigh escapes you. “But I never really cared to remember the faces or names at those things.”

Something in Jake’s chest tightens.

You weren’t like the others, then. The ones who flaunted their family names, who cared too much about appearances, about impressing the right people. You were rich, sure, but you didn’t let it define you.

And somehow, that made you even more intriguing. A slow smirk tugs at the corner of Jake’s lips. “Ouch.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Don’t take it personally. I just never cared about those social circles.”

Jake hums in amusement. “And yet, here we are.”

You arch a brow. “And yet, here we are.”

Jake’s gaze flickers to the book cart beside you, filled with stacks waiting to be returned to their proper places. He tilts his head, considering, then gestures toward it.

“Mind if I help?”

You blink, caught off guard. “You?”

He raises an eyebrow. “What? Think I’m incapable of putting books on a shelf?”

You huff out a small laugh. “I just figured you’d have a class to get to. Or a meeting.”

Jake leans casually against the cart, hands in his pockets, looking completely unbothered. “My classes don’t even start for at least forty minutes or so.” His lips curl into that signature, lazy grin. “Plenty of time to lend a hand.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “And why exactly would the student council secretary want to waste his free time stacking books?”

His grin widens. “Maybe I just like the company.”

You roll your eyes, turning to grab a book from the cart, but before you can, Jake leans in slightly, dropping his voice just enough to make you pause.

“Or,” he teases, “are you saying you don’t want a big, strong Alpha helping you?”

You let out a giggle, shaking your head. “Oh, please.”

Jake smirks. “That wasn’t a no.”

You shake your head again, amused, and hand him a book. “Fine, Secretary Sim. Let’s see if you actually know your way around a library.”

He takes it from you with an exaggerated air of confidence. “Prepare to be impressed.”

And just like that, minutes pass, time slipping through your fingers like sand as you and Jake move through the towering shelves, placing books where they belong. What started as a simple task quickly turns into something else entirely, something lighter.

You are nothing but a giggling fit as the pureblooded Alpha standing just a few inches from you recounts stories from his childhood. For someone who always seemed so put-together, so composed, seeing this side of him; one filled with sighs and boyish grins as he talks about his past—it was unexpectedly charming.

“So let me get this straight,” you say, biting back another laugh as you slide a book onto the shelf. “You cried because your tutor forced you to read Alice in Wonderland?”

Jake groans dramatically, running a hand down his face. “I was like… six, okay? And I didn’t just cry—I threw the book.”

You gasp, covering your mouth in mock horror. “The abuse!”

He snorts, shaking his head. “It was self-defense. I thought it was gonna be some fun story about a girl going on an adventure, but it made no sense.”

You stifle a laugh as he leans against the shelf beside you, watching your expression with a knowing smirk. “You think it’s funny?”

You nod, grinning. “It is funny. What kind of kid throws a tantrum over Alice in Wonderland?”

“The kind who got locked in a study room for hours and told he wasn’t leaving until he finished the chapter,” he says, deadpan.

At that, you burst into quiet laughter, shaking your head. “So what changed? You seem pretty into books now.”

Jake exhales, rolling a book between his hands. “Honestly? After that, I refused to read anything for a while. But my mom, she wasn’t having it. She started giving me books that actually interested me. Stories about history, people, real things. And eventually… I don’t know. I got used to it. Liked it, even.”

His voice softens slightly, a hint of sincerity slipping through his usual teasing tone. It makes you pause, watching him a little more closely.

“Guess I should thank my stubborn tutor,” he adds with a lopsided smile. “Even if Alice in Wonderland still haunts me to this day.”

You shake your head, grinning. “Noted. No Wonderland-themed gifts for you.”

Jake chuckles, his gaze lingering on you for just a second too long. Then, with a playful nudge of your shoulder, he steps back, grabbing another book from the cart.

He glances down at the watch strapped to his wrist, and his chest tightens when he sees the time—only ten minutes left before his next class. He exhales through his nose, shoulders dropping slightly.

Why did it feel so heavy to leave? It wasn’t like he wasn’t coming back. It wasn’t like this was the last time he’d see you. But something about walking away now, after all the laughter, after the ease that settled between you both, made his steps feel weighted.

He sets the book down on the cart, rubbing the back of his neck before finally looking at you. “Guess I should get going,” he mutters, not moving just yet.

You tilt your head, a soft, knowing smile gracing your lips. “Duty calls, huh?”

Jake chuckles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. Something like that.”

There’s a second of silence, and he shifts on his feet, reluctant. He knows he should go, his class isn’t going to wait for him—but there's something holding him in place, like an invisible thread still tying him to this moment, to you.

His fingers tap against the side of his thigh, his weight shifting slightly. Then, before he can think twice about it, he blurts out, “You know… I never got your name.”

It’s a poor excuse to stay a little longer, but it’s the truth. He’s heard people mention you before, seen you in passing at events or around school—always just another face in a sea of familiarity. But here, now, under the warm glow of the library, he realizes that knowing of you isn’t the same as knowing you.

And he wants to.

Your eyebrows lift slightly, caught off guard by the sudden shift. Then, as if humoring him, you tilt your head, an amused glint in your eyes.

“You mean to tell me you, Sim Jaeyun—Jake, student council secretary—know the names of half the student body but not mine?” you tease lightly, arms crossing over your chest.

Jake scoffs, crossing his own arms in response, mirroring your stance. “Hey, in my defense, most people introduce themselves to me first,” he says, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You, on the other hand, just threw books at me and insulted my childhood trauma.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Fine, fine.” You unfold your arms, watching him for a moment before finally saying, “(Y/N). (Y/N) (L/N).”

And that’s it. That’s all it takes.

He just knows he looks stupid right now. Like some love-struck idiot with a boyish grin plastered across his face. But he can’t help it.

Your name fits. It rolls through his mind so easily, as if he’s always known it.

“(Y/N),” he repeats, testing how it feels on his tongue. Yeah. He likes it.

Before he can embarrass himself any further, he takes a step back, pointing lazily at the book still on top of the cart. “Don’t forget to let me know if you hate it,” he teases, a smirk playing at his lips.

You roll your eyes but wave him off with an amused shake of your head.

The brunette Alpha stood at the front of the room, hands in his pockets, the glow of the projector casting sharp shadows across his face.

Another council meeting was in full swing, and the proposal was displayed on the screen behind him—an extensive, well-structured plan covering student initiatives for the next few months. His voice was steady as he spoke.

“As you can see, the proposed projects align with last year’s data on student participation rates. The revisions focus on accessibility, budget efficiency, and—”

A voice interrupted.

“How are you sure this is actually in line with what the student body wants?”

Jake’s sentence cut off. His head tilted slightly, eyes flickering toward the source of the comment—a Beta seated a few rows back, arms crossed, expression laced with casual arrogance.

Silence settled over the room.

Jake didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he exhaled through his nose, his fingers curling slightly before flexing out again.

Then, he let out a quiet scoff. The kind that wasn’t amused. The kind that sent tension through the air.

The Beta shifted in his seat, but Jake only raised a brow, taking his time before speaking.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice calm. Too calm. “Did I just spend the last ten minutes breaking down survey data, feedback percentages, and budget adjustments for you to sit there and ask that?”

The Beta blinked.

Jake took a step forward, slowly, hands still in his pockets. “Tell me, do you think I’m just making things up? You think I’m sitting in my room, pulling numbers out of my ass for fun?” His voice was smooth, but the sharpness beneath it was unmistakable.

The room was deathly quiet now.

The Beta’s smirk wavered, but he pushed back. “I just think we should consider if—”

Jake cut him off. “No, see, I actually consider things. That’s why I have reports—real student responses—right here.” He tapped the remote, switching the slide. Pages of survey results filled the screen. “Meanwhile, you’re just speculating.”

Silence.

Jake’s gaze was cold. The Beta looked away.

“Thought so,” Jake muttered, clicking to the next slide as if nothing had happened. “Now, moving on.”

The tension still hung thick in the air, but somewhere near the front, Heeseung and Sunghoon exchanged a look—one of amusement, a smirk tugging at the corners of their lips.

Heeseung let out a quiet chuckle under his breath, barely audible over the sound of the projector clicking to the next slide. Sunghoon bit the inside of his cheek to keep from outright grinning.

“Damn,” Heeseung muttered low enough for only those nearby to hear.

Sunghoon, resting his chin lazily against his palm, whispered back, “Should’ve kept his mouth shut.”

The Beta had noticeably shrunk in his seat, his earlier arrogance dissolving under Jake’s scrutiny. His grip tightened around his pen, eyes fixed anywhere but on the secretary at the front of the room.

From the side, Sunoo barely spared him a glance before mumbling, “Serves him right.”

Jake, meanwhile, acted as though nothing had happened, his expression schooled back into indifference. He clicked through another slide, eyes skimming over the proposal details.

Ni-ki and Jay, seated near the back, exchanged glances before grinning. Without a word, Ni-ki held up a fist, and Jay bumped his against it—the silent gesture between them going unnoticed by most.

Well, almost unnoticed.

Jungwon, ever the responsible president, was supposed to be the professional one—the peacemaker. He was meant to keep the meetings under control, not laugh in moments like this. But, really, this was what happened when people tried to provoke them.

Despite knowing better, Jungwon let out a quiet snicker, only to quickly disguise it with a cough, covering his mouth as if clearing his throat. The movement was poorly timed, though, and Sunoo shot him an unimpressed look while Heeseung outright smirked.

Jake, standing at the front, didn’t acknowledge any of it, his attention seemingly fixed on the presentation—but the sharp flicker of amusement in his eyes betrayed him.

“As I was saying before we decided to entertain baseless accusations,” Jake continued smoothly, clicking through another slide, “the budget allocations for each committee have been balanced accordingly. If anyone has actual concerns that don’t involve unnecessary questioning of my ability to read statistics, now would be the time to raise them.”

