#trying to comfort the one friend she had on the island | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

reidmarieprentiss · 2 months ago

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No More Misunderstandings

Summary: You have a big crush on Spencer, everyone can see it except for Spencer himself.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Tech Analyst fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: crushing, (un)requited feelings, bad communication, Spencer trying to flirt, gay Elle, Rossi not Gideon, happy ending, Elle is out but reader doesn't know

Word count: 9.4k

a/n: if this man ever asked me to hang out i would say yes in two seconds flat

main masterlist

Every day, you settled into the hum of computers and the soft glow of monitors that painted the walls of the BAU's technical analysis hub, affectionately dubbed the "bat cave" by those who knew it best. Your role as a tech analyst found you working side-by-side with the brilliant and bubbly Penelope Garcia, a woman whose personality was as colorful as her wardrobe. Despite the comfort of being shrouded in the semi-darkness of your tech-laden sanctuary, a certain type of light seemed to elude you—the spark of acknowledgment in Dr. Spencer Reid's deep, thoughtful eyes.

You harbored a crush so palpable that even the air in the room felt charged with your nervous energy whenever Spencer was near. However, your shy demeanor cloaked these feelings in a veil of secrecy that somehow, miraculously, Spencer himself never managed to pierce through. Everyone else on the team had noticed, from the knowing smiles of Derek Morgan to the gentle teasing of JJ, but Spencer remained blissfully unaware, his attention often drifting towards Elle Greenaway with an intensity that tugged painfully at your heart.

Penelope, ever the observant friend, never missed a beat. "Oh, honey," she would whisper, "it’s like you’re sending Morse code with those blushes and he’s living in a blackout."

Her words were gentle, tinged with humor and affection, yet each jest felt like a pinprick to your already tender sensibilities. Whenever Spencer visited the bat cave to discuss case details or gather information, your heart raced as you tried to provide him with everything he needed without tripping over your words or, heaven forbid, your own feet.

"Hey, Spencer," you would start, your voice a careful mixture of professionalism and the warmth you couldn’t keep at bay.

"Hello," he would respond, his eyes scanning the screens filled with data. His focus was razor-sharp, dissecting information with the same precision he used on everything but the emotional currents swirling around him.

Each interaction was a dance. You would inch towards openness, leaning in to catch a whiff of his cologne or to appreciate the subtle shift of his hair when he ran his fingers through it in concentration. But as soon as he glanced up, those hazel eyes like windows to an enigmatic soul, you would recoil slightly, cheeks aflame, words retreating as quickly as they had dared to emerge.

Later, as the screen showed live feeds of the team moving through their environments, Penelope would nudge you gently with her elbow, her voice low and teasing. "You know, if we had a dollar for every time you fumbled around that man, we could retire and buy an island in the Bahamas."

You’d offer a small, embarrassed laugh, grateful for the low lighting hiding the worst of your blush. "I just... I don’t know how to act around him, Penelope. What if he doesn’t..."

"Feel the same?" she'd finish for you, her tone softening. "Sweetie, the heart’s a funny creature. It doesn’t play by the rules of logic that Spencer loves so much. But who knows? Maybe one day, he’ll surprise you and actually look up from those case files and see what’s right in front of him."

The comfort in her voice was soothing, yet each day ended the same—with you watching Spencer, Spencer watching Elle, and Penelope watching over you, a guardian angel clad in technicolor, armed with an arsenal of jokes and just the right words to keep you smiling through the uncertainty.

—

The day had been rolling along as usual in the BAU's bat cave, the rhythmic clicking of keyboards providing a steady backdrop to the glow of computer screens. Penelope had excused herself for a quick bathroom break, leaving you alone amidst the towers of technology. Just as the door clicked shut behind her, the shrill ring of the phone sliced through the quiet, startling you slightly. Calls from the field were usually Penelope’s domain, her cheerful voice a soothing constant for the team. Today, it seemed, you would have to step into her shoes.

“Y/N speaking, what can I do for you?” Your voice wavered slightly, anxiety bubbling up as you prepared for your usual toggle through databases and security feeds.

When Spencer’s voice responded from the other end, a different kind of alertness prickled across your skin. “Hi, Y/N, we need to cross-reference known associates of the unsub with recent flight records. Can you pull up the lists and cross-check for any matches?”

Your heart thumped erratically, his voice weaving through the receiver like a familiar song that never failed to stir your soul. You tried to maintain a steady tone, hoping your voice didn’t betray the sudden nervousness that his presence, even just over the phone, incited. “Sure, Spencer, just a moment.”

As your fingers danced across the keyboard, the professional mask you wore each day slid comfortably into place. You were adept at your job, a fact that never faltered, even under the weight of your emotions. Quickly pulling up the necessary records, you began the process of cross-referencing, your mind briefly detached from the flutter in your stomach.

“Looks like there’s a match. Michael Davidson, on a flight from Atlanta to D.C. this morning,�� you reported, a trace of pride threading through your words at the efficiency with which you’d located the information.

“Great, Y/N. Thanks,” Spencer’s voice came through, a hint of relief palpable even through the static of the connection. His appreciation, simple and straightforward, filled you with a warmth that went beyond professional satisfaction.

Hanging up, you let out a breath you’d been holding. Penelope chose that moment to breeze back into the room, her presence as effervescent as ever. Catching the tail end of your smile, she quirked an eyebrow playfully.

“Spill the beans, buttercup. You look like someone just handed you a golden ticket,” she teased, settling back into her chair.

“It was just Spencer needing some quick info,” you shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant as your heart continued to beat a staccato rhythm against your ribs.

Penelope’s smile widened, her eyes twinkling with unspoken understanding. “Oh, just Spencer, huh?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, trying to brush it off casually. “Derek would never betray you by talking to me,” you teased, hoping to steer the conversation away from your flustered feelings.

Penelope’s eyes sparkled even more as she winked at you. “Oh, he’s allowed to have side pieces, my love. I’m a generous goddess.”

You burst out laughing, your nervousness momentarily forgotten as Penelope’s playful banter eased your tension. “I’ll let him know you said that,” you shot back, turning back to your screen, trying to focus on anything other than the residual warmth from talking to Spencer.

Penelope, never one to let you off the hook easily, leaned in closer. “Should I let Spencer know he isn’t allowed to have any side pieces then?” she asked, winking at you again, her tone as sweet as honey but with a hint of mischief.

“Penelope!” you gasped, feeling your face flush all over again. The blush you thought had faded returned with a vengeance as you turned away, hoping she wouldn’t see just how red you were.

She laughed, clearly pleased with herself. “I’m just saying, babe. The boy’s got options, but I think we both know his best one is sitting right here.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands as you let out a small, embarrassed laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Just doing my part to make sure he doesn’t miss any signals,” Penelope sang, tapping her keyboard lightly, her grin as wide as ever. You couldn't help but smile too, secretly grateful for her teasing. After all, it was these moments that made the crush a little more bearable.

—

During one of Rossi’s famed pasta-making sessions, a relaxed atmosphere filled his spacious kitchen, with the rich aroma of tomato sauce simmering on the stove and the sounds of laughter mingling with soft Italian music playing in the background. Rossi, the consummate host, guided everyone through the steps of making the perfect pasta dough, his hands moving with the ease of long practice.

You found yourself stationed next to Spencer, who was diligently kneading a mound of fresh pasta dough. His hands, beautiful and dexterous, worked the dough with a precision that was mesmerizing. The veins on his hands stood out, accentuating every deliberate movement, and you couldn’t help but be captivated by the fluidity of his motions. It wasn’t just his intellect that drew you in; even his seemingly mundane physical actions had a way of catching your undivided attention.

Derek and JJ, who were partnered up on the other side of the kitchen island, caught your fixed gaze and shared an amused look between them. Derek’s smirk grew as he nudged JJ, whispering loud enough for you to overhear, “Looks like someone’s more interested in the handwork than the handiwork.”

JJ chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she joined in the teasing. “Yeah, I think Y/N’s planning on writing a thesis on the manual dexterity of certain geniuses.”

Flustered, you tore your eyes away from Spencer’s hands, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. You attempted to focus back on your own portion of dough, which had begun to stick to the counter more than it should. Spencer, oblivious to the exchange, looked up and noticed your struggle.

“Hey, you need to dust a bit more flour on the surface,” he said, his voice gentle, unaware of the reason behind your distraction. He reached over to sprinkle some flour on your dough and then on the countertop, his fingers briefly brushing against yours. The brief contact sent a pleasant jolt through you, further flustering you.

Rossi, ever the observant host, noticed the playful dynamic and decided to rescue you from your embarrassment. “Alright, everyone, let’s focus on the art of pasta! Y/N, why don’t you help me with the sauce?” he suggested, giving you a knowing smile as he handed you a wooden spoon.

As you helped Rossi stir the simmering sauce, carefully blending the herbs into the rich, aromatic mixture, you couldn’t help but cast furtive glances across the kitchen. There, Hotch had taken up the spot you vacated next to Spencer, now deeply engaged in the art of pasta making under Rossi’s enthusiastic instruction. While Hotch was methodically following Rossi’s guidance, Spencer’s attention occasionally drifted.

Across from them, Elle was rolling out her dough with a confident flourish, laughing at something Hotch had said. You caught Spencer's eyes as they met Elle's, a shared glance of amusement passing effortlessly between them. The ease of their silent communication was stark, their smiles syncing in a moment of private jest that seemed to exclude the world around them—including you.

That simple, silent exchange felt like a punch to the gut. The laughter and camaraderie around you suddenly seemed a bit dimmer, a bit more distant. It wasn’t just jealousy that twisted in your stomach—it was the aching realization of how much could be said in a single look when there was a real connection; a connection you feared might never form between Spencer and yourself.

You turned your attention back to the sauce, the spoon moving mechanically in your hand as Rossi continued to chat about the nuances of Italian cooking. He didn’t seem to notice your distraction, caught up in his culinary passion. But inside, your thoughts were swirling as tumultuously as the sauce you stirred.

Trying to shake off the sinking feeling, you focused on the positives—the laughter of your team, the comforting weight of the wooden spoon in your hand, the delicious smell that filled the kitchen. But despite the festive atmosphere, a part of you remained reserved, quietly nursing the tender hope that maybe, just maybe, one day Spencer would look at you with the same warmth and understanding he so effortlessly shared with Elle. Until then, you resolved to keep smiling, keep stirring, and keep hoping.

—

The BAU briefing room felt unusually empty without Penelope's vibrant presence, Elle's keen insights, and Derek's charismatic confidence filling the space. With them on vacation, the dynamic had shifted, and you found yourself stepping into roles that stretched beyond your usual behind-the-scenes expertise. The weight of Penelope's responsibilities now rested squarely on your shoulders, a challenge you accepted with both determination and a hint of trepidation.

As the team gathered for the briefing on the new case, Hotch turned to you. "Y/N, could you walk us through the case description and the current leads?" His voice was calm, authoritative, yet imbued with a supportive undertone that did little to ease the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

Nodding, you stood, remote in hand, feeling every pair of eyes in the room settle on you. Public speaking was not your greatest fear, but it was hardly your favorite endeavor—especially not with Spencer's intense gaze locked on you. It was as if his eyes were a pair of spotlights, illuminating not just your words but every minute reaction and emotion that flickered across your face.

As you began to outline the case, detailing the patterns and possible psychological motivations of the unsub, Spencer's scrutiny never wavered. His stare was not judgmental nor dismissive; rather, it was analytical, perhaps even a bit curious, as if he were trying to read the nuances of your presentation, to understand not just the facts but the person delivering them.

"Based on the geographical profiling and the behavioral pattern, we believe the unsub may be operating within a ten-mile radius of downtown," you explained, pointing to the map projected behind you. Your voice steadied as you delved deeper into the analysis, the familiar terrain of data and evidence providing a solid foundation beneath your initially shaky confidence.

Spencer's focus, rather than rattling you further, began to foster a sense of resolve within you. You found yourself speaking more confidently, your nerves tempered by the realization that this was still your team—your family in all but blood. They weren't here to judge; they were here to listen and to learn from what you had to offer.

As the briefing wrapped up, Hotch nodded in approval. "Good work, Y/N. Keep us posted on any updates from Garcia's systems until she returns."

You nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. Glad it was over, you were already preparing to scamper back to your office when you heard a voice that sent a familiar shiver down your spine.

“Y/N?” Spencer's voice, calm yet inquisitive, caught your attention.

You spun around to face him, trying not to let your fluster show. “What’s up?”

“Can you put the map back up on the screen, please?” he asked, already standing by the large projection screen.

“Ye–yeah, of course.” Your fingers fumbled with the remote as you quickly reactivated the display, bringing the map back onto the screen.

“Here,” Spencer said, still not looking back at you. “Come look at this.”

You walked over to stand beside him, your eyes inadvertently drawn to his long fingers as they traced paths along the map, pointing out specific areas. The same hands that had mesmerized you earlier were now gliding over the screen, drawing you into his thought process.

Spencer started talking about the geographical profile, rattling off information with his typical rapid-fire brilliance. But what took you by surprise was how he spoke to you—not as the team’s tech analyst, but as if you were another profiler, someone he wanted to consult. This was new, and it left you momentarily stunned. He’d never done this before.

“Spencer?” you asked quietly, your voice barely audible in the spacious room. He hummed in response, still focused on the map as he tugged thoughtfully at his bottom lip—a gesture you’d come to adore and envy.

“Why are you asking me about this?” you continued, your curiosity growing along with your nerves. “Why not Rossi? Or Hotch?”

Spencer paused, finally turning to face you, his eyes filled with the same focused intensity he usually reserved for solving cases. “Because you see things differently,” he said softly. “You have a different perspective, and that’s valuable. Sometimes it’s not just about profiling. It’s about how we approach the data, and you… you understand patterns in a way that’s unique.”

His words caught you off guard, but they filled you with an unexpected warmth. You weren’t just the tech analyst who plugged in the data—they saw you, Spencer saw you, as part of the team, as someone with valuable insights.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you held his gaze for a moment longer than you intended. “Thanks, Spencer,” you whispered, trying to suppress the blush creeping up your neck.

He smiled, a small but genuine curve of his lips, before turning back to the map. “Now, what do you think about this area here?” he asked, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for you two to be collaborating like this.

For once, you weren’t just lost in thoughts of him—you were part of the conversation, and it felt good.

After you felt you'd helped all you could, you excused yourself back to your office, ready to sink back into the more solitary part of your work. However, Spencer seemed to have other plans, as he walked alongside you, his footsteps synchronized with yours, indicating he wasn't quite done talking. His expression was one of mild concern, a usual precursor to his deep dives into various subjects.

As you walked, he continued to unravel his thoughts about the case, tying loose ends and circling back to previous points with a precision that was nothing short of impressive. It was typical of Spencer to thoroughly dissect each aspect of a case, often taking tangential routes in the conversation that surprisingly led right back to the main topic, a testament to his prodigious mind.