Silence.

Jungwon pressed his fist against his mouth, eyes crinkling as he fought the urge to laugh again.

Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, rolling his shoulders back before giving a curt nod.

“That’s all for today,” he hummed, voice smooth yet edged with the remnants of his earlier irritation. He didn’t bother with any closing remarks or pleasantries, simply gathering his things with efficiency. His movements were controlled—yet the way he shut his notebook with just a little too much force gave him away.

The second the meeting ended, he was gone. No lingering, no small talk, just a brisk exit, bag slung over his shoulder.

His steps were quick, the grand library doors already in sight, the one place no one would dare follow him.

But just as he turned the corner, voices caught his attention.

“Oh! Jake’s free now, should we go talk to him?”

“He always leaves so quickly after meetings… maybe today’s our chance?”

Jake cursed under his breath.

A group of Omegas stood a few feet away, clearly debating the best way to approach him. He didn’t have the patience for this. Not today. He wasn’t in the right mindset to deal with hopeful smiles or small talk.

More importantly, he didn’t trust himself not to accidentally snap. The last thing he needed was to ruin someone’s day just because he was still irritated from some idiotic remark earlier.

And, god forbid, if someone tried to confess their feelings today, he might actually combust.

He quickened his pace, reaching the library doors just before anyone could call his name. Slipping inside, he shut them behind him with a soft thud, muting the distant voices that nearly caught him.

The Alpha took a breath.

The library was cool, quiet—the perfect escape. His sharp eyes scanned the room, quickly bypassing the open tables and the front desk. He didn’t want to risk being found. Instead, he made a beeline for the very back, where towering bookshelves created a maze of hidden seats.

There, near the last row, he found what he was looking for—a section with oversized shelves, their positioning just awkward enough to create a hidden space. It wasn’t a proper seating area, more like a forbidden section of the library, where students occasionally hid when they wanted to avoid the world.

Perfect.

Jake slipped into the small space, sinking onto the cushioned seat against the back wall. The moment he was out of sight, he let his head rest against the wood, eyes briefly shutting.

Finally. No interruptions. No stupid questions. No unwanted attention. Just silence.

Jake had been there for a while now, longer than he intended, but time always moved differently in the library. The quiet had done little to fully rid him of his earlier frustration, but at least it kept him from doing something he’d regret.

A book rested in his hands, something he had picked up absentmindedly from the shelf near his hiding spot. He wasn’t even sure what it was about, but flipping through the pages had given him something to do.

His fingers hovered over the corner of the page, ready to turn it, when he heard it—soft footsteps approaching, barely audible against the carpeted floors.

Jake tensed.

He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. If it was one of his friends coming to tease him, or worse, someone trying to get his attention for another pointless conversation, he was going to—

But then the scent of honey and seawater hit him.

It was soft, familiar, cutting through his frustration like a breath of fresh air. Unlike the overwhelming scents he had escaped, this one simply existed, wrapping around him until his grip on the book loosened.

Then, your voice followed. “Are you okay?”

Jake froze.

Your voice was gentle, laced with concern. Not prying, but still searching. And suddenly, whatever sharp retort he had been about to throw out died in his throat.

His annoyance didn’t seem so important anymore.

Jake swallowed, his lips parting slightly, but no words came out at first. It wasn’t like him to be at a loss for words—not in meetings, not in arguments, not even when he was annoyed. But something about you being here, standing so close, made all the tension he had been carrying shift into something else.

Slowly, he lowered the book, tilting his head just enough to meet your gaze. Your expression was soft, brows slightly drawn together, not with curiosity, but with something gentler. You weren’t here to pry or gossip. You just… cared. And suddenly, his frustration felt almost childish.

“I…” he stopped himself, exhaling sharply through his nose.

He wanted to say he was fine, that it was nothing, that it was just another stupid meeting with people who didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut.

But the words didn’t come out.

Instead, Jake leaned back against the loveseat, gaze flickering to the pages of his book as if searching for an answer.

You didn’t press him. You didn’t demand an explanation or scold him for running off like his friends probably would have. You just stood there, waiting.

And for some reason, that made him want to answer.

“I just needed some space,” he muttered eventually, his voice quieter than usual, lacking its usual sharpness. He rubbed the back of his neck, finally meeting your eyes again. “Didn’t feel like dealing with anyone.”

You hummed, stepping closer. The scent of you made the last of his annoyance settle into something easier to manage.

“I figured,” you said softly. “You looked upset earlier.”

Jake’s brows lifted slightly, surprised that you had noticed. His friends might’ve caught on, but most people weren’t perceptive enough to see through his carefully crafted walls. Yet, you had.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Some beta tried challenging me mid-meeting,” he muttered, irritation creeping in before he caught himself. Shaking his head, he added, “Doesn’t matter anymore.”

Silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Jake found himself watching you instead—how you shifted slightly on your feet, how your fingers curled at your sides as if debating whether or not to reach out. The thought made something in his chest tighten unexpectedly.

Then, after a moment, you spoke again.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Jake let out a quiet laugh, not mocking, but almost… grateful. He shook his head, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. “Nah,” he said, closing the book in his hands. “But… I don’t mind staying here for a while.”

His voice was quieter now, almost hesitant, but the way your face softened told him you understood.

You hesitated before shifting your weight slightly. “Can I sit?”

Jake blinked, surprised by the question, then nodded, maybe a little too eagerly. Clearing his throat, he schooled his expression back to neutral and gestured to the spot beside him. “Yeah, of course.”

You settled down next to him, the space between you small but not suffocating. Close enough that he could feel your warmth, but not close enough to be overwhelming.

Jake exhaled slowly, feeling the last remnants of his frustration loosen in his chest. The meeting, the irritation, the unwanted attention from his admirers, it all seemed a little less important now.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the distant rustling of pages and the occasional creak of a chair as someone moved in the main area of the library. But here, hidden away behind the tall shelves, it felt like a world apart.

His fingers idly traced the book’s cover, though he wasn’t really reading. Instead, he was hyper-aware of your knee barely brushing his, your scent lingering; unexpectedly soothing.

“You always come here when you need space?” you asked after a moment, your voice soft, curious but not prying.

Jake tilted his head slightly, considering. “Not always,” he admitted. “But it’s quiet. And no one really thinks to look for me back here.” He huffed a quiet laugh. “Except you, apparently.”

You smiled, nudging his arm lightly. “I had a feeling.”

The pureblooded Alpha found himself smiling back—a real one this time. Not forced, not out of politeness, but something small and genuine.

Jake eased back against the wall, shoulders finally relaxing. His fingers tapped absently on the book’s spine, but he wasn’t reading, not when your presence felt more real than the words on the page.

“You know, you always seem to know where to find me,” he mused, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

You shrugged, tilting your head slightly. “Maybe I just know you better than most, even if I just met you.”

The words settled between you both—not heavy, not awkward, just honest. Jake felt something unfamiliar stir in his chest, something warm.

He studied you for a second longer before shaking his head with a soft chuckle. “Scary thought.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Oh, please. You’re not that complicated.”

Jake hummed, amused, but didn’t argue. Instead, he let the silence stretch again, though this time, it felt different—more comfortable. The frustration from earlier had nearly faded entirely, replaced by something far less sharp.

After a moment, you reached over, tapping your fingers lightly against the edge of his book. “So, what are you reading?”

Jake glanced down, suddenly remembering he was even holding something. He flipped the book in his hands absentmindedly before handing it over to you. “Something I grabbed off the shelf. Wasn’t really paying attention.”

You took it, skimming the cover. “Mmh, seems interesting.”

Jake scoffed lightly. “You didn’t even read anything yet.”

You grinned. “I have good intuition.”

Jake shook his head, but the amusement lingered in his eyes. He watched as you scanned the cover, the way your brows furrowed slightly in concentration. He didn’t know why, but the sight of you so focused on something so simple made his chest tighten.

He looked away, clearing his throat. “You can borrow it if you want.”

You glanced up at him, lips twitching in the beginnings of a smile. “You sure? I thought you came here to read.”

Jake exhaled a short laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well…” He trailed off, gaze flickering to yours before looking away just as quickly. “I think I found something better to focus on.”

The words left his mouth before he could really think about them, and Jake nearly winced at himself. But then you laughed, soft and light—and the tension in his shoulders eased.

You nudged him again, a touch more lingering this time. “Flatterer.”

Jake smirked. “Just saying.”

You tapped your fingers against the book’s spine, tilting your head slightly as you considered something. Then, with an easy smile, you turned to Jake.

“Wanna read it together?”

Jake blinked, caught off guard. “Together?”

You nodded, flipping the book open and patting the space between you both. “Yeah. You said you weren’t really paying attention when you picked it, right? So why not give it a proper chance?”

Jake hesitated for a second, then exhaled through his nose, a soft chuckle slipping past his lips. “You really don’t take no for an answer, do you?”

You grinned. “Not when I know it’s a good idea.”

Shaking his head, Jake shifted slightly, leaning in just enough so he could read over your shoulder as you settled into the first few pages. The closeness wasn’t something he was used to—at least, not like this. It wasn’t suffocating. Instead, it felt warm, your scent wrapping around him in a way that slowly untangled the tension from his limbs.

For a few minutes, the only sound between you both was the quiet rustle of pages turning. Then—

“Oh my god,” you murmured, biting back a laugh.

Jake glanced at you, brow furrowed. “What?”

You pointed at a line of dialogue, barely able to hold in your giggle. “My love for you burns like the eternal sun, scorching and unyielding in its devotion.”

You turned to him, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Scorching and unyielding?”

Jake groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I knew I picked up something weird.”

You nudged him playfully. “No, no, this is great. Keep reading.”

Jake huffed but followed along as you continued. Another dramatic line came up, something about hearts entwining like ivy around stone, and you couldn’t stop yourself from giggling again.

“You’re laughing,” Jake accused, though his tone was more fond than annoyed.

You nodded, grinning. “Because this is so overly dramatic. Do people actually talk like this?”

Jake smirked, flipping the page. “Maybe in, like, the 1800s.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I don’t know, Jake. I think you should take notes. Maybe next time you wanna woo an Omega, try saying, ‘My devotion to you is like the tides, endless and drawn to the moon’s call.’”

Jake nearly choked. “Absolutely not.”

Your laughter echoed softly through the library’s quiet corners, warm and easy. Jake grinned despite himself, the bitterness in his scent from earlier fading entirely, replaced by something softer, warm oranges and fresh pine, subtle but there.

You inhaled lightly, the change making your chest flutter just a bit. Without thinking, you smiled.

Jake noticed.

His gaze flickered to you, curiosity glinting in his eyes. “What?”

You shook your head, still smiling. “Nothing.”

Jake wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he let the moment settle, let the warmth of your laughter and the ridiculous book between you both fill the space.

“Alright,” he sighed dramatically, flipping another page. “Let’s see just how much worse this gets.”

For a while, you read in silence, the occasional rustle of a page the only sound. The library's soft glow wrapped your hidden corner in warmth, making it feel even more secluded, like the rest of the world had melted away, leaving just the two of you.

Jake found himself enjoying the book despite its overly dramatic writing, maybe because you were reading it too. Your amused huffs and quiet comments made it more entertaining than it should have been. But after a while, he noticed something.

You had grown quiet.

Too quiet.

Jake subtly glanced at you from the corner of his eye, lips twitching when he realized what was happening. Your blinks were getting slower, your posture more relaxed, and the way your fingers had stopped fidgeting with the edge of the page told him—without a doubt—you were dozing off.

He let out a breathless chuckle, barely a sound, shaking his head. You really do have a way of catching me off guard, huh?

For a moment, he debated waking you, but something about the peaceful look on your face stopped him. Instead, Jake hesitated for only a second before moving carefully.

With the gentleness only a pureblooded Alpha raised on traditional etiquette could have, he shifted ever so slightly, angling his shoulder toward you. Then, just as lightly, he guided your head to rest against him.

You stirred for the briefest moment, instinctively snuggling a little closer to his side.

Jake immediately froze. His whole body tensed.

His heart skipped a beat.

It was ridiculous, but the warmth of you against him, the way your scent wrapped around him so effortlessly, made his thoughts stumble.

He swallowed, exhaling slowly through his nose, trying to will away the sudden tightness in his chest. This is fine. It’s nothing.

You were just tired. And he was just being considerate. That’s what an Alpha was supposed to do, right? Protect, provide comfort, ensure safety.

So why did it feel like something far more intimate?

He swallowed, forcing himself to focus on the book still open in his lap. The words blurred slightly as his mind reeled, but he kept reading anyway, if only to distract himself from the fact that you were resting against him, trusting him enough to do so.

Outside, the library remained as quiet as ever. The world carried on.

But for Jake, sitting there in the dim light, your soft breathing evening out against his side, something shifted.

And he wasn’t sure he could ever shift it back.

Your breath was steady, your warmth pressed lightly against him, and for a moment, Jake thought you had fully drifted off.

But then, just as he was about to return his attention to the book, you stirred slightly, shifting against his side.

Your voice, quiet and laced with sleep, barely broke the hush of the library.

"Wake me up in fifteen minutes?"

You mumbled the words, your voice slurring just the tiniest bit.

Jake stilled.

He looked down at you, watching as your eyelashes fluttered against your cheek, your breathing slow and deep. The way you said it—so trusting, so unguarded—made something warm unfurl in his chest.

He exhaled softly, barely above a whisper, but there was no mistaking the tenderness in his voice when he responded.

"Sure, omega. Sure."

It was the softest he had ever spoken. The gentlest he had ever let himself be.

Jake didn’t know if you heard it, if your drowsy mind even registered the way his voice had dipped into something almost tame.

But he didn’t care.

Because as you let out a content sigh, sinking just a little bit further into his side, he knew one thing for certain—

Fifteen minutes wouldn't be enough.

The library stayed still, the only sound a distant rustle of pages. Late afternoon light streamed through tall windows, casting a warm glow over your hidden corner.

Jake, who had only meant to let you rest for fifteen minutes, had somehow drifted off himself.

His breathing was even, his frame relaxed, and without realizing it, he had shifted closer. His head had dipped, resting atop yours, while your body had curled just slightly into his side.

The scent of oranges and pine surrounded you, warmer now, softened by sleep, no longer laced with the bitterness from earlier.

For the first time that day, everything felt at peace.

Until your eyelids fluttered open.

You blinked slowly, your body still heavy with sleep. The warmth against you registered first, followed by the weight on your head. It took your drowsy mind a moment to process that Jake had fallen asleep, too—that you had both somehow ended up nestled against each other.

Your cheeks warmed instantly.

Careful not to wake him, you shifted, his uniform brushing against your skin. Slowly, you reached into your skirt pocket, fingers curling around your phone. You turned the screen on—

And immediately panicked.

You had overslept.

By an hour.

Your breath hitched, and you nearly jolted upright, but Jake stirred at the movement, a quiet sigh leaving his lips.

You froze.

His head shifted slightly against yours before settling once more, his arm now loosely resting against your side, as if unconsciously keeping you in place.

Your heart was practically in your throat.

You should wake him up. You needed to wake him up.

You hesitated, phone still clutched in your hand as you weighed your options.

Jake was still fast asleep, his breathing slow and steady, completely at ease for the first time all day.

Something about that made you pause.

Carefully, despite the awkward angle, you tilted your head up just slightly—just enough to get a proper look at him.

And for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

Up close, he looked softer, more serene than the composed, ever-efficient student council secretary he always presented himself as. His brows, usually furrowed in focus, were relaxed. His long lashes rested gently against his skin, and his lips, often pressed into a firm line, were now slightly parted.

Even his scent of warm oranges and fresh pine seemed calmer now, no longer edged with irritation or exhaustion.

You swallowed, feeling your heart skip a beat.

Jake had always been handsome, but there was something about seeing him like this, unguarded, peaceful—that made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t quite know how to handle.

The logical part of you knew you had to wake him up. It was already late, and staying like this any longer would only make things worse.

But a part of you, the part that wasn’t ready to let go of this warmth just yet, hesitated.

He just looked so… at peace.

Yet you let out a soft sigh before gently nudging his shoulder. “Jake,” you murmured, voice hushed in the quiet of the library.

He stirred slightly, a low hum escaping him as his lashes fluttered, struggling against the remnants of sleep. His brows furrowed, and he shifted, blinking a few times as if trying to register where he was.

Then, his body tensed.

The realization of just how close you were hit him all at once—your warmth pressed against his side, your head resting against his shoulder, his own head tilted atop yours. His breath hitched as he sat up slightly, eyes widening.

“S—Sorry,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t—I mean, I didn’t mean to—”

You waved a hand, amused. “It’s fine. You looked like you needed that rest.”

Jake blinked, processing your words before exhaling, ruffling his already tousled hair. “Shit… What time is it?”

“Almost six,” you replied, stretching slightly.

His eyes widened slightly as he ran a hand through his hair again, the weight of lost time settling in. “Shit. Did I keep you in here? Don’t you have anything to do?”

You shook your head. “No, there’s a different student covering the night shift," you explained. “Library closes at eight anyway.”

Jake hummed in acknowledgment, but then you sighed, leaning back slightly.

“Great,” you muttered sarcastically.

Jake frowned. “What?”

You huffed. “I have no one to pick me up.”

Jake blinked at you for a moment before tilting his head, expression unreadable. “Huh?”

He didn’t say anything at first, just studying you, but there was something about the way his gaze lingered.

The Alpha tilted his head slightly, brows furrowing in confusion. “Wait, why don’t you just drive?”

You blinked at him before letting out a small laugh, shaking your head. “My car isn't here.”

Jake still looked puzzled. “Don’t you have a driver?”

You sighed, leaning back against the loveseat. “It’s my designated driver’s day off,” you explained. “So, I had to hitch a ride with a friend this morning.”

Jake hummed, nodding slowly, but when you casually mentioned her name, his eyes flickered with surprise.

“Oh,” he said, blinking. “You’re friends with Heeseung’s mate?”

You nodded with a small smile, amused by the way his expression changed, like he was processing that information and filing it away for later. “Yeah,” you replied. “We’ve been close for a while.”

Jake let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “Huh. Small world.”

“You sound surprised,” you teased, raising a brow at him.

He shrugged, a ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. “I mean, kind of? I just didn’t expect it, that’s all.”

“Why?” you asked, tilting your head.

Jake scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t know," he admitted. “It’s just—Heeseung’s mate is usually around him or the others. I’ve never really seen her with you.”

You grinned. “That’s because we hang out outside of school.”

Jake let out an amused huff. “Figures.” He leaned back against the bookshelf, arms crossed. “So, you really have no way of getting home?”

You sighed dramatically, resting your head against the back of the loveseat. “Nope. Stuck here until I figure something out.”

Jake clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “That’s great,” he muttered, his tone laced with sarcasm.

“Right?” you replied, just as sarcastically. “Super great. Love this for me.”

Jake shifted in his seat, hesitating for a moment. You watched as his fingers tapped idly against his arm, his lips pressing into a thin line like he was debating something in his head.

Then, finally, he sighed through his nose and ran a hand through his hair. “I could drive you,” he said, but there was an unusual softness to his voice, like he was testing the waters.

You blinked up at him, caught slightly off guard. “You?”