However, as engrossed as he was in discussing the case, his next words veered sharply from the professional to the personal, catching you completely off guard and momentarily stalling your mental gears. The shift was so sudden that it took a moment for you to register what he was actually asking, pulling you out of your case-focused mindset and into a more introspective space. This unexpected question not only showed his human side but also reminded you of the depth of his observational skills, not just in work but in personal matters as well.

"How is Felix, by the way?" Spencer asked, an innocently curious tilt to his head as he regarded you, his pace slowing slightly.

"What?" The name jolted you, an echo from a past chapter of your life you hadn’t opened in ages, and certainly not one you had expected Spencer to know anything about. You blinked, momentarily confused, trying to piece together the leap in conversation.

"Felix? How are they?" Spencer repeated, his interest seemingly piqued by your reaction—or perhaps just his natural inclination toward thorough understanding.

You paused, standing now in the doorway of your office, the background hum of computer servers providing a soft soundtrack to this unexpected moment. "Um, I don't know," you admitted, still trying to navigate the strange turn the conversation had taken.

"Oh, I’m so sorry, did you two separate?" Spencer’s tone was filled with genuine apology, his face reflecting concern.

You managed a small, somewhat awkward laugh, finding both the absurdity and the sudden intimacy of the conversation slightly overwhelming. "Well, yes. A long while ago." Your response came out lighter than you felt, the surprise of the question making your heart race for reasons other than your usual nervousness around Spencer.

As Spencer absorbed your response, his expression remained unreadable, a common trait when he was deep in thought or processing information. He nodded, perhaps filing away the conversation for later reflection, before excusing himself with a polite but somewhat distant farewell. His departure was quick, efficient, the way he typically transitioned back to work, yet it left a trail of questions in its wake.

You watched him go, a blend of relief and curiosity mingling in your thoughts. The inquiry into your personal life was uncharacteristic of Spencer, who usually maintained a strict boundary between professional and personal discussions, at least when it came to initiating such topics himself. The interaction lingered in your mind, an outlier in the usual pattern of your interactions.

"Maybe it's because Elle isn't here," you thought silently, turning back to your computer.

After leaving your office, Spencer quickly texted Elle to update her that you were no longer seeing Felix, contrary to their assumption. Elle replied enthusiastically with two thumbs up, urging him to ask you out soon or she would take the opportunity herself.

—

Throughout the week, with Penelope, Elle, and Derek away, the dynamic at the BAU shifted noticeably. Spencer seemed to step out of his usual reserved demeanor, engaging more frequently, particularly with you. His attempts at conversation often appeared to teeter on the edge of something beyond mere professional interest, though it was so subtle that it often flew under your radar.

Tuesday morning, Spencer leaned against the counter, watching you struggle with the temperamental coffee machine that had decided today was the day to revolt. "You know, statistically, manual coffee presses have a lower failure rate compared to electric ones," he commented, a slight quirk to his lips.

You glanced at him, chuckling lightly, "Is that so? Maybe I should switch, then."

"Yeah, and they make better coffee. Maybe I could show you how to use one sometime?" His tone was casual, but there was a tentative note to it, almost hopeful.

As the coffee machine finally sputtered to life, producing a somewhat decent cup of coffee, Spencer’s offer lingered in the air, subtly altering the atmosphere between you. His suggestion about the manual coffee press had been light, almost playful, but it carried an undercurrent of personal interest that left you unexpectedly flustered. Despite this, you masked your reaction with a casual nod, trying to maintain an even keel.

"Sure, I could always use better coffee," you responded, your voice steady despite the slight quickening of your heartbeat. You focused on fixing your coffee, adding just the right amount of cream and sugar, using the mundane task as a moment to collect your thoughts.

Spencer watched you for a moment, perhaps sensing the shift in your demeanor but respecting the boundary you subtly enforced with your nonchalant reply. His smile was gentle, not pushing further, as he too turned his attention back to preparing his own drink.

Wednesday at lunch you sat in the break room flipping through case files, Spencer slid into the seat across from you with his own lunch—a homemade sandwich seemingly crafted with meticulous care. "I read somewhere that sharing meals can enhance group bonding and individual rapport," he began, looking directly at you with an earnest expression.

You looked up, smiling at the factoid, you loved hearing Spencer talk. He was always so endearing. "That sounds about right. Food does bring people together."

"Maybe we could test that theory. There's a new Thai place nearby that’s supposed to be great," he suggested, his voice smooth but slightly hurried.

"That would be an interesting experiment," you agreed, your thoughts inadvertently glossing over Spencer's subtle personal invitation. Instead, your mind wandered to the social dynamics of the team, or perhaps more pointedly, the possibility of Spencer going out with Elle without having to extend a direct invitation—an idea that stoked a twinge of jealousy, burning in your stomach like an ugly green monster.

Spencer nodded, his expression shifting subtly as he detected the undercurrent of your thoughts, interpreting them as disinterest in a personal outing. He tried to mask any hint of disappointment, maintaining his typical composed demeanor. Internally, however, he wrestled with the sting of what felt like another missed connection, another attempt at reaching out quietly rebuffed.

"It would be a great way to explore some new flavors... maybe just the two of us first, to see if it’s worth recommending to the team?" His tone was measured, carefully modulating between casual and sincere, revealing his hope that this might pave the way to a more personal connection between the two of you.

Despite his clear wording, your mind twisted his intentions, clouded by the assumption that his ultimate aim was to impress Elle upon her return. This idea gnawed at you, the thought of being potentially used as a stepping stone in Spencer’s strategy to engage Elle more personally. It tainted the sincerity you might have otherwise perceived in his proposal.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good plan," you responded, trying to mask your feelings with a nod and a polite smile. "Testing it out sounds sensible... then we can tell Elle and the rest if it's good." Your voice carried a hint of forced cheerfulness as you inadvertently redirected the focus back to Elle, reinforcing your misinterpretation of Spencer's motives.

Spencer noticed the subtle shift in your tone, the slight stiffness in your smile. He paused, a flicker of confusion crossing his features as he tried to gauge whether his message had been misunderstood. "Yes, of course," he agreed, his voice faltering slightly as he picked up on your emphasis on Elle. Disappointment edged into his heart, sensing a barrier he hadn't anticipated—one that perhaps wasn't his to cross just yet.

He nodded slowly, offering a gentle smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll send you the details later then," Spencer added, stepping back to give you space, his mind busy piecing together where the conversation had veered off track.

Thursday while you were digging through old case files in the archives, Spencer wandered in, ostensibly looking for a book. He lingered by your side, helping to shift the heavy tomes. "You know, there's this book on cognitive science I think you'd really like. It talks about pattern recognition and emotional intelligence in ways I think you'd find fascinating," he offered, his fingers brushing against yours as he handed you a different file.

"Sounds intriguing," you responded, your attention still partially on the file in your hands. The hint of a smile played at the corners of your mouth, touched by the realization that Spencer was not only paying attention to your interests but was actively thinking about ways to engage with you on a more personal level.

"I could lend it to you. We could discuss it over coffee?" Spencer's suggestion came with a hopeful undertone, as gentle and tentative as the expression in his eyes.

Your reaction, however, was immediate and unexpected—a sudden choke on your spit as his words caught you off guard. A brief fit of coughing ensued, and Spencer's concern was quick to surface. He reached out instinctively, placing a comforting hand on your back with a gentle touch. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with worry.

The unexpected contact made you jolt, a reflexive response to the sudden intimacy of his touch. Realizing your reaction, Spencer quickly withdrew his hand, a flash of disappointment crossing his features as he stepped back, giving you space.

"Yeah, I'm fine, sorry," you managed to laugh it off, though your cheeks burned with embarrassment. You tried to smooth over the moment, still recovering from the unexpected cough and the even more unexpected contact.

Spencer's response was gentle, a soft nod accompanying his words. "It's okay, I'll, uh, see you upstairs," he said, stepping back with a hesitant smile. His decision to not press the coffee invitation further reflected his respect for your comfort, but inwardly, he felt he might have missed his opportunity for the day.

As he turned to leave, the brief contact and your embarrassed reaction replayed in his mind, leaving him wondering about the right approach to take next time. His intentions had been straightforward, but the execution hadn't gone as smoothly as he hoped. The way your eyes had widened, the laughter that followed the cough—it all suggested a mix of emotions that he couldn't quite decipher.

Watching him walk away, you felt a pang of regret. His retreat made you realize that your reaction might have been misinterpreted as discomfort, rather than the surprise and nervous excitement you actually felt. The idea of discussing a book over coffee with Spencer genuinely appealed to you, and you wished you could convey that without the awkwardness of the moment overshadowing it.

Gathering your thoughts, you considered reaching out to him later to clarify your interest, maybe even suggest a specific day for that coffee. The day hadn't gone as either of you planned, but it wasn't over yet, and perhaps there was still a chance to turn it around.

Friday afternoon as you both waited for the elevator, Spencer tried again, this time a bit more directly. "Did you know that the probability of meeting someone compatible is surprisingly high within work environments?"

You raised an eyebrow, trying to steady the rapid thumping of your heart. "Really now? I guess we’re in the right place, then."

"Yes, exactly," Spencer agreed, a bit more eagerly than you expected. "It’s like... finding the right piece in a puzzle."

"Like solving a case?" you asked, your voice shrinking with uncertainty, afraid that, once again, he had someone else in mind—someone who fit into his world effortlessly, maybe a profiler like Elle.

"Yeah," he smiled warmly, his eyes soft as they focused on you. "Just like solving a case."

Your heart cracked a little at his words. You interpreted the metaphor differently, convinced he was searching for someone like the other brilliant profilers on the team—someone you believed you could never be. With a forced smile, you said quietly, "Well, looks like you need a profiler-shaped puzzle piece then."

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his face as you stepped into the elevator. He stood there, frozen, not understanding the weight behind your words or why you seemed so distant.

As the elevator doors slid shut, he replayed the conversation in his mind, his heart sinking as he realized something wasn’t connecting. He had been trying to tell you, in his own way, that he was interested in you, that you were the piece he was talking about. But somehow, despite his best efforts, the message kept slipping through your fingers. Why weren’t you getting it? Why did every attempt seem to fall short?

Spencer watched the elevator descend, a sinking feeling settling in his chest. He had been so certain of his feelings for you, and yet, with every attempt, it felt like they drifted further away, lost in the unspoken misunderstandings between you.

—

When the freshly bronzed trio returned from their vacation, Spencer, seemingly on edge, wasted no time in seeking out Elle, his face etched with a mix of hope and frustration.

“So? Did you do it?” Elle asked eagerly as soon as they were within speaking distance, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Did she say yes?”

Spencer’s response was laden with disappointment. “Every time I try to ask her out, she thinks it’s a friendly suggestion, or—or she even mentioned you one time like I was thinking about you!” He ran his hand through his hair in exasperation, clearly puzzled by the recurring miscommunication.

Elle couldn’t help but laugh slightly, though her lips were closed, trying to mask her amusement at the situation. Spencer, on the other hand, whined in annoyance, “What?” He genuinely didn’t understand what he was missing.

With a fond smile, Elle prodded further, “Reid, how did you ask? And what did she say?” Her voice was gentle, coaxing him to unpack the details.

Spencer recapped all the moments from the past week—the coffee machine incident, the lunch invitation, the casual chat in the archives, and the awkward elevator conversation. Each retelling showcased his subtle, cerebral approach to what he thought were clear invitations.

“Oh, boy genius,” Elle said teasingly once he finished, her tone light but her words cutting to the heart of the issue. “I think I see the problem here.”

“What? What is it?” Spencer asked, desperation and confusion in his voice.

Elle placed her hand on his arm, a gesture meant to be comforting but one that did not escape your notice, intensifying the ache in your heart. “She thinks you’re interested in me!” Elle revealed, her insight sharp.

“Why would she think that?” Spencer asked, his bewilderment evident. The connection between his actions and your perception seemed utterly foreign to him.

Elle’s explanation was straightforward, “Because, Spencer, every time you make an attempt, it’s so subtle and wrapped in layers of intellect that it’s easy for her to miss the romantic intent.”

Her words seemed to pierce through the fog of confusion surrounding Spencer. The realization that his attempts at expressing romantic interest were getting lost in translation—or rather, lost in his own intellectual approach—was a revelation. He nodded slowly, the gears turning as he processed this new insight.

“Plus, if she’s mentioning me and no one else, she must think you’re looking for ways to take me out!” Elle added, emphasizing her point with a light chuckle, though her eyes remained sympathetic to Spencer’s plight.

The weight of Elle’s explanation settled heavily on Spencer. It dawned on him how his interactions, though well-intentioned, might appear to others, especially to you. His style, inherently analytical and often indirect, had inadvertently sent the wrong signals, steering your thoughts towards a narrative where he was interested in Elle rather than clarifying his feelings for you.

This misunderstanding struck a chord within him. Spencer had always prided himself on his communication skills when it came to the nuances of unsubs and case theories. Yet, here he was, stumped by personal emotions and interpersonal communications that veered off course.

“Okay, so... I’ve been too subtle,” Spencer acknowledged, almost to himself as much as to Elle. “And she’s misreading the subtlety as disinterest—or worse, interest directed at someone else.”

Elle nodded, squeezing his arm gently. “Exactly, Spencer. You’re thinking like a profiler trying to decipher hidden meanings, but sometimes, directness is key. Maybe it’s time to just tell her how you feel, plainly and clearly. No puzzles, no hints.”

“But—but what if she’s not interested?” Spencer stammered, the creeping sense of insecurity wrapping around him like a heavy blanket. His confidence from earlier was starting to erode. “I mean, she did turn me down on multiple occasions,” he added, his voice softening with self-doubt.

Elle sent him a playful glare, her expression one of disbelief. “Be serious, Reid,” she said, her tone firm but affectionate. “Everyone here can see that she’s into you. Ask anyone.”

Without giving Spencer a chance to stop her, Elle raised her voice, calling across the room, “Hey, JJ!”

Spencer's eyes widened in panic, his face flushing. “Elle! No!” His voice cracked as he tried to stop her, but it was too late.

JJ approached the two of them, a curious smile on her face as she looked between Spencer and Elle. “What’s up, you guys?” she asked, her easy going demeanor not yet aware of the situation she was about to walk into.

“Do you think Y/N is into anyone? Should we set her up?” Elle asked with a mischievous smirk, clearly enjoying Spencer’s discomfort.

JJ’s reaction was immediate—she burst into laughter, glancing between Elle and the now-mortified Spencer. “Are you kidding?!” she laughed, unable to believe the question was even being asked.

“No! Do you have anyone in mind?” Elle pushed, her smirk widening as she kept the act going.

Spencer looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, his mortification plain as he stood there frozen. His mind raced, desperate to find a way to steer the conversation away from himself. But JJ, still chuckling, fixed her gaze directly on Spencer, her expression turning to amused confusion.