“Yeah,” he said, but he looked like he was second-guessing himself. “I mean—only if you’re okay with that. If you’d rather call someone else or wait, that’s fine, too.” He shrugged, aiming for nonchalance, but the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes gave him away. “I just figured… it’d be better than being stuck here.”

You hesitated, not because you didn’t want to accept, but because he looked unsure, like he wanted to help but didn’t want to overstep.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you shook your head. “No, I mean—if you’re offering, I won’t say no.”

Jake exhaled, something in his posture easing at your words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “That would actually be really helpful.”

His lips quirked up slightly, and he nodded. “Alright. Let’s get out of here, then.”

Jake stood up from the leather loveseat, stretching his arms slightly before turning to you with a playful glint in his eyes. With an exaggerated gesture, he extended his hand toward you, palm up, and dipped his head slightly.

“After you, (Y/N)—the ever-so-pretty Omega,” he teased, his voice dripping with mock formality.

You laughed, rolling your eyes but still taking his hand as you played along. “Why, thank you, my kind Alpha," you replied, matching his tone with an amused smirk.

As your fingers briefly brushed against his, Jake let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re something else,” he muttered, but there was no bite to his words—only a quiet fondness he wasn’t sure he was ready to acknowledge yet.

As you both stepped outside the hidden reading nook, the warm glow of the setting sun filtered through the library windows. The golden light painted long shadows across the floor, making the whole place feel even more serene.

Just as you reached the front doors, you suddenly stopped and turned to Jake. “Wait here for a second,” you told him, motioning for him to stay put.

Jake furrowed his brows. “Where are you going?”

You pointed toward the reception desk. “I need to grab my bag. I’ll be quick.”

He nodded, leaning casually against the doorframe as he watched you jog over. You made your way to the desk, where the student taking over the night shift was already setting up for her hours ahead. She glanced up as you approached, blinking in surprise before a teasing grin spread across her face.

“So… you and Jake, huh?” she mused, raising a knowing brow as she handed you your bag.

You blinked before letting out a laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, please,” you scoffed. “It’s not like that.”

She hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Sure. You do know he’s waiting for you by the door like a damn gentleman, right? That’s Alpha behavior if I’ve ever seen it.”

You rolled your eyes, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “He’s just giving me a ride home. That’s all.”

She smirked, resting her chin on her palm. “Mhm. And I’m just a regular student who doesn’t notice things.”

Shaking your head, you turned away, laughing under your breath. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you called over your shoulder.

“Tell Jake I said hi,” she teased back, making you shake your head again with a smile as you returned to the entrance.

Jake glanced at you as you rejoined him. “Took you long enough,” he said, though there was no actual bite to his tone.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Patience, Jake.”

He scoffed, but then reached out, tugging your bag off your shoulder before you could react. “Here, let me.”

You blinked at him. “Jake, I can carry my own bag.”

“I know,” he said easily, slinging it over his own shoulder like it weighed nothing. “But I want to.”

He pushed open the library doors with a smirk. “Let’s get going.”

You only grinned, stepping outside beside him, the air crisp as the last remnants of daylight clung to the sky.

The car ride home was comfortable, the kind of quiet that wasn’t awkward, just easy. The city lights flickered past as the sky deepened into shades of navy, the last traces of sunset fading beyond the horizon.

You sat snugly in the passenger seat, curled slightly toward Jake as he drove with practiced ease, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually near the gear shift.

“So, mate,” you said, attempting your best Australian accent, dragging the word out obnoxiously. “Where we headin’, aye?”

Jake nearly choked on his laughter. “Oh my god, what was that?”

“My perfect Aussie impression,” you grinned.

He shot you a look, lips twitching. “That was a crime against my entire country.”

“Oi,” you protested, making your voice deeper. “That’s offensive, innit?”

Jake shook his head, amused. “Now you just sound British.”

You burst into laughter, the sound filling the car. Jake just grinned, shaking his head as he made a turn.

“Take a left up here,” you directed, still giggling.

He followed without question, and as the road stretched out before you, the surroundings became quieter, lined with trees and distant estate homes. Soon, large iron gates loomed ahead.

Jake whistled lowly. “Fancy.”

You snorted, shooting him a look before gesturing around the car’s sleek interior. “Oh, please. Stop acting like you’re not used to the same lifestyle.”

Jake smirked, drumming his fingers against the wheel. “Okay, fair point,” he admitted. “But you have to admit, this is some next-level rich.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Says the guy driving a literal sports car.”

Jake chuckled, tapping the wheel. “Touché.”

The soft purr of the engine filled the space as the car eased forward, headlights illuminating the long road ahead. Soon, the massive gates loomed before you, standing tall and pristine under the dimming sky.

Jake took it in, lips quirking. “Still fancy.”

You hummed, reaching for the intercom, but at the last second, an idea sparked. You smirked and leaned back. “You do it.”

Jake raised a brow. “Me?”

You nodded, barely holding back a grin. “Just say… special delivery.”

He gave you a look, but the amusement in his eyes was unmistakable. With a small shake of his head, he rolled down the window and pressed the call button. A second later, a static click sounded.

“Special delivery,” Jake said smoothly, voice rich with amusement.

There was a brief pause—then, with a soft beep, the gates creaked open.

You burst out laughing, leaning back in your seat. Jake just shook his head as he pulled forward, a chuckle slipping past his lips.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” he mused. “That it actually worked or that you set me up for it.”

“You just have that kind of voice,” you teased, still grinning.

Jake smirked, flicking his gaze toward you. “Oh yeah? You like my voice that much?”

You groaned, reaching over to shove his arm. “Drive, Sim.”

As the gates opened fully, Jake eased the car forward, and the moment you passed through, the estate unfolded before him like something straight out of a movie.

The long driveway was paved with smooth cobblestone, flanked by lush, towering trees that cast intricate shadows beneath the soft glow of vintage-style street lamps.

Vibrant flower beds lined the path, a carefully curated mix of imported and native flora blooming in perfect harmony. The air smelled fresh, carried by the evening breeze.

Jake let out a low whistle as he took in the sight, his fingers drumming against the wheel. “Alright, I take it back. This is next-level rich.”

You smirked, watching his expression shift as you approached the heart of the estate. “Mhmm.”

The trees eventually gave way to a pristine white mansion that stood tall against the twilight sky. The grand structure was illuminated by soft golden lights, casting a warm glow against the cool evening.

Right in the middle of the circular driveway, a massive, intricately designed fountain stood proudly, water cascading from its tiers in a soothing rhythm.

Jake’s gaze flicked to the various luxury and imported sports cars parked carelessly around the front, some you recognized as your family’s, others belonging to guests or relatives who were likely visiting.

At that, Jake let out a scoff, shaking his head with an amused smile. “Okay, now this just reminds me of our house.”

You hummed, tilting your head slightly as you glanced at him. “Told you.”

He snorted. “Our parents really went all out, didn’t they?”

“They always do.” You sighed, leaning back into your seat. “Big houses, big cars, big expectations.”

Jake glanced at you briefly before turning back to the road, guiding the car toward the entrance. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice softer. “Big everything.”

There was a moment of silence, the quiet hum of the car filling the space.

Then, in true Jake fashion, he smirked. “But, to be fair, at least we’re not the ones worrying about car maintenance.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “Small mercies, Sim. Small mercies.”

Before you could even reach for the door handle, Jake suddenly clicked his tongue. “Nope.”

You blinked at him just as he unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out in one swift motion. His door shut with a quiet thud, and within seconds, he was already rounding the front of the car, effortlessly smooth as always.

The moment he pulled open the passenger door for you, he grinned. “Go on, princess. Fancy estates require fancy treatment.”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head in amusement as you took his offered hand and stepped out onto the driveway. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet, you keep me around,” he quipped, the corners of his eyes crinkling with that familiar, boyish smile.

Before you could fire back a response, the large wooden doors of the mansion suddenly swung open. The warm glow of the foyer lights spilled onto the marble steps, casting long shadows across the pristine entryway.

Standing in the doorway was your mother, poised yet undeniably elegant, dressed in a silk blouse and tailored pants. The usual sharpness in her gaze was softened, just slightly—with both worry and amusement as her eyes flickered between you and Jake, who was still casually holding your hand.

Her lips quirked up the slightest bit. “Well,” she mused, arms crossing. “It seems you’ve had quite the evening.”

Jake, ever the charmer, straightened up, offering a polite yet playful smile. “Good evening, Mrs. (L/N),” he greeted smoothly, his posture changing into something more formal yet undeniably confident.

You, on the other hand, simply sighed and shot him a look before turning to your mother. “Mom, please don’t start.”

Your mother let out a light laugh, though her eyes still held traces of concern. “I wasn’t going to.” Then, her gaze flickered to Jake’s sleek black sports car parked in the driveway. “I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t arrive in something flashier, Mr. Sim.”

Jake blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Wait, how do you know me?”

Your mother let out a soft laugh, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Oh, Jake, dear. I’ve known you since you were in diapers.”

You and Jake exchanged equally confused glances before looking back at her.

Your mother smirked knowingly. “Your parents and I have been friends for years. We see each other at events all the time. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed.”

Jake scoffed in disbelief, rubbing the back of his neck. “Huh. Well, that’s news to me.” Then, he turned to you, raising a brow. “Did you know about this?”

You simply shrugged. “Nope.”

Jake let out an amused chuckle, shaking his head. “Figures.”

Your mother, still thoroughly entertained, placed a hand on her hip. “Well, now that we’ve established that, how about you join us for dinner? I’m sure you’ve had a long day.”

Jake straightened slightly, shifting into that polite, well-mannered version of himself that only surfaced in formal settings. “I appreciate the offer, ma’am,” he said smoothly, voice respectful but firm. “But my parents are expecting me back home soon.”

Your mother hummed, nodding in understanding. “That’s a shame. Maybe next time, then.”

“Definitely,” Jake agreed with a small grin before turning back to you. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nodded, offering him a small smile. “Yeah. Drive safe, Jake.”

He gave you a two-finger salute before slipping back into his sleek black sports car. The engine purred to life, the sound low and smooth, as he backed out of the pristine driveway.

You didn’t move, not even when the taillights faded into the distance. You waited until his car was completely out of sight before finally turning toward the open doorway.

The moment you stepped inside, your mother wasted no time.

“So,” she drawled, shutting the door behind you with a smirk that spelled nothing but trouble. “Jake Sim, huh?”

You sighed. “Mom.”

“What?” she asked, feigning innocence as she followed you further into the house. “He’s handsome. And he clearly dotes on you.”

“Mom.”

“Oh, and the way he opened the door for you? Adorable.”

You sighed dramatically, running a hand through your hair as you kicked off your shoes by the entrance. “Mom, I just met him—literally today.”

Your mother raised a perfectly manicured brow, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against the grand staircase railing. The warm chandelier light made the gold accents of her jewelry glint as she smirked at you. “Well, he certainly doesn’t act like it,” she quipped. “That boy was looking at you like an Alpha who’s been courting you for years.”

Your jaw dropped. “Mom! That is not—”

She cut you off with a knowing laugh, waving a dismissive hand. “Oh, sweetheart, please. The way he opened your door? The way he stood just a little too close while you were talking?” She shook her head with mock disbelief. “And you’re telling me you just met?”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “I swear, you’re worse than Dad.”

Your mom gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. “Excuse me?” Then, with a knowing smile, she added, “Speaking of your father, I’m pretty sure he’d approve of Jake.”

You stared at her, utterly exasperated. “Oh my god.”

She grinned. “What? He’s well-mannered, respectful, and from a good family. Plus, he drives a nice car. You know how your father feels about cars.”

You groaned louder, turning on your heel. “I’m going to bed before you start planning our wedding.”

“Oh, don’t tempt me!” she called out, amusement laced in her voice. Then, just as you reached your door, she added, “You'd make a cute pair, don’t you think?”

You slammed your door shut as her laughter echoed down the hall.

Lunch had just begun, and the halls buzzed with the usual midday energy, students spilling out of classrooms, voices overlapping, shoes scuffing against the polished floors. Jake walked alongside his usual group, all casually making their way toward the cafeteria.

“Man, I am starving,” Jay groaned, stretching his arms. “What’s for lunch today?”

“Something fancy, probably,” Sunghoon replied with a shrug. “They said it’s steak.”

Ni-ki perked up at that. “Oh, hell yeah.”

“I hope it’s actually good steak,” Sunoo chimed in, adjusting his bag strap. “Not the rubbery kind they sometimes serve.”

The group chuckled, but Jake wasn’t paying much attention. His hands were tucked into his pockets, his gaze subtly scanning the hallway. It wasn’t obvious, he wasn’t desperate or anything, but he noticed the lack of a certain presence.

You weren’t there. It was weird. He hadn’t even known you for that long, yet your absence was noticeable.

His phone remained silent in his pocket, no texts or missed calls from you.

“Hey, we’re going,” Jungwon called over his shoulder as the group neared the cafeteria entrance.

Jake hesitated. “Actually,” he said, slowing his steps, “I need to finish up some paperwork. I’ll eat later.”

That got their attention.

Sunoo immediately narrowed his eyes. “You always say that.”

“Yeah, bro, what’s new?” Heeseung added, shaking his head.

Jay sighed, already tired. “Dude, just go. We all know you won’t eat properly if you’re buried in council work.”

“Exactly,” Sunghoon agreed. “We’d rather deal with you now than later when you’re sleep-deprived and grumpy.”

Jake waved them off lazily. “Yeah, yeah,” he shot them a grin before turning in the opposite direction. But instead of heading toward the council office, he found himself walking toward the library.

The moment he stepped inside, the atmosphere was different, it was quieter, calmer, with the faint scent of books in the air. His sharp eyes scanned the room, expecting to find you tucked away in your usual corner.

But you weren’t there.

He frowned slightly.

Instead, his gaze landed on the student librarian at the front desk, the same one who had seen you leaving with him last night. She noticed him instantly, and before he could even say a word, a slow, knowing grin stretched across her face.

Jake narrowed his eyes. He already didn’t like that look. “Where is she?” he asked, his tone neutral but firm.

The grin only widened. “Oh? Looking for someone, Sim?”

Jake exhaled sharply, unimpressed. “Her classroom. What floor?”

The student hummed, resting her chin on her palm. “And why would I tell you that?”

Jake leveled her with a flat stare. “Because I’m asking nicely.”

She clicked her tongue, dragging out the moment just to mess with him.

“Third floor,” she finally relented, her grin turning smug. “Room 3-A.”

Jake didn’t waste another second. Without another word, he turned on his heel, already making his way out.

But even as he left, he could still hear her barely suppressed laughter behind him.

Jake wasn’t the type to go looking for people. If anything, people usually came looking for him, whether it was for council matters, social obligations, or just random confessions.

But today, instead of heading to lunch with the boys, he found himself climbing the stairs to the third floor, hands tucked into his pockets.

The student librarian had given him your classroom number with an all-too-knowing grin, and now, standing outside the door to Room 3-A, he was met with a scene that made him pause.

You were surrounded.

Not just by one or two people, but by half the classroom. Some perched on desks, others standing, leaning in with animated grins as they listened intently to whatever you were saying.

Laughter echoed through the space, loud and infectious. It wasn’t just that you were well-liked, it was that you owned the room without even trying.

The crowd, the attention, the way people gravitated toward you—it wasn’t new. And yet, as his eyes settled on you, a thought crept into his mind.

Did you even notice him standing there?

But then, as if you could sense him, your gaze snapped toward the doorway.

And suddenly, the noise faded into the background.

Despite being completely engrossed in conversation, despite the people practically surrounding you, your focus changed entirely. Your lips, still curled mid-laugh, softened into something more curious.

Jake hadn’t even taken a full step inside before you were already pushing yourself up from your seat, murmuring brief apologies to your friends as you effortlessly slipped through the crowd.

You reached him within seconds, tilting your head with a knowing smile. “Didn’t see you in the library.”

Jake’s lips twitched. “Yeah, well. That’s ‘cause you weren’t there.”

A teasing glint flashed in your eyes. “So you were looking for me.”

He scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “Something like that.”

Behind you, a whistle cut through the air. “Damn,” one of your classmates muttered. “Didn’t think Sim was into you.”

Jake didn’t acknowledge the comment, but he didn’t need to. You rolled your eyes before half-turning to shoot them an unimpressed look. “Oh, shut up.”

When you turned back, Jake was still watching you.

His gaze flickered over your face, assessing, before he finally tilted his head slightly. “You free?”

You blinked. “For?”

“Lunch.”

A beat of silence. Then—

“You’re inviting me to lunch?” you asked, amusement evident in your tone.

Jake smirked, rocking back on his heels. “I know. Big honor.”

You scoffed, playfully smacking his arm. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Maybe.” He nodded toward the door. “C’mon.”

You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head slightly before casting a glance over your shoulder—because, of course, your classmates were still very much watching. Some wore wide grins, others exchanged glances, and a few were whispering among themselves.

“Guess I’ll be back later,” you announced, sending them a wink before turning back to Jake.

And just like that, he was leading you out the door, the sound of hushed murmurs and not-so-subtle giggles trailing behind you.

The cafeteria was alive with the hum of conversation, the clatter of trays, and the occasional burst of laughter from groups of students huddled around their tables. The sheer size of the place should have made it feel open, but with the lunchtime rush in full swing, it felt like everyone was packed in shoulder to shoulder.

Jake barely hesitated before placing his hand on the small of your back again, guiding you through the crowd with effortless ease. It was instinctual, like he had to make sure you weren’t swallowed up in the mass of students.

The heat of his touch seeped through the thin fabric of your uniform, grounding and steady, but most of all, familiar.

You didn’t move away.

You didn’t want to.

If anything, your body naturally gravitated closer to him, and that realization alone sent a rush of warmth to your cheeks.

Jake, of course, was completely unbothered. He wasn’t even looking at you, his gaze flickered across the cafeteria, scanning the area, before muttering, “You’d think with a cafeteria this big, it wouldn’t feel so cramped.”

His voice was casual, like he wasn’t currently touching you like it was second nature.

You swallowed, trying to will away the warmth creeping up your neck. “What, don’t tell me you’re scared of a little crowd, Sim?”

Jake scoffed, glancing at you with a smirk. “Scared? No. Annoyed? Absolutely.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Such a prince, huh? What’s next? Gonna demand a private table?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

You gave him a look, lips twitching. “Wow. I thought you were the chill one in your group.”

Jake placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “I am chill.”

You raised a brow. “You’re literally guiding me through a cafeteria like we’re dodging landmines.”

He shot you a lazy grin. “That’s not me being not chill. That’s me making sure you don’t trip over some random first year’s backpack.”

You snorted. “Sure, Sim. Whatever you say.”

The line moved forward, and Jake’s hand, still warm and very much there, pressed just slightly, nudging you along with him.

The air between you two was light, playful, but underlined with something else, something neither of you was fully acknowledging yet.

Jake didn’t remove his hand, and you… well, you let him.

The line continued moving, and when you finally reached the food counter, he casually leaned in a little closer. “What are you getting?” The way his voice dipped slightly, like he was asking something personal, made your stomach flip.

You blinked, shaking yourself out of it. “Uh. Probably just whatever they have today.”

Jake raised a brow, amused. “That’s not very specific.”

You shrugged. “I’m not picky.”

He gave you a knowing look. “Right. I’ll believe that when I see it.”

You turned to him, narrowing your eyes. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Jake only smirked, looking far too smug for your liking. “Nothing, nothing.”