“Spencer? Duh! She’s basically in love with you!” JJ declared, her blunt response leaving no room for misunderstanding.

Spencer blinked in disbelief, his mind stumbling over the directness of JJ's words. "W-What?" he stammered, his heart pounding in his chest.

JJ just shook her head, laughing softly. “Reid, it's so obvious. Trust me, you should ask her out.”

"Right," Spencer exhaled heavily, the weight of his nerves tangible in that single word. His eyes followed JJ as she walked away, her knowing smile and shake of her head a clear sign that she was rooting for him.

Elle, observing the entire interaction, turned back to Spencer with a look of determination. “Do you believe me now? You just need to be blunt,” she said firmly, reinforcing the advice with her unwavering gaze. Her stance was one of staunch support, wanting to push Spencer past his habitual overthinking.

Spencer nodded, feeling a bit more fortified by the support of his colleagues. Elle’s insistence on being blunt was exactly the nudge he needed. It was clear that subtlety had not served him well in this arena, and it was time for a change in strategy.

—

Throughout the week, Spencer made several more attempts to ask you out, each time with a bit more directness than the last, but somehow the message never quite landed. Each time deepening his frustration and your oblivious disappointment.

Spencer joined you at the coffee machine again, a site of many a casual encounter but today, he was armed with determination. "I was thinking," he began, carefully measuring his words, "that maybe you and I could try that new café downtown this Saturday."

You smiled, stirring your coffee absentmindedly, your mind on a deadline you were close to missing. "That sounds like a great break from work. It’ll be good to get the team out and about. Should I send an email to everyone?"

Spencer’s heart sank a little. "Uh, well, I meant more like a... never mind. Yes, let’s get everyone involved," he conceded, hiding his disappointment.

In the midst of discussing a particularly complex case, Spencer tried to weave in a personal invitation as naturally as he could. "And after we wrap this up, maybe you’d like to join me for dinner? I know a place that’s quiet, great for discussing... cases."

You nodded, focused intensely on the case details. "Oh yeah! I already told Pen I’d grab dinner with her after the case, do you want to join us?"

Spencer’s heart sank just a bit as he adjusted his glasses, a gesture that had become a telltale sign of his internal resignation. His intention of a quiet dinner, meant to create a private space for you and him, vanished with your invitation to Penelope. Still, he managed a smile, not wanting his disappointment to show.

“Sure, that sounds great,” Spencer replied, trying to keep his tone light and cheerful. Inside, however, he was strategizing his next move, wondering how he could ever convey his feelings without the constant backdrop of the team.

As the day progressed, his mind kept circling back to the conversation. He appreciated your inclusiveness—always making sure no one felt left out, a trait he admired deeply. Yet, he couldn’t help but wish for a moment where it could just be the two of you, away from the dynamics and distractions of the team.

As you both walked to the parking lot after a long day, Spencer decided to be as clear as he could. "I enjoy spending time with you," he said earnestly. "I was hoping we could maybe go out this weekend, just you and me. What do you think?"

You paused, turning to face him with a puzzled smile, unaware of the mounting frustration behind his calm demeanor. "Sure. What do you want to do? I heard of a nightclub that's supposed to have a disco on Saturdays, we could see if everyone is interested?”

Spencer’s patience, worn thin from repeated attempts, finally faltered. “That doesn’t really sound like my scene,” he replied, a note of desperation creeping into his voice as he motioned between the two of you. “Could we go somewhere more subdued? Just us?”

The simplicity of his request, paired with the intensity of his gesture, made you pause. "You want to hang out? With just me?" you asked, a hint of confusion lacing your words.

“Yes!” Spencer exclaimed, his voice echoing a bit louder than he intended in the quiet space between conversations around you. His hands were in the air, a gesture of his exasperation and earnestness. Realizing how his reaction might have seemed, he quickly lowered his hands and softened his tone. “I mean, yes, I would like to spend time with you. Just us. Maybe somewhere quiet where we can talk. Just... talk.”

Your heart was beating so fast you could barely contain it, “Just the two of us?”

The realization struck you fully now, the words "just the two of us" hanging in the air, tinged with possibility. Spencer nodded, his eyes earnest and hopeful, watching for your reaction.

"Yes, just the two of us," he confirmed, his voice steadier now, filled with a quiet intensity. His gaze never wavered from yours, as if trying to convey all the sincerity he felt directly into your heart.

Your heart raced with the understanding of what he was asking, the implications of this simple request suddenly reshaping the narrative you had constructed in your mind about his feelings. The thought that Spencer, with his brilliant mind and shy demeanor, wanted to spend time alone with you, not for a case discussion or team outing but for something personal, sent a thrill of excitement mixed with nervous anticipation through you.

"Yeah, Spencer," you grinned, your heart still racing but excitement slowly overtaking your nerves. "That sounds nice. Um, I'm free Saturday."

"Saturday works for me," Spencer nodded, his own smile broadening with quiet confidence. "I'll call you?"

You nodded quickly, almost too eagerly, but you didn’t care. "Yeah, mhm, that sounds perfect."

For a moment, you both stood there, a shared anticipation buzzing in the air between you, neither wanting to break the connection just yet. When Spencer finally turned to leave, you found yourself smiling uncontrollably, the prospect of Saturday lingering in your mind, a warmth spreading through you that hadn't been there before.

—

Your excitement about the upcoming date with Spencer bubbled within you, yet you chose to keep it close to your chest. The thrill of it all felt so fragile, like a dream you didn’t want to jinx by sharing too soon with the rest of the team. This cautious optimism marked your days, turning ordinary moments into a series of hopeful glances at the calendar as Saturday approached.

Meanwhile, Spencer found himself seeking counsel from Elle, who was all too eager to lend her expertise, not just on potential date activities but on the more intimate aspects of dating as well, particularly women. Knowing Spencer’s limited experience—his only kiss having been with Lila Archer during a particularly intense case—Elle took it upon herself to offer some advice.

“Okay, Spencer, listen,” Elle began, her tone both serious and sisterly. “If the moment feels right and you think you want to kiss her, make sure you read her signals. It’s all about mutual understanding and respect, right?”

Spencer nodded, absorbing every word. Elle continued, “Make eye contact, see how she responds. If she seems receptive, maybe lean in halfway and let her meet you the rest of the way. It’s a two-way street.”

“Halfway,” Spencer repeated, mentally noting the advice. Elle’s directness and her willingness to discuss these details without any embarrassment provided him with a strange comfort.

“And, Reid, just be yourself. You’re a great guy. Let that show,” Elle added, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

Spencer felt nerves and gratitude at Elle’s advice, it was straightforward and practical, and helped ground him. He trusted her judgment, appreciating her sharing of her personal experience, especially when it came to navigating relationships—something he found infinitely more complex than the most puzzling cases.

—

The phone call on Saturday morning added to the bubbling excitement of the upcoming date. Spencer’s voice was clear and a tad nervous, which you found endearing. He promised a unique experience and asked you not to wear black, a request that piqued your curiosity and set your mind racing with possibilities. What kind of place would require such a specific dress code? The mystery only heightened your anticipation.

You quickly texted him your address, along with a playful note about your curiosity regarding the attire guidelines. Spencer replied with a simple smiley face, keeping the details of the date under wraps, which intrigued you even more.

As you prepared for the evening, you chose an outfit that was comfortable yet charming, avoiding black as instructed. The time leading up to Spencer’s arrival seemed to crawl by, each minute stretching longer than the last. You found yourself glancing at your reflection, adjusting your hair, and double-checking everything, ensuring you were ready when he arrived.

Finally, the sound of a car pulling up snapped you out of your reverie. Glancing out the window, you saw Spencer stepping out of his car, looking around with a nervous excitement that matched your own.

As you stepped outside, your nerves fluttered slightly, but your smile was genuine when you saw Spencer waiting by his car. Waving shyly, you greeted him, "Hi, Spencer."

Spencer looked up, his eyes lighting up as he took in your appearance. "Y/N, you look great," he breathed out, his compliment wrapped in a warm smile that seemed to ease some of the tension between you.

"Thanks, I like your cardigan," you replied, noting the soft, well-worn cardigan he wore that somehow made him look even more approachable and endearing.

His smile widened at the compliment, and he seemed to relax a bit more. "Thanks! It's an old favorite," he admitted, holding the car door open for you.

As you both stepped into the cozy, softly-lit space filled with the gentle sounds of purring and the occasional meow, Spencer immediately began sharing interesting facts about cats. “Did you know that ancient Egyptians considered cats sacred and even had a goddess named Bastet who was depicted as a lioness?” he said, looking into your eyes as you walked past a playful tabby.

Your response was a mix of admiration and amusement. “I didn’t know you were an expert on ancient cultures too,” you teased, feeling comfort and excitement as Spencer chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the opportunity to share his knowledge.

While playing with a particularly friendly cat, Spencer used the opportunity to flirt in his unique way. He gently lifted the cat, holding it out towards you. “It’s interesting how animals can facilitate social interactions, isn’t it? For instance, it's been found that people are more likely to engage in conversations in the presence of animals. They act as social lubricants.”

You laughed, reaching out to pet the cat and feeling a bit flustered by his proximity and the way he looked at you when talking about social dynamics. “Is that your subtle way of telling me you needed a furry wingman for our date?”

Spencer grinned, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Maybe, but it seems to be working, doesn’t it?”

“I don't know, say lubricant again,” you teased. Spencer's grin widened at your playful challenge, and the atmosphere between you sparked with a shared humor that made the moment light and enjoyable.

He leaned in slightly, adopting a mock-serious tone, "Lubricant," he repeated, emphasizing the word, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You laughed even harder, your eyes bright with amusement. "Hearing you say 'lubricant' is so funny!"

Spencer, caught up in your joy, couldn’t help but laugh along. “Why?” he asked, his own grin wide as your laughter proved infectious.

"It’s just... it can be a dirtier word," you giggled, trying to explain through your laughter. "And I can’t imagine our resident genius using the word lubricant!"

Spencer's laughter joined yours, ringing out genuinely as he caught the playful jab. The lightness of the moment brought a relaxed glow to his features. "I assure you, the application of the word was purely scientific," he teased back, still chuckling.

The café around you seemed to buzz with the warmth of your shared amusement, creating an intimate bubble amidst the quiet hum of other patrons and the soft padding of cat paws. "I suppose," Spencer continued, his smile lingering, "I should be more careful with my vocabulary around you. You're giving me a whole new perspective on language."

Your laughter gradually subsided into a series of light chuckles, but your eyes were bright with delight. "I think I like this side of you, Spencer," you said, a playful sincerity in your voice. "It’s nice to see you in a different light, not just as the genius profiler but also someone who can joke around about...lubricants."

Spencer's eyes softened, clearly touched by your words. "I'm glad," he said softly, his voice carrying a note of appreciation. "It’s not often I get to show this side, and I’m happy to share it with you."

As you observed the cats seemingly gravitate towards Spencer, who seemed both amused and delighted by their attention, an idea sparked in your mind. It was the perfect segue into a lighthearted flirtation, mixing your shared love for animals with a touch of mystical charm.

"You know, it’s said that animals, especially cats, have a keen sense of good and bad," you started, watching Spencer's reaction as a particularly fluffy cat chose his lap as its new throne. "They're often drawn to people with good auras. I guess they must sense something pretty great about you."

Spencer looked up, his expression a mix of surprise and pleasure at your comment. He laughed softly, a sound that warmed you to the core. "Is that so? Well, I must be on the right track then. Maybe they sense my excellent choice in company for this evening," he replied smoothly, his gaze locking with yours in a moment charged with a gentle intensity as a cat nuzzled its way into your lap as well.

Your heart fluttered slightly at his words, and you smiled, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. "Oh, so we’re using cat behavior to gauge our decisions now?" you teased back, leaning in a little closer. "In that case, I think they’re on to something because I’m feeling pretty good about my choice too."

Spencer’s smile widened, and he reached over to gently nudge a playful kitten back onto the table, his actions thoughtful and tender. "I'll take that as a high compliment, coming from someone who clearly knows her way around cats and their mysterious ways," he said, his voice soft but filled with an underlying warmth that suggested he was as affected by the exchange as you were.

As the evening wound down, and the café began to prepare for closing, Spencer drove you home. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and you found yourself sharing little anecdotes from your childhood, while Spencer listened intently, always eager to learn more about you.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of your home. The end of the evening had come too quickly, a sentiment you both silently acknowledged as you lingered at the doorstep, not quite ready to say goodbye.

"Y/N...I had a really nice time today," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that seemed to wrap the evening in a perfect close.

"Me too, Spencer, thank you for asking me. I was kind of shocked," you admitted, your words sincere and open. The evening had unfolded beautifully, but part of you had still been wrestling with the disbelief that it was all really happening.

"Really? Why?" Spencer's curiosity was piqued, his gaze intent on you, wanting to understand more.

You smiled shyly, a nervous habit kicking in as you rubbed behind your ear. "I just... liked you for so long, I never thought you were interested in me too," you confessed, the words tumbling out more easily than you'd expected. The truth had been a quiet companion for so long, and saying it aloud to Spencer felt both freeing and terrifying.

Spencer's expression softened even further, a gentle understanding coloring his features. "Y/N, I’ve been trying to ask you out for two weeks," he confessed. His chuckle was light, trying to ease the tension.

Spencer's revelation brought a mix of relief and amusement. "Really? I had no idea you were trying," you replied, a smile breaking across your face, reflecting both the surprise and joy of the moment.

He nodded, a bit of sheepishness showing through his usual composed demeanor. "Yes, it turns out I'm not as skilled in expressing personal interest as I am with criminal profiles," he admitted, his light laughter mingling with yours.

The air between you felt lighter, a shared understanding dawning that, despite the initial miscommunications, there was a genuine and mutual interest. "Well, I'm glad you kept trying," you said, your tone sincere. "And I'm sorry I didn't pick up on it sooner. I guess I was just scared to get my hopes up."

Spencer reached across the small space between you, his hand hesitating just a moment before gently taking yours. "No more missed signals, okay? Let's promise to be more straightforward with each other," he suggested, his gaze steady and reassuring.

You nodded, squeezing his hand in agreement, feeling a warmth spread through you at the contact. "It's a deal," you responded, your heart feeling both settled and exhilarated by the new promise laid between you.

“So... in honor of being straightforward…” Spencer began, his voice soft but steady, a shy smile playing on his lips. He stepped closer to you, his eyes searching yours, a quiet vulnerability in his gaze. Gently, he took both of your hands in his, his touch warm and reassuring. “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart raced, the moment feeling both tender and surreal. The way he held your hands, the genuine care in his voice—it was everything you'd hoped for, wrapped in Spencer’s uniquely thoughtful way. You felt yourself nod before you even spoke, your breath catching slightly. “Yes,” you whispered, smiling softly, your eyes never leaving his.