“No, say it.” You crossed your arms, facing him fully now.

He exhaled a laugh, tilting his head slightly. “I just feel like you have your little food preferences. Probably avoid certain textures. Maybe you don’t like overly salty stuff?”

You blinked. “…Okay, but how do you know that?”

Jake’s smirk widened. “So I am right?”

You clicked your tongue, rolling your eyes, but there was no real annoyance in it. If anything, the fact that he’d picked up on something so small about you after barely a day of knowing you was a little too endearing.

Jake, on the other hand, looked very pleased with himself.

The two of you finally reached the counter, and just as you were about to grab a tray, Jake casually plucked one up first—then handed it to you.

His fingers barely brushed against yours, but it was enough to send a jolt of awareness through your entire arm.

Your breath hitched.

Jake, however, was unfazed. “See? Not picky, but definitely predictable.”

You scoffed, snatching the tray from his hands. “I hate you.”

Jake just grinned. “Nah, you don’t.”

And damn it, he was right.

The two of you moved through the rest of the line with that same easy back-and-forth, Jake making little comments about your food choices while you shot back with equally teasing remarks. By the time you had your trays and turned toward the seating area, you realized something—

Most of the tables were already packed.

Clusters of students filled every available space, some standing and chatting with friends, others laughing loudly, their voices echoing through the massive cafeteria.

Jake scanned the room briefly, his sharp eyes flicking over the crowd before they landed on a relatively empty table tucked into a corner near one of the large windows. He didn’t hesitate—just placed his free hand on the small of your back again and guided you toward it without a word.

Your breath caught for a split second, but you didn’t pull away.

It was so effortless, the way he touched you—like he’d done it a million times before, like it was just natural for him to steer you through a crowded space. The warmth of his palm against your lower back was firm but not forceful, steadying yet entirely casual.

And the worst part?

You liked it.

Maybe a little too much.

You felt your face heating up again, but before you could dwell on it, Jake spoke.

“Looks like the guys disappeared on me,” he mused as you both reached the table, setting his tray down before pulling out a chair for you.

The gesture was so smooth, so instinctive, that it took you a second to react.

You blinked at him. “…Are you always this much of a gentleman?”

Jake let out a soft chuckle, his lips curling into a smirk as he leaned slightly over the chair. “Only for people who don’t make me carry both our trays.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips as you sat down. “I could’ve carried my own, you know.”

Jake simply shrugged, taking his seat across from you. “Sure. But where’s the fun in that?”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head before picking up your utensils. “Anyway, maybe your friends just assumed you’d be too busy drowning in council work to eat. You are kind of a workaholic.”

Jake raised an eyebrow as he unwrapped his utensils. “Oh? And you know this how?”

You gave him a pointed look. “You just told me earlier that you literally ditched them earlier by saying you had to ‘finish up papers.’”

Jake exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Technically, I didn’t lie. I do have papers to go through later.”

You snorted. “Right. And you just so happened to show up at my classroom instead.”

Jake’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he took a casual bite of his food. “Just a coincidence.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Mhm. Sure.”

He grinned. “What, can’t a guy take a break and conveniently end up where you are?”

Your fork paused midair.

The teasing lilt in his voice was undeniable, but there was something else there, something almost too deliberate in the way he said it. Like he wanted you to catch it. Like he was testing the waters.

And the worst part? It was working.

You quickly stuffed a bite of food into your mouth to distract from the way your stomach flipped at his words.

Jake just chuckled, clearly entertained by your reaction.

The two of you ate in comfortable silence for a moment, the chatter of the cafeteria buzzing around you. The corner you’d picked was quieter, a little more secluded, with sunlight streaming through the large windows beside you. It was… oddly peaceful.

Then, out of nowhere, Jake spoke again.

“I meant what I said, by the way.”

You glanced up, chewing slowly. “…About what?”

His eyes held yours. “That I don’t mind this.”

You swallowed. “This?”

Jake rested his elbow on the table, propping his chin up with his hand. “Eating with you.”

Your heartbeat stuttered.

It was such a simple statement, but the way he said it, the way he looked at you when he did—yeah, you were in trouble.

You quickly looked down at your plate, pretending to focus on your food.

Instead of commenting, he just smiled to himself, shaking his head slightly before picking up his fork again.

But the knowing glint in his eyes told you otherwise.

And damn it, you had a feeling he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

The afternoon sun stretched golden across the field, casting a warm glow over the wide expanse of green. A light breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the crisp scent of grass and the faintest traces of sweat as Jake and Sunghoon tossed the football back and forth.

It was their free period, a rare chance to unwind and let their inner Alphas stretch a little without the weight of expectations pressing down on them.

Jake rolled his shoulders, catching the ball with ease before spinning it in his hands. “Think you can handle a real pass this time?”

Sunghoon scoffed, adjusting his stance. “Think you can throw one?”

Jake smirked, cocking his arm back and sending the ball soaring through the air—

But the second it left his hands, so did every ounce of his focus.

Your scent.

It drifted through the open halls beside the field, laced with something warm that settled into his chest like second nature. Jake’s head turned on instinct, drawn toward the source before he could even process why.

And there you were.

Walking side by side with Jungwon’s mate, your laughter trailing through the breeze.

Jake barely registered the thud of the football landing in Sunghoon’s grip. His attention was fixed entirely on you, the way you were so effortlessly blending into his world without even trying.

He felt something shift inside him, soft, warm, and dangerously easy to get used to.

Because it wasn’t just that it was you, though that alone was enough to mess with his pulse. It was the fact that you were comfortable, that you were talking and laughing with Jungwon’s mate, someone who had already been claimed, someone who was already part of the pack in a way that felt permanent.

And for some reason, seeing you like this, seeing you so naturally fall into step with people who had already been solidified in his life, it made something deep inside him settle.

Like a puzzle piece clicking into place. Like you belonged here.

Sunghoon’s voice barely cut through his daze. “Finally, a decent throw.”

Jake blinked, shaking himself out of it, but the warmth in his chest didn’t fade.

His hand twitched at his side, itching to reach for something, to act on something—but he didn’t even know what. His Alpha stirred, entirely content just from the sight of you.

He swallowed thickly. Then, suddenly, he was moving.

“I gotta—” Jake’s voice came out rushed, unsteady, as he took a step back. “Bathroom.”

Sunghoon didn’t even glance at him, too busy tossing the ball in the air. “Sure, whatever.”

Jake was already halfway across the field, already walking toward you.

The moment Jake started walking, he knew there was no stopping himself.

It wasn’t a conscious decision, his body just moved, drawn toward you like an invisible force had wrapped itself around his chest and tugged.

You hadn’t even noticed him yet, too caught up in whatever conversation you were having. Your expression was relaxed, your smile easy. The sight made something in Jake unravel, it was stupid, really, how soft he felt over something so simple.

But then, as if you could feel him coming, you glanced up.

Your eyes met his, and Jake swore he felt his heart stumble. Recognition flashed across your face, quickly followed by a small, surprised smile. “Jake?”

Jungwon’s mate turned as well, blinking in confusion. “Oh, hey! What are you doing here?”

Jake barely acknowledged her, his attention locked solely on you. “Free period,” he said, voice smooth but just a little quieter than usual. “I was training with Sunghoon.”

Your gaze flickered past him toward the field, where Sunghoon was still casually tossing the football in the air, completely unbothered.

“And now?” you asked, tilting your head.

Jake huffed a small breath, as if he hadn’t just abandoned practice the second he caught your scent. “Now I’m here.”

You raised an eyebrow. “For?”

Jake hesitated for half a second, then shrugged, a lopsided smirk tugging at his lips. “For you.”

Your breath hitched just slightly, but Jake caught it. And so did his inner Alpha, the presence inside him practically preening at the reaction.

Jungwon’s mate, completely noticing the tension settling between you two, let out a knowing hum. “Well, that’s my cue to leave.” She shot you a teasing look before waving. “See you later!”

You barely managed a nod before they slipped away, leaving you and Jake standing there, just looking at each other.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, slowly, Jake took another step closer, close enough that your scent wrapped around him fully. Close enough that he could see the faint pink dusting your cheeks, the way your fingers twitched slightly at your sides.

“Where are you headed?” he asked, his voice smooth, casual. Like he wasn’t completely invading your plans right now.

You tried to answer. Really, you did. But your brain was malfunctioning.

Because—goddamn.

Jake wasn’t in his usual navy blazer, and the absence of it shouldn’t have been this distracting, but it was. His white button-up was slightly rumpled, the top few buttons left undone, exposing just a hint of skin. His tie was loosened around his neck, his sleeves lazily rolled up to his elbows, and worst of all—his scent was stronger than ever.

The crisp bite of pine mixed with the warmth of oranges, fresh and intoxicating, like stepping into the woods after a summer rain. It wrapped around you, pulled you in, made your head feel lighter..

You swallowed, forcing your eyes forward before you got caught staring. “Uh—” Get it together, damn it. “Library.”

Jake hummed, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walked beside you. “Studying?”

“Something like that,” you muttered, still trying to focus on walking and not the way his arm brushed yours every now and then.

Jake glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, that ever-present smirk tugging at his lips. “You okay?”

No. Absolutely not.

But you weren’t about to admit that.

“Yeah,” you said, clearing your throat. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jake tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his gaze. “No reason. You just seem… distracted.”

You almost scowled. He knew. Of course he knew. His Alpha was probably reveling in it, preening at the fact that his scent was affecting you this much.

“Must be the heat,” you lied, pressing your lips together.

Jake exhaled a quiet laugh, low and knowing. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice dipping just enough to make your pulse jump.

The Alpha barely gave you a second to react before he was reaching for the books in your arms, smoothly plucking them from your grasp like they weren’t heavy at all.

“Jake—” You blinked, startled.

“You look like you’re about to drop these,” he said simply, adjusting the books against his hip with one arm. The other hand went to your shoulder, sliding the strap of your very, very girly bag off like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your mouth opened, then closed. “Jake, that’s—”

He swung the bag onto his shoulder without even flinching.

It was pastel. It had bows. A tiny stuffed bear keychain dangled from the zipper, and the fabric smelled very obviously like you.

Jake didn’t even blink.

You, on the other hand, were short-circuiting. “What,” you finally choked out.

Jake peered down at you, unfazed. “What?”

You pointed, staring at the bag hanging on his shoulder. “That.”

He shrugged, completely unbothered. “What about it?”

“Jake, you’re holding my bag.”

Another shrug. “And?”

You stared at him. “It has bows.”

Jake smirked. “Cute.”

Your brain stopped functioning. “It’s pink.”

“Your point?”

You inhaled sharply, your hands flying up in exasperation. “You don’t care?”

Jake raised a brow. “Why would I?”

You huffed, actually huffed as you let your arms fall to your sides. “Because—because you’re literally walking around like that, unbothered, like you don’t have my pink, bow-covered, stuffed-animal-having bag slung over your shoulder—”

Jake leaned down a little, smirking. “Would it bother you if I cared?”

You gaped at him, caught completely off guard.

You hated how easily he did that, how easily he could flip the entire conversation on its head and make you feel ridiculous for even bringing it up.

“No,” you muttered, pressing your lips together. “It wouldn’t.”

Jake chuckled. “Then it’s not a problem, is it?”

And just like that, he straightened up, walking like he wasn’t carrying an entire armful of your things, including your very feminine, very obvious bag.

You? You were still recovering.

And somehow, you just knew, from the way Jake’s scent curled around you in smug amusement, from the way his lips kept twitching at your stunned silence—yeah, he was enjoying every second of this.

Jake didn’t even spare a glance back toward the field. Whatever Sunghoon was thinking, probably something along the lines of: where the hell did he go?

He should have gone back. He should have at least tossed Sunghoon a quick text to say he got caught up. But the moment he saw you, saw the way you were laughing with Jungwon’s mate, saw the way the sunlight hit your face just right, any thought of returning to training vanished.

Sunghoon would figure it out. Eventually.

The next day, the moment the final bell rang, the hallway buzzed with noise, students shuffling to their lockers, conversations overlapping, and plans forming for the rest of the afternoon.

Jake stretched his arms above his head, rolling his shoulders as he walked alongside Heeseung. “Man, I need something sweet,” Heeseung muttered, eyes glued to his phone. “Let’s stop by the café real quick before we head back.”

Jake hummed in agreement, barely listening. His hands were shoved in his pockets, steps lazy and unhurried, until he saw you.

You stood by your locker, fingers moving as you fixed your books and reorganized your things. Strands of hair fell over your face as you reached up to adjust the top shelf, completely unaware of the way Jake’s attention had locked onto you like a magnet.

Like his feet had a mind of their own, walking past you wasn’t an option. He lifted a hand, waving Heeseung off without a word.

Heeseung, still distracted by whatever was on his phone, just nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Jake took that as his cue and started walking.

He changed course, slipping away so smoothly it was like he had never been walking beside Heeseung in the first place. Within seconds, he was ten feet away from where they had been.

Heeseung didn’t even notice.

Jake stopped right beside you, leaning casually against the lockers. “Need some help?”

You glanced up, slightly startled. “Jake? What happened to—weren’t you with Heeseung?”

Jake smirked. “Was I?”

You blinked. “…Yes?”

Jake just shrugged, reaching out and taking the book you were about to shove into your bag. Without hesitation, he slung your very girly, very bow-covered bag over his shoulder like it was nothing. The sight of it against his unbuttoned navy blazer, his loosened navy tie, and the lazy confidence in his stance, was almost comical.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Jake.”

“Hm?”

“You ditched him.”

His grin was shameless. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Jake—”

“Come on,” he cut in smoothly, already turning to walk with you. “Where are you headed?”

You huffed, shutting your locker. “The student council room.”

Jake raised a brow, a flicker of curiosity crossing his features. “Huh. Didn’t know you were suddenly on council duty.”

You shot him a look. “I’m not. Our class treasurer forgot to submit a report on the budget, so I’m doing it.”

His expression changed, something playful settling in his gaze. “And you didn’t ask me for help?”

You rolled your eyes, hugging the folder to your chest. “Jake, you’re the secretary, not the treasurer. Big difference.”

“Still part of it,” he argued, effortlessly matching your pace as you navigated through the crowded hall. “I could’ve at least made sure you weren’t running around like this.”

You scoffed, but before you could respond, you felt the warmth of his hand press lightly against the small of your back. It was a barely-there touch, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your breath hitched.

Jake, of course, didn’t seem fazed at all. If anything, he was acting like this was normal. Like the heat of his palm wasn’t sending a strange sort of static along your spine.

“What?” he mused, tilting his head slightly when he noticed you stiffen. “Crowded hall. Don’t want you getting lost.”

You swallowed hard, pressing your lips together as you forced yourself to keep walking.

Meanwhile, a few feet behind, Heeseung who had been completely occupied with his phone, glanced up, only to find that Jake had completely disappeared.

His brows furrowed as he scanned the hallway, but all he could see was a familiar fluff of brown hair moving through the crowd.

Heeseung sighed through his nose, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

The student council room was unusually silent.

No soft hum of pages flipping, no quiet muttering as Jake worked through his usual mountain of files, no fresh scent of coffee filling the air like it always did in the morning.

Just… quietness.

Jay walked in first, balancing his drink in one hand, fingers lazily tapping against his phone with the other. "He’s already here, right?" He barely glanced up, expecting the usual scene: Jake at his desk, half-buried in council paperwork, looking vaguely annoyed that they weren’t being as productive as him.

Ni-ki didn’t even bother looking around. "Duh. Jake’s always here first."

Except, Jake wasn’t there.

Jay froze mid-step, blinking at the empty desk. “Wait.” He frowned. “Where the hell is he?”

Ni-ki finally looked up from his phone, expecting Jay to be overreacting, only for his eyes to land on something even weirder, a stack of neatly arranged documents, sitting untouched on Jake’s desk.

It was done.

All of it. Every single piece of work Jake should've been doing this morning had already been signed, stapled, and sorted.

Jay exhaled through his nose, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Okay. So, either he pulled an all-nighter and got his work done ahead of time…” He trailed off before exchanging a look with Ni-ki.

“…Or he figured out how to clone himself,” Ni-ki deadpanned, poking the paperwork like it might vanish into thin air. “Either way, this is freaky.”

Jay barely acknowledged the joke, still staring at the empty seat. “No, but seriously. Where is he?”

Meanwhile, a few blocks away; Jake didn’t even bother looking up as the café door chimed, signaling more students coming in. He barely acknowledged the low murmurs around them, the not-so-subtle glances.

His focus was elsewhere. More specifically, on you.

You were curled slightly forward, fiddling with your drink, your hand resting on his blazer, which was draped across your lap.

He had thrown the blazer over you without a second thought—didn’t even say anything, just casually shrugged it off and placed it there.

Not that you noticed. You were too busy fuming about your morning.

“I mean, seriously,” you huffed, stirring your drink aggressively. “What kind of professor makes a deadline 7 AM sharp? That should be illegal. There should be laws.”

Jake hummed, lazily adjusting the girly pink bag that was currently on his lap. “So you did it last-minute.”

You shot the pureblooded Alpha a look. “No, because if I finished it early, I wouldn’t be this pissed off about it.”

Jake smirked. “Right. So you did do it last-minute.”

You groaned, pressing your forehead against the table dramatically. “Okay, fine, maybe I did finish it at, like, 3 AM, but that’s beside the point.”

Jake took a slow sip of his drink, watching you. “No, I think that’s exactly the point.” His voice was smoother now, teasing. “You could’ve just asked for my help, you know.”

Your head snapped up. “Oh, please. Like I’d let Mr. Secretary do my work for me.”

Jake huffed out a small laugh. “Yeah, but you let me carry your bag.”

You didn’t even blink. “And?”

Jake blinked back.

Because, yeah, he’d been expecting at least some kind of reaction. A scoff, an eye-roll, maybe even a muttered whatever, Sim. But instead, you looked at him like this was just normal. Like him carrying your pink, ribbon-covered, unmistakably girly bag was something he’d done a hundred times before.

Which, now that he thought about it, he kinda had.

Your omega practically preened at the thought.

It felt natural. Comforting.

Like it belonged there, like he belonged there.

And if Jake noticed the way your lips pressed together like you were fighting back a smile? No, he didn’t. Not at all.

Mornings in the council room were always the same. Papers shuffled, chairs scraped against the floor, low murmurs filled the air as the student council members moved through their routine and Jake’s coffee—always lingered in the air, a signal that their secretary had already buried himself in work before anyone else arrived.

Except today, the room smelled normal.

No coffee, no Jake.

Jungwon, seated at his own desk near the window, skimmed through a proposal, his brows furrowed in concentration. Sunoo, half-awake and nursing his iced americano like his life depended on it, peeked up at the clock.

Ni-ki, on the other hand, had been watching the entrance for the past five minutes.

“Where’s golden boy?” he finally muttered, leaning back in his chair, spinning his pen between his fingers.

Jay, sitting at his own table across from Jungwon, barely spared him a glance. “No clue. Probably overslept.”

Heeseung, who had his feet propped up on his desk, scoffed. “Jake? Oversleep? Yeah, right.”

Sunghoon, who had been absentmindedly flipping through his phone, glanced up, unimpressed. “Maybe he finally decided to quit and live a stress-free life. About time.”

The words had barely left his mouth when the door swung open.

Jake strolled in, hands tucked into his pockets, his usual crisp blazer nowhere to be found. The loosened navy tie around his neck hung effortlessly, and his hair was slightly tousled like he’d been outside for too long.