Spencer’s smile deepened with relief and excitement. Slowly, he leaned in, his movements deliberate and gentle, giving you every moment to close the gap as well. When your lips finally met, it was soft, sweet, and full of the promise that had been building between you for so long. The world seemed to pause, leaving just the two of you in that quiet, intimate moment, finally aligned in your shared feelings.

When you pulled back, there was a brief silence before you both laughed lightly, the tension melting away completely. "That was… nice," Spencer said, his voice low, his smile radiating warmth.

"Yeah, it really was," you agreed, still feeling the butterflies in your chest as you held onto his hands just a little tighter.

“Oh, and for the record,” Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he took in your reaction, “I don’t like Elle—romantically, of course. She’s my best friend.”

Your face flushed with sudden embarrassment, realizing he'd caught on to your earlier assumptions. “Oh, I—well, uh...” you stammered, struggling to find the right words.

Spencer's smile remained soft and reassuring. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he said warmly, squeezing your hands gently. “Elle is super gay, not sure how you missed that, and... I really like you.”

His words, so genuine and direct, melted away the last bit of tension you’d been holding onto. You laughed lightly, the awkwardness dissolving into relief. “Well, that’s good to know,” you said with a grin, finally allowing yourself to fully relax into the moment.

Spencer's grin mirrored yours as he added, “I just wanted to clear that up. No more misunderstandings.” His gaze softened as he looked at you, the weight of unspoken feelings now out in the open.

“No more misunderstandings,” you agreed, feeling the warmth of his words and the certainty that everything between you was finally where it should be.

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

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comatosebunny09 · 3 months ago

Text

misunderstanding | sylus

summary: it was all because the shopkeep got a little handsy. a little too comfortable, purring his name like that. he shrugged her off; did you not see that part? genre(s): romance, angst warning(s): alcohol, drunk reader, self-esteem issues, insecurities, language, short and sweet notes: inspired by that one scene from fifty shades of grey.

Imagine calling Sylus while you’re drunk off your ass.

When you’ve thrown back one too many long islands, and while your friends are all inside, shacked up with their significant others and happy. You toddle outside for some fresh air and a break from your own head.

His voice breaks through the static, all heavy with sleep. But he answers so quickly because you’ve been giving him the cold shoulder. Been brief with your texts, ignoring his phone calls, and going out of your way to avoid running into him. He’s given you your space—minus Mephisto perched outside your window each night, watching you like a hawk.

“Hello?” Sylus husks, bed sheets rustling in the background as he maneuvers himself to sit up.

Somewhere far off, you feel bad for waking him. He already sleeps like shit. But you have liquid encouragement on your side, so you shove that guilt down, down, down in favor of poking the proverbial bear.

Your words are all blurred together, and you can barely keep your eyes open as you prop yourself up on a safety bollard, holding your phone to your ear with two hands.

“Why don’t you like me?”

“I—What?”

You swallow thick. Feel the world swirling and your body teetering, but you press on.

“Why don’t you like me, Sylus? Am I not your type? Is it ‘cause I’m not rich? Not skinny?”

He laughs, all incredulous on the other end. You imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose in the stillness of his bedroom, disbelieving of the shit spilling from your mouth. And so early in the evening, too.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Me. I mean, am I annoying? I kinda am. I talk a lot. But that lady—the one from before. That shopkeeper chick. She was really hot. Like, supermodel hot.”

Your name comes out in an exasperated sigh. “That’s what this is about?”

You confirmed his suspicions. Why you’ve been playing keep-away. Ever since you accompanied him a few weeks back to gather some intel from a verified source, you’ve been acting distant. All because the shopkeep got a little handsy. A little too comfortable, purring his name like that. He shrugged her off. Wordlessly put her in her place. Did you not see that part?

Sylus doesn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

“No, no, wait. Lemme finish. She seemed more your type. Like the kinda chick you’d be into, ya know? You two’d be like Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”

He groans, and this time, you picture him hanging his head low. His long fingers splayed over his face in exhaustion.

“Where are you? Have you been drinking?”

“Mind your business,” you say around a hiccup.

And you’re catching yourself on the bollard, giggling stupidly at how pathetic you must look. Trying to catch your footing like a baby fawn.

“Only had one or two. Maybe three or six. I’m a big girl. A big, un-pretty girl, according to Mr. Sylus.”

A car honks in the distance. You barely stir from it, eyes shuttering as your head falls onto your arm roosted on the bollard.

“Where are you?” Sylus prods again.

There’s a little more urgency this time. A little more concern lurking beneath the tenor of his voice, and the sleep’s almost completely vanished from it.

“Out.”

You burn hot. Sway as the alcohol thickens in your veins. Something of a smile twitches your lips. For a second, you’re convinced he actually gives a shit about you.

“Sweetie, please. I don’t have the patience to entertain your mind games today. And stop putting words into my mouth. Not once have I ever referred to you as ‘un-pretty.’”

You snort. Stumble away from the bollard to lean against a brick wall. It’s cold and raw against your bare back. The world’s a pretty bokeh of light around. Maybe you did have a little too much to drink.

His voice drops an octave. Skates between sincerity and something dulcet; doting.

“You’re anything but. You’re gorgeous. Breathtaking. Incredibly resourceful and infuriatingly kind. You’re tough. And you don’t talk too much. In fact, I wish you would spend more time talking about yourself.”

Your lips crook with a smile. Your eyes begin to water. Your cheeks are warmer now, and you’re not sure if it’s from the alcohol or the words spuming so effortlessly from the other end of your phone.

You hear fabric rustling. Hear his mattress creaking and things being jostled about in the background. Drawers. Clothes. Shoes clicking against marbled tiles.

“Tell me where you are,” he asserts. “I’m coming to get you.”

“No, no, no!”

You wave your hand dismissively like he can see. You feel bad enough having dragged him down with you. Having dredged up your insecurities and projected them onto him like that. No reason to make him leave the sanctity of his bed to entertain your foolishness.

“It’s cool, Syl. I’ll catch a cab.”

“I’m not asking,” he clips in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

You swallow, suddenly feeling cold sobriety creep in. Metal jangles through the static. Keys. Car keys. A door shuts, followed by an engine stuttering and drawing a breath in. He taps a few buttons on his console. Releases a sigh.

“I’m on my way. Stay where you are. Don’t go running off with any strangers, alright, sweetheart?”

Something warm spills into your tummy. You slide down the wall onto your ass, holding your head in your hands with your phone propped to your ear using your shoulder.

“Sylus, really. You don’t have to do that. I’ll be good—”

“I want to,” he insists. Already peeling out of his driveway and zooming through the streets of the N109 Zone. “Stay on the line. Don’t hang up. I’ll be there soon. Promise.”

You sigh at your own stupidity. At your own pitifulness. Making him come play knight in shining armor like that. All because you couldn’t hold your liquor. Your tongue. Though, you can’t stifle the tiny ping of hope resounding in your head.

“Okay. I’ll wait. But can we get ice cream when you get here?”

He chuckles, the sound of it brassy yet comforting through the drunken slurry of your brain.

“Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”

masterlist

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus romance #sylus drabble #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #sylus qin #sylus fic #love and deepspace fic #lnds x you #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #sylus fluff #sylus imagine #l&ds imagine

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its-avalon-08 · 3 months ago

Text

kiss and tell (cs55)

(in honor of our fav smooth operator's birthday!!)

✦ pairing - carlos sainz x female!reader

✦ genre - friends with benefits, jealousy, comfort

It all started in Singapore. The city was electric that night, the lights from the Marina Bay Street Circuit casting a mesmerizing glow over the entire island. The race had been grueling, one of the most challenging of the season, but Carlos Sainz had come out on top, crossing the finish line first and claiming victory. The celebration that followed was nothing short of euphoric.

The entire paddock was buzzing with excitement as the night unfolded, but amidst all the chaos, Carlos only had eyes for one person—Y/N. She had been a part of the McLaren team for a while now, working closely with the drivers and crew, and over time, a comfortable camaraderie had developed between her and Carlos. There was always something more beneath the surface, though, an undercurrent of tension that neither of them dared to acknowledge.

But tonight, things felt different. The champagne was flowing, the atmosphere was light, and the barriers they usually kept firmly in place were starting to crumble.

Later that night, after the podium celebrations, the party had spilled over into one of the swanky hotels overlooking the Marina Bay. The drivers were mingling, the music was loud, and the drinks were even stronger. Y/N found herself at the bar, nursing a cocktail when Carlos approached, still riding the high of his win.

“Not gonna lie,” Carlos said, leaning against the bar with that trademark smirk of his, “seeing you out there cheering for me was the best part of the race.”

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes playfully. “Oh, sure, it wasn’t the adrenaline rush of winning or the thrill of outmaneuvering the other drivers? Just me?”

“Absolutely just you,” Carlos teased, his voice dropping to a low, flirtatious tone. “You looked good today, Y/N. Real good.”

She raised an eyebrow, feeling the familiar warmth that always crept up when Carlos started flirting. “Careful, Sainz, someone might think you’re trying to get me into trouble.”

Carlos chuckled, taking a sip of his drink as he studied her. “Trouble? Who, me? I’m as innocent as they come.”

“Right,” Y/N replied with a grin. “Innocent like you didn’t just race at breakneck speeds through the streets of Singapore.”

“Innocent until proven guilty,” Carlos shot back, his eyes locking onto hers, the playful banter doing little to hide the tension building between them.

They spent the next hour trading flirty remarks, each one drawing them closer until the space between them was almost nonexistent. The noise of the party faded into the background, leaving just the two of them standing at the bar, caught up in a moment that felt like it had been building for months.

Finally, Carlos leaned in, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “You know, I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you for cheering me on today.”

Y/N tilted her head, her heart racing at his proximity. “Oh? And how do you plan on doing that?”

Carlos’s lips curled into a slow, seductive smile. “I have a few ideas. But I think we’d need a little more privacy.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she met his gaze, the unspoken invitation hanging between them. She knew what he was suggesting, and she also knew she wanted it just as much. They had danced around this for too long—why not see where it led?

Without breaking eye contact, she downed the rest of her drink and set the glass on the bar. “Lead the way, Sainz.”

Carlos didn’t need any more encouragement. He took her hand, the heat of his touch sending a shiver down her spine, and led her through the crowd, away from the noise and the people. The tension was palpable, an electric current running between them as they made their way to the elevators.

When the doors slid shut, sealing them inside, the air became even thicker with anticipation. Carlos leaned against the wall, his eyes dark with desire as he looked at her. “You sure about this?” he asked, his voice rougher than usual.

Y/N stepped closer, the proximity making her pulse race. “I think we’ve both wanted this for a while, don’t you?”

Carlos nodded, his hand brushing against her arm, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. “Yeah, I have. But let’s keep it simple, okay? No strings, just…us, enjoying the moment.”

She hesitated for a split second, knowing that agreeing to this meant putting aside any hope for something more. But tonight, with Carlos looking at her like that, she was willing to take the risk. “No strings,” she agreed softly.

The elevator dinged as it reached their floor, and Carlos wasted no time in pulling her out, his hand gripping hers tightly as they walked down the hallway to his room. The tension was almost unbearable by the time they reached the door. Carlos fumbled with the keycard, his usual steady hands slightly shaky with anticipation.

Once they were inside, the door barely clicked shut before Carlos had her pressed against it, his lips crashing onto hers with a hunger that left her breathless. The kiss was everything she had imagined—hot, desperate, and filled with months of pent-up tension.

Carlos’s hands roamed her body, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. Y/N responded in kind, her fingers tangling in his hair as she kissed him back with equal fervor. The world outside disappeared, leaving only the two of them in a whirlwind of passion.

When they finally broke apart, gasping for breath, Carlos rested his forehead against hers, his voice rough with desire. “God, Y/N…this is exactly what I needed tonight.”

Y/N smiled, her lips brushing against his as she whispered, “I’m not going anywhere, Sainz.”

That night was the beginning of everything—and nothing. They had agreed it would be no strings attached, just something casual between two people who enjoyed each other’s company. But as the weeks went on, and the nights like this one became more frequent, it was clear that the feelings they had been trying to keep at bay were only growing stronger.

But Carlos was determined to keep things light, not wanting to ruin what they had with complications. He told himself over and over that this was enough, that he didn’t need more. But damn, he thought as he watched Y/N fall asleep beside him, her face peaceful and content, I’m in trouble. Because I think I’m falling for her.

And that was the one thing he was truly afraid of.

time skip

The days leading up to that night had been a rollercoaster of emotions for Y/N. Carlos had a habit of making offhand comments about relationships that cut deeper than she’d ever admit. They were subtle, sometimes even playful, but each one was like a small dagger to her heart.

It was just a few days ago when they were sitting in the McLaren hospitality area, surrounded by the usual crowd of drivers and team members. Daniel Ricciardo had been teasing Carlos about settling down, something about how the Spanish driver was getting too old to be a bachelor forever.

"So, Carlos," Daniel started, a mischievous grin on his face, "when are you going to finally settle down and stop breaking hearts left and right?"

Carlos chuckled, leaning back in his chair with an easy smile. "Settle down? Nah, mate, I’m not ready for all that. Relationships are too complicated. I’m enjoying life as it is."

Y/N, who was sitting across from him, felt her heart drop at his words. She masked it with a forced smile, pretending to focus on her coffee. Of course he isn’t ready, she thought, Why would he be? But underneath the casual demeanor, it hurt more than she could admit.

Carlos glanced at her, his smile faltering slightly when he noticed the way her eyes had dimmed. Fuck , Carlos, he thought to himself. Why do you keep saying this stuff? He hated seeing that look on her face, the one she tried so hard to hide.

But then, he did what he always did. He pushed those thoughts away, shoving his feelings deep down where they couldn’t betray him. It’s better this way. She deserves someone who can give her everything, not someone who’s constantly on the move, constantly putting himself first.

Yet, when he was alone, away from the noise of the paddock and the constant demands of racing, his thoughts always circled back to her. He would picture her smile, the way she laughed at his jokes, the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about something she was passionate about. It made his chest ache in a way that was both painful and comforting. God, I love her. I’m so damn scared of how much I love her.

It wasn’t just the teasing from the other drivers, either. There were moments in between—when they were alone, when the world was quiet, and it was just the two of them. Like the time when they were sitting in the team garage late one night after everyone else had left. She was leaning against him, her head resting on his shoulder, and the silence between them was warm, comfortable.

Y/N had looked up at him then, her voice soft and filled with an emotion that made his heart race. "Do you ever think about the future, Carlos? About…what you want?"

He had stiffened slightly, the question pulling him out of the comfort of the moment. He knew what she was really asking, and it terrified him.

Carlos hesitated before responding, forcing a lightness into his voice that he didn’t feel. "I don’t think too far ahead. I’m just taking things as they come, you know? No need to complicate things."

He felt her deflate beside him, her silence saying more than words ever could. It was in moments like these that Carlos hated himself the most. Why can’t I just tell her? he thought, his mind screaming at him to say something, anything, to ease the hurt he knew he was causing. But instead, he just sat there, pretending everything was fine. She deserves better. I can’t give her what she needs. It’s safer this way.

But it wasn’t safer. Not for him, not for her. Every time he said something like that, he felt the distance between them grow a little wider, the connection that had always been so natural starting to strain under the weight of unspoken words and buried feelings.

They were friends with benefits, nothing more. At least, that's what they told themselves. Y/N knew she was in too deep; her feelings for Carlos ran far deeper than casual. But every time she tried to bring it up, Carlos would brush her off with a charming smile and a playful comment about how he wasn't ready for anything serious.

As the night progressed, someone suggested a game of spin the bottle. The group erupted in cheers and groans, the perfect mix of nerves and excitement. The bottle spun, pointing first to Y/N who blushed, much to everyone's amusement.

Then it was Y/N's turn. The bottle spun, clinking against the floor as it finally slowed down, the neck pointing directly at Lando. The room erupted in playful cheers and wolf whistles, while Carlos froze, his smile faltering just for a second.

Y/N glanced at Carlos, her heart skipping a beat, but he had already turned his attention away, a coldness settling into his features. She could see his jaw clenching, the muscle ticking angrily, but he said nothing.

Lando leaned in with his usual cheeky grin. "Guess it's us then," he said, his tone light and playful, trying to make the situation as un-awkward as possible.

Y/N nodded, her heart pounding, but not for the reason everyone thought. As Lando's lips met hers, what was supposed to be a simple, friendly kiss quickly shifted. Lando, sensing the tension in the room, deepened the kiss, his hand slipping to the back of Y/N's neck, pulling her closer.

The room fell silent, the air thick with a sudden intensity. Lando's kiss was anything but innocent—it was slow, deliberate, and filled with a surprising passion. Y/N's hands instinctively moved to his chest, gripping his shirt as she found herself kissing him back with equal fervor. She could feel Lando's heartbeat beneath her fingertips, the heat of his body against hers.

(a little carlos pov)

As Lando leaned in for the kiss, Carlos’s internal monologue went into overdrive. Don’t do it, don’t kiss her like that, don’t touch her like that. She’s mine, for fucks sake! Why can’t you see that?

He watched as Y/N responded to Lando’s kiss, her hands on Lando’s chest, their bodies too close for his liking. That should be me. I should be the one holding her like that, kissing her like that. But I’m the one who keeps pushing her away. This is my fault. I’m going to lose her, and it’s my own fucking fault.

The kiss went on longer than it should have, and with each passing second, Carlos felt his control slipping. His heart pounded in his chest, anger and jealousy swirling together until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. I love you, Y/N. I love you so much it’s tearing me apart. But I’m too scared to say it, and now I’m losing you.

(out of carlos pov)

Carlos watched, every muscle in his body tensing, his breath catching in his throat. He tried to look away, but he couldn't. The kiss was more than just a game now—it was a reminder of everything he was too afraid to claim.

When Y/N finally pulled away, her cheeks were flushed, her breath unsteady. Lando kept his hand on the back of her neck for a moment longer, his thumb brushing against her skin as he gave her a small, knowing smile. "Well, that was something," he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine, but it wasn’t from Lando's touch. It was from the cold, icy glare she felt burning into her from across the room. She turned to Carlos, who was no longer just silent—he was seething. His eyes were dark, filled with a mix of anger and something else, something deeper.

Carlos pushed his chair back abruptly, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. The room fell silent, all eyes on him. He stood up, his expression cold and unreadable. "I'm going outside for some air," he muttered, storming out without another word.

Y/N felt a knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach. She excused herself from the group, ignoring the curious glances, and followed Carlos outside. The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the warmth inside. Carlos was leaning against the side of the motorhome, his back to her, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Carlos," she called softly, but he didn’t turn around.

She moved closer, reaching out to touch his arm. "What's going on?"

Carlos finally turned to face her, his eyes blazing with an intensity that took her breath away. "What the fuck was that?" he demanded, his voice low but filled with anger.

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the sudden outburst. "It was just a game, Carlos. It didn’t mean anything."

"Didn’t mean anything?" He repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Sure didn’t look that way."

"What are you talking about?" Y/N asked, her voice rising in frustration. "You’re the one who said you weren’t ready for anything serious. You’re the one who keeps pushing me away!"

Carlos ran a hand through his hair, his expression torn between anger and something else—something deeper. "You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t hate myself for that?"

Y/N stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. "Then why, Carlos? Why do you keep doing this?"

"Because I’m scared!" Carlos exploded, the words ripping from him like a confession. "I’m scared of how much I care about you, how much I need you. I’m scared of what happens if I let myself love you and it all goes wrong!"

Y/N's breath caught in her throat. She had waited so long to hear those words, but now that she had, they were wrapped in so much pain and fear.

"I’m already in love with you, Carlos," she said softly, her voice trembling. "And it’s killing me that you don’t trust me enough to let me in."

Carlos closed his eyes, his face contorted in anguish. "I don’t want to lose you, Y/N."

"Then don’t," she whispered, stepping closer until they were inches apart. "Don’t push me away anymore. Let me love you, Carlos. You don’t have to be scared."

For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at her as if trying to decide whether to take the leap. Then, with a shaky breath, he reached out, pulling her into his arms. His lips found hers in a kiss that was anything but friendly—passionate, desperate, and filled with all the emotions he had kept bottled up for so long.

When they finally broke apart, Carlos rested his forehead against hers, his voice barely a whisper. "I love you, Y/N. I’m just…scared of how much."

She smiled through her tears, cupping his face in her hands. "Then be scared. But be with me. We’ll figure it out together."

Carlos nodded, his heart finally beginning to thaw. "Together," he repeated, sealing the promise with another kiss.

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bunnyrafe · 3 months ago

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𓊆ྀིRULES OF ENGAGEMENT𓊇ྀི — rafe & reader make their official debut at midsummers, but things can never seem to go to plan.

♥︎ 𝓃otes: so excited to share this one with everyone— i adore playing around with AUs and dynamics. enjoy xoxo

content / warnings -> 18+, MDNI. 900. arranged marriage AU. f!reader, kook!reader, mean!rafe, drinking, violence.

from your understanding, it was more or less ward's last wish. it was something him and rafe had privately discussed with your parents while you were somewhere twiddling your thumbs, you suppose. you were to marry into the cameron family and there was very little you could do about it— even after ward's passing.

it’s the way things go. it’s what the island needs.

your mother and father were more than happy to send you off to tannyhill, helping you pack up your childhood bedroom into designer duffle bags. from your stuffed animals and comfort items, to your prettiest sundresses and most expensive heels.

that night while you unpacked everything you were inconsolable. shivering in your new room that seemed uncomfortably vacant despite the vintage furniture and floral wallpaper. you could feel rafe’s gaze on your back. it burned right through your blouse— it made your frame tremble and shake more than your sobs ever could, all while he silently stood in the doorway like a sociopath.

“things aren’t so bad here, y’know?” rafe almost sounded like he was lamenting— like he was trying to convince himself more so than you.. but his next words were like a dagger to your chest, “i can guarantee i’ll treat you better than your parents did— they couldn’t wait to get rid of you.”

he was gone before you could say anything in return. although it would have been tearful nonsense.

for the first time since you entered the house, you felt like you could breathe due to his sudden absence.

midsummers— you almost wonder if this was all coordinated. it can’t be a coincidence that your first sighting as an “engaged couple” is at midsummers. yet you try not to dwell on it, because it’s too late now anyway as rafe helps you out of his truck.

you land on your heeled feet with a squeak, quickly fixing the skirt of your dress while he scoffs at you, “could you have worn a shorter fuckin’ dress?”

“fuck off.”

you bite back with zero hesitation, snatching your hand away from his own and grabbing your clutch out of the passenger seat where you left it. you stomp away with a clicking sound every time your feet fall on the pavement, and rafe can’t help but grin before he slams the truck door shut and follows behind you.

it takes you all of two minutes to find a glass of champagne and your friends. you ignore rafe's fond gaze on you from the bar, assuming it's nothing but an act for all of the other kooks around the two of you to fall for and fawn over. you're trying to have a good night— you haven't had that luxury in months.

rafe is content at the bar. until he feels an unwanted presence. some guy he vaguely remembers from the private school you all went to. he has the nerve to eye rafe up and down, leaning over the bar right next to him and slurring on his words—

“you got a good one— huh, cameron?” rafe watches this bastard’s gaze travel to you. you, who’s giggling with your group of girls and lighting up the whole room… but you're still causing trouble in that dress— “hate to say it, but i can’t believe i didn’t get a chance with her before you got to her. bet she's real sweet... right?”

rafe cocks his head to the side, breathing in deeply before he brings his scotch glass to his lips, shooting the rest of his whiskey in a single second before he slams the crystal down on the wooden bartop. in an instant, he has this guy’s collar balled up in his fists. nearly choking him with the stiff cotton making up his dress shirt with not an ounce of remorse as he threatens him, meaning it with every fiber of his being— “y’ever even think about her again i’ll knock your fuckin’ teeth out— you hear me?”

when rafe lets go, he falls backwards.

a strong hand wraps around your bare arm, yanking you in whichever direction it wants you to go in while your eyebrows furrow and your face scrunches up.

rafe's voice meets your ears— "we gotta go."

at that your eyes meet his own. his irises are dark and his pupils are blown out with what you can only imagine is anger. his grip on your arm doesn't relent for a single second. especially now that he's dragging you out of the country club so fast that you're tripping over your feet. you feel dizzy with confusion, and the alcohol in your system only exacerbates the issue.

you throw your head over your shoulder, watching the fairy lights twinkle around the patio while both you and rafe get farther and farther away from them, "i haven't even talked to my parents yet..."

rafe only shoves you towards the car.

"why do you have to ruin everything?" you whisper as the waterworks start, just as rafe expected.

he grumbles in return, "shut the fuck up and get in the truck already."

the ride “home” is quiet. aside from your sniffles and tipsy babbles about how you want to go back. rafe grips the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles ache due to the tension, jaw locked even though there’s so much he would die to say to you.

if only you knew that he would kill for you.

#⌨️ bunny writes #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe cameron angst #rafe angst #obx x reader #obx x you #outer banks x reader #outer banks x you #obx angst #outer banks angst #arranged marriage au #old money!reader

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vivwritesfics · 10 months ago

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Hooked On A Feeling

Chapter Nine - Flying

Daniel is a Formula One driver, but, more importantly, he was a single dad to a wonderful little girl. He wants her to be a normal little girl, to have a normal social life, so he sends her to daycare. That was where she met Milo, her future best friend.

Milo's mother was incredibly stressed. She worked so hard to provide a good life for her son. But then he makes a new friend, a friend who has a hot dad (ofc they fall in love)

1.3K

Single Dad!Daniel x Single Mum!Reader

Series Masterlist

Y/N and Milo arrived at Daniel's house in the early hours of the morning. She had a small suitcase, lightly packed with her clothes, and an even smaller one for Milo.

Milo wore the AlphaTauri hat as they waited outside of the house. He was jumping on the spot, one hand held in his mothers and the other holding his small suitcase. "Momma, I can't wait!" He cheered and Y/N squeezed his hands.

It was a hard decision. Y/N hadn't agreed to this while completely sober. But Y/N spoke to her boss about taking a few vacation days and left everything for Daniel to organise (per his request).

It was the Miami Grand Prix. Daniel had spoken to somebody to get Y/N a pass and somewhere for her and Milo to sleep. She hadn't told anybody that they were coming with him; it was going to be a surprise.

Dressed comfortably for travelling, Daniel pulled open the door. This time he wasn't wearing a cap, and Y/N could see his curls. His lovely curls. "Hi Milo," he said and held out his fist.

Milo bumped his fist against his as he walked past him, into the house. "Olivia's in her bedroom!" Daniel called after him. Milo dropped his hold of his bag and started up the stairs, heading towards Olivia's bedroom.

Y/N followed Milo inside. "Hey," she said and greeted Daniel with a hug. "Are we heading off soon?"

"Just having a coffee and then yeah," he said and pushed the door shut behind her.

She left her suitcase by the door (dragging Milo's back over to hers) and followed Daniel into the kitchen. He used his coffee machine to make Y/N a drink and leaned against the island as they drank. "Thank you so much for this," she said as she held the mug in both hands. "Milo is so excited that he might literally explode."

Daniel smiled. That was why he was doing this, because Milo would love it. Sure, it was going to be so freaking cool to have Y/N there, but that would have been selfish of him.

They made idle conversation as they drank their coffees. As soon as they were finished, Y/N and Daniel loaded their bags into the car. They went upstairs to grab the kids, Daniel helping Olivia finish with packing her bags as Y/N adjusted Milo's cap on his head and picked him up.

Before they knew it they were on the road, Daniel singing along to his music as Y/N bounced her leg nervously. In the back of the car, Milo and Olivia watched a movie on an iPad.

Y/N knew Daniel was rich. She knew he was famous, too, had seen the crowds at the race that she'd watched on the television. But she'd never expected him to be private jet rich and famous.

It wasn't his private jet, instead one he rented from a company. But he didn't fail to inform her that his friend Max had his own.

It was Milo's first time flying, and he was terrified. Olivia had been telling him all about take off, and that was enough to have him crawling into his mothers lap the moment they were sat on the plane.

"Oh Munchkin," she whispered as she smoothed down his hair. She would have gone to get his favourite teddy bear for him, to try and comfort him, but the bear was stuff down into the deep recesses of her bag, inaccessible for the time being. "It's okay. Momma's got you."

Olivia had been flying for her entire life. She was used to it; it no longer phased her. For this flight, she'd been looking forward to sitting beside her best friend, watching movies with him as they took off across the world. But she couldn't do that for the time being, so she sat in her fathers lap, holding onto Snuffles, her bunny teddy.

As they got onto the runway, and Milo was in near hysterics, Daniel whispered something in Olivia's ear. "But daddy," she mumbled and Daniel held his finger to his lip. Olivia let out a little huff and adjusted how she was sitting to be facing Milo.

She leaned over and tapped on his shoulder. Milo didn't pull his face away from his mothers shoulder, but he turned to face her, ears staining his cheeks. "Here," Olivia said, handing Snuffles to him.

Hesitantly, Milo reached for Snuffles. He took him from Olivia and pulled him into his chest. "What do we say, Milo?" Y/N asked gently.

"Thank you," Milo whispered, squeezing Snuffles even tighter.

They took off and Milo continued to cry, but he kept squeezing Snuffles. Before he knew it they were in the air, flying smoothly. Milo pulled away from his mother and Olivia hopped out of her fathers lap. They found their own seats and Daniel brought over Olivia's iPad for the two of them to watch a movie.

"I can't believe Milo's never flown before," Daniel said to Y/N as they sipped their drinks.

Y/N looked past him, her guilty face turned towards the window of the sleek private plane. "Yeah? Well, we've never been able to afford it before. But that was really kind of Olivia to give up her teddy."