The Alpha wasn't rushed, not groggy, just calm.

And that was already weird: Jake never looked this relaxed in the morning.

Jay barely lifted his head, but his eyes narrowed.

Heeseung blinked, sitting up slightly. Jungwon paused mid-page turn. Sunoo finally looked up from his drink.

Jake, however, didn’t spare them a single glance.

He just walked straight to his desk, set his bag down, and smiled.

Not his usual morning scowl, not the slightly annoyed expression they were used to, and that alone was enough to make the entire room go quiet.

And then—

“You reek of an omega.” Sunghoon’s voice cut through the silence, lazy but pointed.

Jake didn’t even look up, he didn’t tense, he didn’t acknowledge it. He just shrugged. “New perfume.”

Jay immediately put his pen down.

Sunoo, blinking, looked at Jungwon, then at Jake again. Ni-ki, having just taken a sip of his drink, nearly choked.

“Perfume?” Jungwon repeated, skeptical.

“Yeah,” Jake hummed, still not looking at them. “Wanted to try something different.”

And honestly, it would’ve been believable.

Jake wore cologne. That much was true. But not this. Not this soft. It wasn’t sharp like his usual clean, expensive scent.

It was warmer. Like honey and seawater, subtle but distinct, the kind of scent that only clung to someone when they’d been too close to an omega for too long.

And in a room filled with pureblooded alphas, it wasn’t something that went unnoticed.

But instead of calling him out, Sunghoon just exhaled through his nose, letting it slide. If some omega had thrown themselves at Jake this morning, it wasn’t exactly surprising.

“Damn,” Ni-ki muttered, shaking his head in amusement. “Didn’t know you had a confession today.”

Jake, finally glancing up, raised a brow. “Huh?”

Sunoo smirked. “The omega. They were all over you, weren’t they?”

Jake just rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you guys are talking about.”

But Jay just stared. Because while the others were making their own assumptions, he noticed things.

Like the way Jake’s shoulders were too loose, the way his usually sharp morning glare had been replaced by something almost smug. The way his fingers lingered just a second longer when he reached for his pen.

Jake was weirdly comfortable, and Jay had a feeling it wasn’t because of some random omega.

It was someone specific. It wouldn't take a genius to acknowledge the fact that his scent was all over a specific omega just as much as theirs was all over him.

That same day, the council room was missing something.

Or rather—someone.

Jungwon tapped a pen against his desk, lips pressing into a thin line as his gaze swept across the room. The usual members were in their usual places, some sorting through reports, others murmuring among themselves. But one chair, in particular, remained empty.

Jake’s.

Jungwon turned to the juniors under the secretary committee, his tone expectant. “Did he say anything about missing the meeting?”

The second-years exchanged nervous glances before one of them hesitantly spoke up. “No, President. He didn’t mention anything.”

That made Jungwon pause.

Jake was many things, laid-back, exasperatingly smug, and a flight risk when it came to avoiding unnecessary small talk. But he was also reliable. He never skipped a meeting without at least a heads-up.

Sunoo, lounging lazily in his chair, finally looked up from his phone. “Are we sure he’s not dead?”

Heeseung, ignoring him, strode over to Jake’s desk. His eyes immediately landed on the thick folder placed neatly at the center, its edges aligned with military precision.

He opened it.

Inside were pages upon pages of documents, all labeled, revised, and signed. Every committee task Jake was responsible for? Already handled.

Heeseung huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “Figures.”

Sunoo leaned over, peeking at the contents. “So he did everything beforehand, left proof, and then just—what? Vanished?”

Silence.

Then he clapped his hands together. “Well, if everything’s here, we might as well start.”

No one objected, except Jay.

Jay, who hadn’t even looked at the documents because he didn’t need to.

Something about this was off.

It was late.

The university parking lot was nearly empty, save for a few scattered cars and the occasional security guard making his rounds. The group were all making their way toward their rides, conversations overlapping in low murmurs.

The day had been long, the last meeting dragging on longer than expected, and now they were finally free.

"Ugh, I swear, if one more junior asks me to proofread their paperwork—" Sunoo grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Maybe if you didn’t baby them so much, they wouldn’t keep asking," Sunghoon teased, smirking.

Sunoo shot him a glare. "Maybe if you actually showed up to the meetings on time, you’d—"

Jay wasn’t listening.

His attention had been caught by something else.

A few steps ahead of the group, his pace slowed, then stopped entirely as his gaze landed on one of the benches just near the lot.

At first, he didn’t understand what he was looking at.

Jake was there. That in itself wasn’t strange. But Jake wasn’t alone, you were there, too.

And that was what made Jay’s breath catch in his throat; Jake wasn’t just sitting with you.

He was practically curled into you, head nestled snugly against the curve of your neck, his face pressed to your scent gland like it was the most natural thing in the world. His arm draped lazily over the back of the bench, one hand resting near your thigh; casual, comfortable, too familiar.

And you? You were just reading.

Flipping through the pages of your book like this was nothing new. Like Jake burying himself against your scent, molding himself into you, wasn’t something worth reacting to.

Jay’s feet refused to move.

It took Heeseung nearly walking into him for the others to notice his sudden stillness.

“Dude, why’d you stop—” Heeseung started, but then his voice faltered when he followed Jay’s gaze.

One by one, the rest of the group turned.

And one by one, their expressions shifted.

“Oh.” Jungwon’s voice was quiet, but filled with realization.

“No way.” Ni-ki blinked.

Sunghoon let out a low chuckle, crossing his arms. “Well. That explains a lot.”

Sunoo pressed his lips together, visibly holding back a laugh as he nudged his mate. “I mean, are we even surprised?”

They weren’t.

Not really.

But seeing it—seeing Jake so effortlessly tangled up with you, as if he’d been doing this for years, was something else entirely.

And Jake? Jake was completely oblivious to the fact that they were watching.

If anything, he only seemed to relax further, exhaling deeply against your skin before shifting slightly, adjusting his position so he could press even closer. His nose brushed against your neck, fingers twitching slightly as if resisting the urge to grip your waist.

The sight of it made something click.

Jay had noticed it before, the way Jake had been disappearing more often, the way he had been skipping out on long hours at the council office, the way he had been coming back with a scent that was unmistakably omega, unmistakably settled on his skin.

But now, standing here, watching Jake press into you, breathe you in, claim you without even realizing he was doing it—it made too much sense.

Jay exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Well. That’s new.”

Finally, Jake moved.

Not because he noticed them, no, he was still completely wrapped up in you. It was because you moved.

Without even looking up from your book, you lifted a hand and ran your fingers gently through Jake’s hair, the motion absentminded and natural, like this was routine.

Jake hummed at the touch, actually hummed, his arm tightening slightly around the back of the bench.

The entire group watched in silent disbelief.

Sunghoon blinked. "I feel like we shouldn't be seeing this."

Jungwon huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, but here we are."

Ni-ki raised a brow. "So, are we just gonna stand here and stare, or—?"

Jake had been careful.

Or at least, he thought he had.

But apparently, not careful enough.

Because the second he smelled it—them, it was already too late.

Jake’s body tensed, his nose twitched, and his fingers flexed against the back of the bench. The comfortable warmth of your scent was suddenly invaded, drowned out by something else.

Jake inhaled once again, and immediately regretted it.

⤷ read part 2 here !

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© 2025 liuhsng — reblogs are highly appreciated and please don't hesitate to request some fics here if you want me to write anything !

[tf2heritageposts]

tips for runaways of abusive families

from one who did that

note: this assumes you are 18+ or will be 18+ upon escaping, and also american, sorry

BEFORE YOU LEAVE:

get your insurance information, ESPECIALLY YOUR HEALTH INSURANCE. you can use it until you're 26

have your ssn memorized

make sure you have a decent amount of money saved up, dependent on your situation

have your method of transportation figured out beforehand. are you leaving the city? state? general area? country? get it planned out

if you are planning on taking your pet with you, make sure you have food stocked up with you and bottles of water. i would also reccomend bringing a 1ml kids syringe if you have the type of pet that will stop eating/drinking in stress situations. also bring a form of cover like an extra shirt or towel if it is an easily stressed pet. also make sure you have a carrier, and if you're going on a plane, make sure it is up to the standard of your plane, as well as making s ure your type of pet is allowed on the plane, especially if its an "exotic" pet, aka anything thats not a cat or dog

i also may recommend stocking up some food but depending on your situation this may not be needed

stock up on any medications you may have/need

don't give your family any form of information they could use to track you down in the future, especially if theyre the crazier types

make sure to change your passwords on any technology you may be leaving form and log out completely on them. make sure you have no files they could use to find you

DURING:

leave at a time where you're 100% sure nobody will catch you. if you have a family member that comes home late from work, know when they'll be back and asleep

turn off ANY location services you have after you're already away from the house, even if it alarms them. you don't want them to figire out where you are

wear a jacket with pockets, especially deep ones

make sure you have your wallet, forms of id, etc

get ready to run as fast as you can

if you're leaving the state, especially via plane, DO NOT IMMEDIATLY GO TO THE AIRPORT, THEY WILL CHECK THERE FIRST! go to a hotel and spend 1-3 days there while they exhaust their time and figure you already left. THEN you can go

stay calm while you're in the process of leaving. the moment you hit the air, they legally can't do anything

keep any critter you have calm, especially if they can suffer health problems from stress

have your hotels booked in advance

AFTER:

dont give your family your address if they try to talk to you

if you can really, cut them off entirely. chances are theyre not gonna change

get an air mattress as soon as you can, we used doordash for one

figure out how you will be paying finances. if you're living with someone, great, if not, you may have to post donation posts on social media until you can get a job

be happy you escaped, good job! most people won't be able to do this so im proud you were