Daniel smiled at that. His little girl really was special. "Now, you've got this entire journal to tell me everything about Formula One," she said as she leaned back in her seat.

It was a challenge, one Daniel happily took on. He didn't explain everything, of course - there wasn't enough time for that. He told her as much as she could, and only as much as she needed to know.

"Make sure you're rooting for the number three car, because that's me," he said.

She knew that one, knew she was supposed to be rooting for Daniels car.

"It's a street circuit," he explained. "Which means it uses public roads. But this one is a little different. It is a street circuit, but it uses roads from around the stadium in Miami. I'll take you and Milo to a real street circuit one day," he said, but that last part was rather quiet.

"Okay so I know about the track, I know what the teams are, kind of, and I know who to root for. Who are Milo and I not supposed to root for?" She asked, stretching her legs out in front of her.

"Everybody else," Daniel answered, but he had an inflection to his voice, signalling it was a joke.

Y/N just laughed along with him. He launched into telling her all about the Grand Prix that the USA hosted, from the Miami Grand Prix, to the Vegas Grand Prix and the Circuit of the Americas. "That's my favourite of them all," he said. "I have a house out there, but I haven't been in a while," he explained. "It's hard when Olivia's mother refuses to let me have more than a week with her."

"Hang on," Y/N began. "How many houses do you have?"

Daniel launched into another explanation. And then he promised to take her to his place in Monaco at some point.

"That would be lovely," she said as she sipped her drink.

She looked past him again, looking towards the window. Around them was clouds, but they were beautiful. Y/N couldn't stop herself from getting out of her chair and walking over to the window, getting onto her knees to look out of it.

"Here," Daniel said as he scooted over in his seat, leaving a space for her.

Y/N gladly took the seat. She was half on the seat and half on his lap, but neither of them seemed to mind. Daniel had his arm wrapped around her, but only because that was the most comfortable way for him to sit.

"Thank you for this," she muttered once again as she leaned back, resting against his shoulder.

Taglist (CLOSED): @biancathecool @rewmuslupin @prettiest-at-the-party @hellowgoodbye @cassie0sstuff @spideybv28 @andydrysdalerogers @aundercover @lou-bean28 @landossainz @purplephantomwolf @ggaslyp1 @layazul @phantomxoxo @minkyungseokie @gills-lounge @hollie911 @annispamz @lillians-world-is-f1 @cixrosie @notyouraveragemochii @charli123456789 @amalialeclerc @teamnovalak @tallrock35 @teenwolf01 @chiliwhore @darleneslane @sava207 @thatsusbitch @formulaal @leptitlu @angiesw0rld @yunakynn @landosgirlxoxo @msolbesg @cherry-piee @catmouseggy @bathedinheat @chanshintien @ilove-tswizzle @woozarts @evie-119 @trouble-sistar @mysticalnightenthusiast @lewisvinga @spilled-coffee-cup @starkeyellow @fxrmuladaydreams @viennakarma @radiator101 @lightdragonrayne @angelxxrose @millinorrizz @xemiefx @ellies-world61 @the-depressed-fellow

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo smut #daniel ricciardo x reader smut #daniel ricciardo fluff #daniel ricciardo x you #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula one #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #dr3 #dr3 imagine #dr3 x reader

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itneverendshere · 5 months ago

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THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - five

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

warnings: angst <3333333 for everyone <33

word count: 7.7k

The ride back to home was a blur. The plane ride, the ferry.

Everything.

Every mile away from Rafe felt like reopening an old wound, over and over. The cops kept trying to make small talk, but you barely said a word. One-syllable responses if anything. Eventually, they just gave up and let you stare out the window in awkward silence.

By the time you pulled up, even the streets of The Cut didn’t make you feel any better. Home didn’t feel like home anymore. It was weird, almost like you didn’t recognize it. Walking in with the officers behind you just made everything feel more real, like a slap in the face of the life you were stepping back into.

“Your brother and your friends were rescued from a remote island a while ago. He was informed of your whereabouts an hour ago, he’ll be here soon.”

You barely processed what they were saying. It didn't really sink in. You just nodded, like you were on autopilot, but your brain was still stuck in everything that went down two days ago. What kind of sister doesn’t freak out when she hears her little brother’s alive and okay?

You should’ve been losing it with relief, right? But all you felt was this weird emptiness. You were supposed to protect him. You didn't.

Their words barely registered.

You nodded numbly; your mind still stuck between the events that had unfolded just two days ago.

What kind of sister had you turned into? Barely phased over the fact your little brother was thankfully alive and well? You were supposed to protect him.

They could tell you were checked out, they exchanged this look, like they didn’t know what to do with you, then quietly stepped out onto the porch, leaving you to rot with your thoughts.

You wandered around the house, but every step felt so heavy. Every room was just a reminder of what used to be. The couch where you'd would argue over stupid TV shows while Luke was off doing who-knows-what, the kitchen table where it was just the two of you, eating and sharing stories like nothing was wrong... It all felt so distant, like snapshots from another life you couldn’t touch anymore.

You knew, deep down, things would never go back to how they were.

You ended up in my room, collapsing onto your bed, the sheets still smelling like home. But even that didn’t help the ache in your chest.

It didn’t feel right. Nothing ever did unless your brother was there.

But now, not even the thought of him being back could bring you peace. All you could think about was Rafe. His smile, his touch, his voice—every part of him was still so clear in your head, and it hurt so bad to remember.

That must be your punishment.

A soft knock on the door jolted you from your thoughts. You sat up, heart racing. Your body was still on high alert, even the tiniest noise made you jump, like you were waiting for something bad to happen.

The sound of gunshots still echoed in your mind. It hadn’t even been three days.

The old wooden door creaked open, and there was JJ, his bright blue eyes wide and full of worry. He rushed to you so fast, you almost lost your breath when he pulled you into this bear hug.

"Holy shit,” he whispered, his voice shaky, "Holy shit."

Tears just started pouring out of you, and you couldn’t stop. You were full-on sobbing while he held you like you used to hold him when he was little, and it killed you. It was all so wrong. It devastated you. It felt so disappointing. He was never supposed to be the one carrying the family burden, you were.

After what felt like forever, you pulled back and wiped your face, your throat tight. JJ sat next to you, searching your face with those big, worried eyes.

“You’re not hurt?”

You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to get a grip. All you could manage was a small “No. You?”

“No,” JJ nodded, lips pursed into a tight line as if he was figuring out what to say next, “They told me about the shooting.”

Your heart sank further at his words. You had hoped to avoid talking about it, at least for a little while. You didn’t want to talk about that. Not yet. But the way he looked at you, like he used to when you'd protect him from everything, you couldn’t just shrug it off.

“I’m fine, I swear.” You reached out and squeezed his hand. "What about you? How did you get off that island?"

JJ let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

“It was a mess. We were stuck there for weeks, trying to find a way out. Pope and Kie kept us sane, but it was rough. We finally managed to signal a passing boat, and they rescued us. But the whole time, I couldn't stop thinking about you."

You squeezed his hand even tighter, his words hitting you like a truck, and the guilt just kept building. You squeezed his hand tighter, trying to keep it together.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm so sorry, JJ."

He shook his head vehemently. "No, don't apologize. None of this is your fault. I—I should’ve saved you on that ship, okay? It’s on me, not you.”

You felt another wave of tears coming but swallowed them down.

“You did everything you could. We both did. None of this is your fault."

“The one time we changed places, and I couldn’t do it.”

"Jay—"

"I should have been there for you," he cut in, his voice cracking. "I hated not being there. "I hated it."

God, if only he knew.

If he found out what really happened with Rafe, he’d hate you. It wasn’t his fault—it was yours. You pulled him into another hug, trying to say everything you couldn’t with just your touch. The weight of everything—your guilt, your pain—was too much, but at least you had each other. You could feel his body shaking, and you didn’t even know if it was from exhaustion or emotion.

When you finally let go, you took a deep breath, hoping to find some semblance of strength.

"We’re gonna be okay.”

JJ nodded, though you could see the doubt in his eyes. "I know. It's just... hard."

"I get it. But we're both here, we're alive.”

He gave you this sad little smile, "Yeah, I guess you're right."

You sat there in silence for a bit, and it felt fragile, but at least it was peaceful. Outside, you could hear the waves crashing, like life was still going on, even though yours felt like it was stuck.

"Do you think things will ever go back to normal?" JJ's voice was quiet, almost hesitant, like he didn't want an answer.

Normal? The nightmares of him finding out about Rafe haunted you every night, mocking at your mind. But You couldn’t tell him that. It made you want to scratch your skin raw.

“Yeah.”

"Yeah," I lied.

You could see how tired he was, like he was just as drained as you felt. You both needed sleep, but honestly, the idea of closing your eyes terrified you. The nightmares were always there, waiting.

"Let's try to get some sleep," You suggested softly, though you weren't sure you could follow your own advice. "We both need it, ‘kay?”

“Let’s try to get some rest,” I said, though I wasn’t sure if I could actually follow through. "We both need it."

JJ nodded, even though you could tell he wasn’t convinced. He lay down next to you on the tiny bed, and you barely fit, but it was comforting. Just having him close made you feel a little less broken.

The minutes passed in silence, the only sound being the waves outside. You focused on them, using them to ground myself. Slowly, you felt the tension start to slip away, just a little.

"Do you remember the first time we went out on the boat alone?"JJ’s voice was barely a whisper in the dark, like he was holding onto a memory that felt safe.

A small smile crept onto my lips. "Yeah. You swore you knew how to steer, and we almost crashed into that sandbank."

He chuckled softly. "We were so scared. But you figured it out. You always do."

The memory was bittersweet, a reminder of when things were simpler, back when your biggest problem was not sinking a boat and you weren't a complete fuck up.

Now, you felt like you were drowning every day.

Your eyes started to get heavy, and JJ’s breathing next to you slowed, evening out. You wanted to tell him everything, but you couldn’t. If you did, you'd lose him for good.

Sleep came slowly, but when it did, it was deep and dreamless. Empty, like how you'd been feeling for way too long.

Morning came too fast, sunlight slipping through the curtains and filling the room with a warm glow. You blinked awake, feeling disoriented for a second before everything from the past few days came rushing back. JJ was still asleep next to you, his face finally relaxed, looking so much younger and peaceful.

You carefully slid out of bed, not wanting to wake him. The officer who comforted you after the shooting promised he’d call as soon as there was an update on Rafe. So far? Nothing.

You couldn’t help but wonder if the hospital had already contacted Sarah. She was basically the only family Rafe had left, other than Wheezie, who was just a kid, and Ward… well, a literal wanted criminal now. It made sense for them to reach out to her first.

If you called the hospital yourself, they wouldn’t tell you anything—You weren't family. And asking Sarah? She’d immediately know something was off. There was no way you could risk that.

The kitchen was weirdly quiet, the early light stretching shadows across the walls. You made a cup of coffee, letting the warmth calm the cold ache inside you, but even that didn’t really help. Sitting at the table, you tried to think of some kind of plan. You needed to know if he was okay, but every option felt like a trap.

Suddenly, your new phone buzzed on the table, shaking you out of your thoughts. You grabbed it, heart pounding, seeing an unknown number flash on the screen. Your stomach twisted, but you answered.

“Hello?”

“This is Officer Thompson. I promised I’d keep you updated on Rafe Cameron’s condition.”

You closed your eyes, thanking God for finally giving you some piece of mind, “Yes, thank you.”

“He’s stable,” Officer Thompson continued. “The surgery went well, and he’s in recovery. It’ll be a while before he’s fully back on his feet, but he’s out of immediate danger.”

The knot in your stomach loosened just a little. “Thank you for letting me know.”

There was a pause on the other end.

“I know this is difficult, but you should focus on your own recovery too. There’s a chance the feds will contact you, they’re building their case on Ward. What happened to you is, unfortunately, considered a minor crime compared to everything he’s done, so maybe you’ll get some peace. If not, you might have to testify against him.”

Testify. The thought of standing in a courtroom, reliving everything in front of strangers, made your skin crawl.

“And Rafe? What are his charges?”

"He’s facing several charges, but the severity of his sentence could depend on his cooperation. If he agrees to testify against his father, the authorities might offer him a deal."

A deal. The idea of him getting out that easily should’ve made you angry, but instead, you felt this weird sense of relief. You hated myself for it. You wanted him to pay for everything, for all of it. But now? You were clinging to any slim chance of freedom, even if it wasn’t fair.

You thanked Officer Thompson again and ended the call, setting your phone down with a shaky hand. The coffee had grown cold, but you didn't have the energy to make another cup. You sat there for a long moment, staring into nothing.

The sound of footsteps snapped you out of your thoughts, and you turned to see JJ in the doorway, his hair sticking up in all directions, still half-asleep.

“Who was that?” he asked, his voice groggy.

“Uh—Officer Thompson. He was at the scene the other day and told me he’d keep me updated.”

JJ tilted his head, his messy bed hair making him look like a confused puppy. “Updated on what?”

“Rafe’s condition,” You replied, the words feeling heavy on your tongue. It was a half-lie, but at least you were giving him something.

He stopped mid-step, “And you care because…?”

“For closure, I guess," You mumbled, trying to brush it off like it was no big deal.

His gaze softened a little, but not by much. He pulled out a chair and sat across from you. “You’re too good, y’know that? Personally, I don’t give a fuck if he dies.”

You winced inwardly. "JJ, you can't just say stuff like that."

He leaned back, crossing his arms. "Why not? After everything he’s done, he deserves whatever he gets."

You couldn’t really argue with that, but something inside you felt the need to defend Rafe, even if you hated that feeling. He had saved your life, and that wasn’t something you could just forget.

“He’s still a human being, okay?”

JJ scoffed, shaking his head like you’d said the dumbest thing ever. "Barely."

You didn’t know why you suddenly felt so angry, so defensive. But it made its way up your body until your lips were moving again, practically spitting the words out.

“He saved my life.”

Your brother stared at you like you were speaking another language, “Saved your life? Are you serious? It’s his fault you were there in the first place!”

“He chose to help me. And I can't just forget that."

JJ ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “This is insane. One good deed doesn’t make up for all the shit he’s done.”

“I know that,” I said, reaching out for him, but he pulled back before I could touch him, your fingers only brushing against his shirt.

“Do you?” His voice was cold, and the way he looked at you—like he didn’t recognize you—cut deep. It was the look you dreaded seeing in your nightmares, and now, it was real, it ten times worse.

"I’m not saying he’s a good person. I’m just saying… it’s complicated."

He started pacing around the kitchen. "Complicated? Complicated is being stuck on an island, wondering if your sister is even alive. Complicated is dealing with the fact that the guy who screwed us over gets to play hero for one day, and now you’re defending him."

"I'm not defending him," You said, voice rising. "I just… I saw a different side of him. Maybe he can change. Or at least help put Ward away."

You never raised your voice at him.

JJ stopped and spun around to face you, his eyes blazing. "And what if he doesn't? What if this is all part of some twisted game for him? People like Rafe don't just change, okay? They manipulate, they hurt, they destroy."

“JJ—"

“You sound just like her.”

You didn’t have to ask to know what he meant. Suddenly your entire soul felt like it was being drained out and slashed into pieces. A carbon copy of your mother, your punishment. All you life, you’d been told you were like her—just as blind, just as soft.

“Don’t say that.”

“That’s exactly the type of bullshit she would spit out about dad, wasn’t it? And look where it got her.”

"That’s the kind of crap Mom used to say about Dad, remember? And look where it got her."

Memories of mom came rushing back—the excuses she made, the false hope she clung to, and the endless disappointment. You weren't like her, were you? You weren't defending a man who was never going to change. You couldn’t be. You’d spent your entire life trying not to be like her.

It wasn’t fair. You were just trying to find a shred of humanity in someone who had shown you mercy. How could he think you were blind to Rafe’s faults? You knew them all too well. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and fiercely defensive.

“I’m not her,” You finally managed to say, your voice cracking, “I’m not defending him like she did.”

“Is that what you tell yourself to make you feel better?”

Your eyes narrow into slits, “I’m not doing this with you, not right now.”

You turned away, your fists clenched at your sides as you fought to keep it together.

He followed you hot on your heels, "Don't walk away from me.”

"I'm not defending him," You insisted, your back still to him, “I’m just trying to understand, okay?”

“Understand what? Jesus, Rafe is who he is.”

"And maybe he can change," You fired back, the words spilling out despite the tightening knot in your chest. "Maybe he saved my life because he wants to change."

"He's manipulating you," JJ retorted, his jaw clenched. "Just like he always does. You went through some traumatic shit together, but that doesn't mean you owe him anything."

You stopped dead in your tracks, turning to face him again. Your head was tingling, the headache already forming itself, and you felt hot all-over. The word "traumatic" set you off.

“Some traumatic shit?” You repeated, “Are you fucking serious?”

JJ raised both his hands, tangling them in his hair in frustration, “You almost died, and now you’re standing here, defending the guy who put you in that position in the first place!"

The accusation hurt. You hated fighting with your brother and he wasn’t wrong. You hated that Rafe was coming between you both, but you couldn’t shake what you felt.

He shook his head, disappointment oozing from him, "Good luck with that. Just don't expect me to sit here and act like everything's okay."

You blinked away the dryness in your eyes, "I'm not asking you to. Can't you see that maybe things aren't as black and white as they seem?"

“All I know is what he's done to us, to you."

“And what about what he did for me?” The words tasted bitter as they left your mouth.

“And what did he do exactly?" Your lips parted to speak, but words continued to spill from his mouth, “What did you do?”

You gave no reply, unblinking, short breaths escaping you. You couldn’t let it out. Not yet. Not to him.

Not to JJ, not yet.

"I don't expect you to understand," Your voice was strained,"But I’m not turning my back on him.”

JJ's eyes narrowed; frustration etched on his face. "Why?”

“Because I want to!” The scream ripped from your throat before you could stop it, tears spilling over. "I’m still my own person, and I can make my own decisions."

He opened his mouth to fight back, but the words seemed to evaporate from his tongue. The kitchen was filled with nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing and your instant regret.

“Fine,” he muttered, turning away. “Do what you want.”

You watched him walk out of the kitchen, his back stiff with anger and disappointment. It was the first time you'd ever yelled at him, and you hated every second of it.

Alone again in the kitchen, you sank back into your chair, your energy completely drained. Part of you wanted to run after him, to explain yourself, to make him understand.

But he wouldn’t. How could he?

None of them would.

Because unlike you, they weren’t stupid enough to sympathize with Rafe Cameron.

Sitting there, you couldn't shake the feeling that you'd crossed a line. You stared at your hands, still trembling from the argument, and let out a long, shaky breath. What was it about Rafe that had such a grip on you?

You heard the front door creak open and shut—JJ leaving. Maybe that was for the best. You both needed time to cool off. You got up, poured the coffee down the sink, watching it swirl away. Weirdly, the sound was kind of comforting, like you were washing away the mess clinging to you.

You spent the entire day locked away in your room, ignoring the sun, ignoring everyone. Your phone buzzed again, and for a second, you thought about letting it go, but you couldn’t. You picked it up, expecting another call from Officer Thompson, but the name on the screen made your heart skip a beat.

Sarah.

With a deep breath, you answered. “Hey sweets.”

“Hi,” Sarah’s voice was almost unsure. “JJ and the police called earlier, told us what happened. Are you okay? I’m on the mainland with John B, we’re taking the next ferry back home.”

You closed your eyes, somewhat relieved that you wouldn’t have to face them yet.

“Yeah, I’m…Managing. I'm okay.”

“Good, that’s good,” There was a pause, and then she asked, “Have you heard anything about...Rafe?”

Had the hospital not called her? How much should you tell her.

“He’s stable. The surgery went well.”

Sarah sighed, “Good. That’s good to hear I guess.”

You bit your lip, unsure if you should ask, but you did anyway. “Sarah, did the hospital call you?”

There was a long silence on the other end before she replied, “Yeah. But I…I don’t know. I just couldn’t bring myself to answer. I knew it was coming after the police called. But—Yeah, it’s just, it’s really hard.”

You didn’t know what to say, “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re the only one not giving me shit about still… caring, I guess. He’s my brother, you know? And I want to hate him. I should hate him. But I can’t.”

"I get it, Sarah. He’s your brother. It’s okay to feel conflicted."

"Yeah," She exhaled heavily, "But I don't know how to deal with it. He's done so much harm, and yet. I keep hoping there's still some good left in him. I know there's no hope for my dad, but Rafe..."

She trailed off, and you knew exactly where she was coming from. She’d seen Rafe before Ward broke him down. And you knew she still carried that guilt—the guilt of being the favorite, never standing up for him, even when she saw Ward lose control.

“I get it,” You whispered. You were both tangled up in love and hate when it came to him, the messiness of family making it impossible to separate the two.

“He was good to me.”

There was a long pause. You expected her to hang up on you, to freak out and call you a list of degrading names, all of which you felt you deserved. She had enough at the hands of her brother— the same brother you had come to care for, despite knowing the full extent of what he’d done.

But you underestimated her. You'd momentarily forgotten just how compassionate and noble she was. She possessed a goodness smiliar to your own—loyal, forgiving, and endlessly understanding.

Both lovers and fighters.

"I know, the feds told me about the shooting," Sarah finally said, "And I think that's what makes it so hard. Picturing him as the same monster from before was a lot easier.”

You nodded even though she couldn't see you, feeling a deep ache in your chest. "Yeah."

"I don't know what to do," She confessed, her vulnerability cutting through the distance between you. "Part of me wants to see him, to talk to him. And part of me wants to never look at him again."

"I think... whatever you decide, it's okay," You offered tentatively, not entirely sure if your words were comforting or just empty platitudes.

“John B disagrees.”

“Yeah, so does JJ.”

"I appreciate you telling me about Rafe," Sarah continued, her voice softer now, more vulnerable. "I... I don't think I could have handled hearing it from anyone else."

Guilt prickled at you. “I’m sorry you had to hear it like this. I wish things were different.”

"We all do," she replied softly. "Thank you.”

“Of course," You said, "Take care of yourself.”

"You too. We'll see you soon, okay?"

"Yeah. See you soon."

You hung up and stared at your phone, the screen going dark. It matched how you felt—empty, lifeless.

You spent the next few days in a haze, avoiding JJ and the rest of your friends as much as possible. You’d only seen Sarah. Somehow her presence didn’t make you feel as nervous as you thought. It weirdly calmed you down. You’d always been close, ever since she joined the group, but now you felt like she was the only one who understood your point of view.

You knew Pope and Kie wouldn’t, and you couldn’t blame them.

Sarah never pushed you to talk, never demanded explanations. Instead, she just sat with you, shared a laugh or two, and let the silence speak for itself.

Your small house felt like a prison. It wasn’t until a week later, as you sat on the beach watching the waves crash against the shore, that your phone buzzed with a message. It was the officer: "Rafe’s awake."

Your heart jumped straight into your throat. You still hadn’t told anyone the full story about what happened between you and Rafe, and honestly, you didn’t even know if you ever could. They knew the basics—he was in the hospital, you both got caught in a shooting, and somehow, he’d saved your life. That’s all anyone knew.

But now, with him awake... you were completely lost.

With shaky hands, you fumbled for the phone, dialing the number the officer had given you. It rang a few times, "Hello, this is St. Michael Hospital. How can I help you?"

"Hi, I'm calling to check on a patient, Rafe Cameron. I was told he’s awake."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, just the faint sound of keys clicking away. "Yes, Mr. Cameron is awake. Are you a family member?" the nurse asked.

You hesitated, unsure how to answer. "No. Uh, a friend, I guess—" You almost started rambling, but instead, you settled for, “Can you tell him Maybank’s calling?”

"Okay, just a minute, please."

You stared at the sand, biting your lip, trying to figure out what you’d even say to him. When the nurse finally came back on, her voice was softer, almost pitiful, and you immediately knew you weren't going to like her answer.

"I’m sorry. Mr. Cameron has requested not to speak with you," she said. "Is there anything else I can assist you with?"

Your whole body went numb. You wanted to throw the phone, scream into the void, drown yourself in the ocean and not come up until you didn’t feel anything anymore.

What the hell?

You’d spent weeks thinking about him, on edge, worrying if he was gonna make it, praying for him even though you weren’t even sure you believed in any of that. And now...he didn’t want to speak to you? Unbelievabl, like all of it—every single moment you spent worrying, crying, hoping—it was for nothing. You didn't have it in you to put up a fight.

"No, that's all. Thanks," you mumbled before hanging up.

You stared at your phone, trying to process it. Rafe didn’t want to talk to you. It was like someone ripped the ground from under you. Everything you thought you had shared, everything he did for you, saving your life... Had any of it mattered to him?

Had you just imagined it?

You tried to think back—Rafe had kissed you, touched you like you were precious, like he didn’t want to break you. And that moment when he’d saved you—had that meant nothing to him? Maybe you were just fooling yourself. Maybe, to him, you were just a temporary distraction, someone who didn’t mean anything outside of that life-or-death situation. Just a pogue.

You were just sitting there, staring out at the water, trying not to fall apart. The sun felt too bright, the world too loud, everything too much. The anger, the hurt, the confusion—Before you even realized what you were doing, a scream tore out of you, raw and guttural.

It ripped through the air, echoing across the beach as if it could somehow take away everything inside. Tears came next, hot and salty, and you couldn’t stop them even if you wanted to.

Without warning, a scream ripped from your throat, raw and unfiltered. It echoed across the empty beach, a primal release of everything you had been bottling up. You hadn’t cried properly in weeks.

You screamed until your throat was raw, until you had nothing left to give. The sun cast long shadows on the sand, the beach deserted except for you. Collapsing back onto the sand, you let the tears flow freely.

There was no one to judge you, no one to see you fall apart. You’d spent a lifetime pulling yourself together, it was only fair you finally got to breathe properly. When the tears subsided, you wiped your face with the back of your hand and took a shuddering breath. The tightness in your chest began to ease, replaced by a hollow ache.

You were many things, but none of them were weak and yet...It was almost unbearable, the way your mind replayed every interaction, every look, every word, searching for signs you might have missed, clues that would have warned you not to get attached.

Footsteps crunched in the sand, and you tensed, knowing who it was even before you turned to look. JJ. Of course, it was him. You still weren’t ready to face him after the argument. But he sat down next to you without saying a word, just looking out at the water like you were.

When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you expected.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say.

“I’m sorry for what I said about Mom,” he continued, sounding just as broken as you felt, “I shouldn’t have compared you to her. That wasn’t fair.”

You swallowed hard, your throat still aching from the scream. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “I get it.”

“I did, and I didn’t,” he admitted. “I just... I don’t want to see you get hurt. I don’t trust him, and I hate that you’ve been caught up in all this.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

JJ turned to you, frowning, “What do you mean?”

“I called the hospital. They said he’s awake, but he doesn’t want to speak with me.”

You could barely get the words out without choking up.

Your brother frowned, his protective instincts flaring up. “That fucking piece of shit. After everything—”

You shook your head, cutting him off gently. ““Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s for the best.”

JJ sighed, softening as he looked at you. “Hey, don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

A lump formed in your throat, but you nodded, trying to believe his words. “I just... I thought there was more to it. That maybe he could change.”

“People like Rafe... it’s hard to change.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, tears threatening to spill again.

“But that doesn’t mean you’re wrong for wanting to see the good in him.”

He spoke with such gentleness and wisdom. You forgot he wasn’t a kid anymore. That he’d also done his fair share of growing up way too fast.

You leaned into his touch, “I know.”

“We’ll get through this,” JJ said firmly. “Together. You and me, like always.”

You nodded, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the beach, you and JJ sat there in silence. The waves continued to crash against the shore, a reminder that life moved forward, even when it felt like everything was falling apart.

Maybe things would never go back to the way they were, but you had your brother, your friends, and a resilience you didn't know it was capable of existing until then.

Six months had gone by since that day, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

Life had somewhat gone back to normal, or at least a version of it. The days were getting hotter, like the summer was showing off, making everything sticky and slow. You’d spent the afternoon alone, sprawled out on the couch with a book you weren’t really reading, barely feeling the breeze from the old fan struggling against the heat.

You were in the middle of rereading the same sentence for the third time when loud banging on the door made you jump. The knock was so aggressive it had to be someone with a serious problem, and the sound jolted you upright.

You groaned, rolling off the couch and heading for the door. "What the—"

Before you could even finish, you yanked the door open, annoyance already building up. And then, just like that, it drained out of you.

“Rafe?”

It was him. Standing there. Looking... well, looking alive, which was more than you expected after months of silence.

You froze, staring at him, and instinct kicked in. You tried to slam the door in his face, but he was quick. His hand caught the edge, holding it open. “Seriously?” you hissed, shoving harder. “Get the hell off my porch.”

"Maybank—"

"If you don't get off my property, I swear to fucking God—"

“Wait—Maybank—just listen.”

“Nope. Get lost. Now.”

“Please.” His voice cracked, and his hand shook where it held the door. “Just give me a minute.”

You glared at him, every instinct telling you to push harder, to shut him out. But something in his eyes—fear, desperation, a flicker of the Rafe you once knew—gave you pause.

The last time you saw him, he was bleeding out and terrifyingly pale. It wasn’t the cocky Rafe you remembered. The last time you saw him, he was bleeding out, barely conscious. And now he was just... here. What the hell was he doing here?

The last update you had on him was from Sarah, months ago. He had left the hospital and kept sporadic contact, reaching out to her only every few weeks. You never asked her about his well-being or what he was doing; despite guessing that he was cooperating with the police.

At least you hoped he was.

You were determined not to care anymore.

He leaned against the doorframe, looking worn out in a way that made you pause for a second too long. “You look good."

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. Was he for real?

You were going to slap the lack of common sense out of him. You weren’t about to let him waltz back in like nothing had happened.

You scoffed, not letting your guard down. “What are you doing here?”

He looked down, trying to find the words as he scratched the back of his head, “I... I needed to see you. To talk.”

“Yeah, no. Get back to whatever hole you crawled out of.”

You tried to slam the door again, but he held firm. “Please, just let me explain.”

“You had six months to explain.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I was— It’s messed up, okay?" his words coming out rushed and uneven. ”I’m still working with the feds. I was losing it. Still am, probably. But I need to explain. Please, Maybank, just a minute.”

Maybe it was the part of you that used to care, or maybe you just needed answers after everything that had happened. You stepped back, letting the door open just enough for him to walk in.

“Fine. Talk.”

Rafe stepped inside, looking around your small living room as if seeing it for the first time, which you now realized he'd never been in your house. And now that he was standing here, you regretted letting him in.

He turned to face you, his expression earnest. “I didn’t know what to say. I felt—“, He took a deep breath, cheeks puffing, “Ashamed. I don’t know.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, keeping a safe distance between you.

“Ashamed? You’ve done a lot of things to be ashamed of. You can’t just show up after six months and expect everything to be fine.”

“I know,” He admitted, taking a deliberate small step closer to you, “I wasn’t expecting that. I just... I wanted to tell you that I’m trying. I’m in therapy and rehab, trying to get clean. I’ve been going to meetings. It’s been hell, but I’m trying.”

You looked at him, searching for any sign of deceit. His eyes were clear, more focused than you had ever seen them. He wasn't high.

You eyed him skeptically. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because you’re the only person who ever saw anything good in me. And I can’t forget that. I don’t deserve it, but I need you to know that your faith in me wasn’t for nothing.”

The vulnerability in his voice took you by surprise. You had expected anger, arrogance, manipulation—but this was different. Genuine. It felt like you were back in that motel room, in his arms.

You scoffed, turning away from him. “Is that all? That’s why you showed up here out of nowhere?”

“No, it’s not,” he said, sounding more desperate. “I just—Shit. I need to make things right. With you. I don’t know how, but I need to try.”

You took a deep breath.

You didn’t want to talk to me.”

He winced at that, his guilt obvious. “I was scared, okay? I didn’t know how to handle it. I still don’t. But I’m here now, trying to fix what I broke.”

Part of you wanted to believe him, to give him another chance, but the other part of you—the part that had been hurt and abandoned—was screaming not to fall for it again.

“So you shut me out?” You snapped, “You made me feel like I meant nothing.”

“That’s not true,” He snapped back, head whipping up, then immediately softened his tone, taking another step closer. “That’s not true. You mean more to me than you’ll ever know. I was getting better for you."

“Don’t lie to me.”

Rafe looked offended, eyes zeroing in on your lips before his gaze met yours. That's when you felt it again, “I never lied to you, pretty.”

You recoiled at the nickname, taking a step back, needing space.

“Cameron.”

Another step closer. His eyes pleading with you to understand.

You were staring up at him now, the look on your face completely unreadable. You were waiting for an answer, but he had a feeling that no matter what answer he gave, it wouldn't make a difference.

"I never lied to you," He repeated, his voice shaking slightly. "I was scared and confused, but I never lied.”

“Scared and confused? That’s your excuse?”

Rafe flinched at your words, but he didn't back down. “I know how it sounds. I handled it all wrong. I’m trying to fix it.”

“You think saying sorry and showing up out of the blue makes it better?"

His hands reached out, his palms open as if he was dealing with a wounded animal. “I’m not asking for forgiveness right away. I just want a chance to make things right.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” You spat, your voice trembling with emotion, “How it felt, watching you almost die. I spent days wondering if you were going to be—”

You stopped yourself, knowing that if you continued your voice would crack and the tears would start pouring down your cheeks.

You already cried enough for him.

Rafe’s expression softened, and he reached out tentatively, his hand stopping inches from your arm. “I’m sorry, baby.”

You took a step back, putting more distance between you, needing the space to think clearly. “I needed you to be sorry six months ago.”

It’s only then, when your brain cleared slightly that you noticed he looked different. His hair had been buzzed, his skin looked tanner than the last time you’d seen him, he looked healthier.

Rafe noticed your eyes wandering to his head and ran a hand through his short hair, a hint of a self-conscious smile flickering across his lips.

“Yeah, I uh, made some changes. Trying to start over, I guess.”

“I’m happy for you, but I can’t do this.”

“Pretty—"

You sighed, rubbing your temples as you cut him off, “I feel guilty enough as it is around everyone else.”

“I told Sarah.”

His words hit you like a punch to your gut.

“What?”

“About us.”

You felt your stomach drop and your vision narrow, the world tilting sideways. “You what?”

“I told her.”

“You absolute fucking—” You hissed, your voice rising without warning, “Are you serious?!”

“I thought it was the right thing to do,” His tone faltered to one that could’ve fallen on deaf ears if not attentive enough. “I needed someone to talk to, and she’s…my sister.”

You were fuming, pacing the room. “Do you realize what that could do? My life here—everything—could be ruined because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”

Rafe flinched, taking a step back. “I didn’t think it would be this bad.”

“Of course you didn’t,” You nearly growled, pacing the small living room. “You never think about anyone but yourself, do you?”

“Listen— “ He opened his mouth undoubtedly to fire back with another half-assed apology - but you barreled forward, letting the months of bottled resentment continue to burst open.

“You’re so selfish.”

“She promised she wouldn’t tell anyone,” His throat bobbed in an audible gulp, “It’s okay.”

“You really believe that?” You stopped pacing and turned to face him, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “This is too much for her to keep to herself. It’ll eat away at her until she tells someone. And when that happens, my life here is over.”

Rafe looked stricken, “I just—I needed someone to understand what I’m going through.”

For the first time, he took the time to explain what was going on in his head instead of letting his frustrations take over and kissing you.

“And what about what I’m going through?” You demanded. “Did you ever stop to think about that? I’ve been trying to move on, to rebuild my life, and you just waltz back in and blow everything up.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

You spotted his sun-kissed freckles. They wouldn’t be noticeable if you hadn’t looked at him so closely before.

“Sorry doesn’t fix this,” Bitterness began to overpower the pit of your heaving chest, “Sorry doesn’t make it go away. You can’t just undo what you’ve done.”

“I know,” One shaky hand scrubbed over his face, refusing to meet your wide-eyed stare., “But I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right. I swear.”

“Make it right? You can’t make this right, Rafe.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m trying, pretty. I really am.”

You felt a smidge of sympathy despite your anger.

You could see the pain and desperation in his eyes, the same pain and desperation you had felt for the past six months. But that didn’t change the fact that he left you hanging for so long.

“I need you to leave."

You expected him to put up a fight, to lash out, hide his emotions with empty threats and petty names. But he didn’t. Instead, he nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly as he turned to leave. You watched him go in silence.

Part of you wanted to run after him, to give him another chance, to believe that he could change. But another part—the part that had been hurt and left to heal on its own—knew that it wasn’t that simple.

You had to protect yourself, even if it meant shutting him out for good.

Rafe paused in the doorway, his back to you. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried clearly through the thick air. "I don’t regret it," he repeated, his shoulders tensing as he spoke.

You blinked, taken aback. "What?"

He turned slightly, just enough for you to see the raw honesty in his eyes. "I don’t regret what happened. Between us. I regret how I handled it, how I hurt you, but I don’t regret feeling something real for once."

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the suffocating heat seemed to dissipate, replaced by a cold clarity. You crossed your arms tighter around yourself, trying to hold onto your anger, your resolve. But his words had hit a nerve, bringing back memories you’d tried so hard to bury.

You looked away, unable to look at him, "It doesn’t change anything."

"I know.”

And with that, he walked out, leaving you standing there, your heart in pieces all over again. You pushed away from the door, needing something to distract yourself.

You picked up your book, but the words blurred on the page. You tossed it aside, your thoughts too chaotic to focus. Instead, you paced the small living room, replaying the conversation in your mind.

You eventually collapsed onto the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling. You did the right thing, so why did it hurt so bad?

You felt like a wound had been reopened, and you hated him for it.

But you hated yourself more for letting him get to you.

The hours dragged on, the sun dipping below the horizon and casting long shadows through the windows. You tried to lose yourself in anything—TV, reading, cleaning—nothing worked.

You only saw Rafe's face, his desperate eyes, his trembling hands.

You remembered the feel of his skin, the sound of his voice when he was vulnerable. The memories were too real, too persistent. You couldn't bring yourself to explain it to yourself. Your eyes begin to itch, warning you to think of something else.

Anything else but Rafe.

Was this heartbreak? No—it couldn't be. Why did it still hurt?

You weren't in love with Rafe Cameron.

At least, you didn't think you were.

You had never allowed yourself to consider it, to dwell on what you felt for him. But now, in the stillness of your small living room…it was different. You never had a good parental figure to teach you these things. All you knew was destruction, violence, and heartbreak. And although you’d done pretty well for yourself, all things considered, this was new to you.

You had tried so hard to suppress your feelings, to deny your connection with him. But this…wasn’t something that could be easily forgotten or ignored. You had been so afraid to admit it, fearing that acknowledging would destroy you.

You were in love with Rafe Cameron.

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wwooyology · 5 months ago

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❛ ━━━━ Gamer Boyfriend Riki

「paring」 : bf!riki x fem!reader 「word count」 : 1k

「genre」 : headcanon, fluff, semi-crack

「warning」 : skinship and kissing, I believe that's about it!

「notes」 : nana (@rikstar) started blowing up my phone with how riki deprived she was so I am here to offer gamer bf riki headcanons to help satisfy her needs for the time being 😭

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who will leave one side of his headset off just in case you needed anything from him because he will always put your wants and needs over his game.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who is willing to stop whatever he’s doing if you were to call out for him, even if it was for the smallest thing, even if it meant that he had to go back to his friend who would either nag at him for throwing the match or teasing him because of how down-bad he was for you.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who keeps his desk and minifridge stocked with all of your favorite snacks and drinks because he knows how much you love to snack. Sometimes even goes as far as writing little notes to stick to the packaging just to see your cute smile whenever you grab something from the drawer and because you always press a kiss either on his cheek or the side of his neck depending on if he was in a match or not.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who will try to get you to play a match with him, but will laugh when you start pouting or raging because you couldn’t figure out how the controls work and would die almost instantly after leaving the lobby. although he’s also quick to help teach you how to play, hands over yours but only after he kisses the pout off of your lips and it's replaced by a wide smile.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who always wants to have you near him at all times, like 24/7, finding comfort in your touch and presents so you tend to find yourself perched in his lap, clinging to his body like a koala while he plays.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who if you are in his lap will kiss you anywhere he can, your head, cheek, shoulder, whatever was closest at the time, whenever he goes back into the lobby and checking in on you making sure that you were okay and comfortable, but will smile like a love sick puppy if you had fallen asleep on him, your face buried in the crook of his neck.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who will ditch his friends in a heartbeat if you wanted to play animal crossing with him. the two of you cuddled up on his bed, switches in hand while you decorated your shared island. he also decorated the house because you claim that ‘he’s better at it than you’.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who loves when the two of you play multiplayer games together because he enjoys watching you get so competitive, doing everything in your power to win against him. sometimes he’ll throw the game just to see your face light up in excitement when you saw that you had won, rubbing it in his face which only caused him to laugh.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who will play minecraft in creative mode just so he could build you random things then will look like an excited puppy whenever you see those things when the two of you play together.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who when he rage quits will toss his headset on the desk before crawling into his bed where you’re laying and just lay down on you, head on your chest without saying a word. he will pout whenever you tease and coo at him, but will instantly melt into your touch when you run your fingers through his unkempt hair.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who will try to keep his voice down if it was late at night and you were sleeping, because the last thing he wanted was to wake you up. and he didn’t like it when you scolded him so it was better to play it safe.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who gets all giddy and happy whenever he sees that you designed a character for the both of you in sims. and if you gave yourself his last name? that boy would turn into a mushy puddle in his seat.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who will wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him whenever you sit in his lap to play a game. his chin resting on your shoulder, watching everything you do with such a keen eye that he was sure he had memorized all of your ticks.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who is just the biggest simp in the world whenever you wore one of his hoodies, loving how tiny you looked in the oversized fabric, bonus points if you just woke up and were sitting in the middle of his bed with that sleepy pout on your lips and your hair was a mess.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who will also thank you repeatedly whenever you would bring over his favorite boba, his eyes shining brightly when you even went as far as drawing small doodles on the cup.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who will always facetime you whenever you aren’t already at his apartment, not caring that he was in the middle of a match or not, he couldn’t last a day without seeing your face or hearing your cute voice.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who lit up like a christmas tree whenever you bought the both of you matching headsets.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who will always play a game with you even if he is unsure if he will like it or not, but he’s always willing to try whenever it comes to you.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who will pout like a puppy whenever you giggle at him after he gets jumpscared while playing a horror game.

⪩ Gamer BF!Riki who will become a flustered mess whenever you start teasing him and complimenting him because he was wearing his glasses. even better when they’re the cute wireframe glasses that you had bought for him because you were sure that he would look cute in them, and of course he does.

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

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bluur00 · 5 months ago

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𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊 - 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎

hurt/comfort. fem!reader.

It’s been a few months after you and Kenji broke up, he said it’s because he was seeing another girl and that he lost interest in you. That broke your heart, knowing how much the old Kenji you knew would never do such thing.

He would never, yet he did.

“Why are you leaving so suddenly!? Can’t we try to talk whatever the problem is?” you raised your voice, your tears threatening to fall down.

Kenji didn’t look back at you, all you can see is his back carrying his backpack filled with he clothes keeps in your apartment, “I’m seeing someone else, I’m moving back to my house at the island.”

He left.

That night you cried in your bed, cried yourself to sleep, alone in your apartment, you sobbed your eyes out, wishing all this was a dream, a nightmare.

In those few months, you worked on yourself to move on and forget about the relationship and how it broke down. It’s still really hard to forget about it, what happened that night was very sudden.

When Kenji spilled those hurtful words, it hit you like a truck, that time your legs were very weak, it threatened to make you fall at that moment.

Whatever, you have to focus on your job, your life, especially in moving on.

“Kenji! Bro, where are you going?” one of his friends ask, seeing Kenji walking in a wobbly line away from the club. “Y-Y/n, I wanna see Y/n,” he mumbled, one of his friends catched up to him, “you and her broke a few months ago,” his friend said, suprised on what Kenji was headed to.

“don’t care, need to see Y/n.” he repeated again.

“okay, okay, get in and I’ll take you to her,” his friend said, pulling Kenji towards his car and laying him in the backseat.

You were staying up late, reading a book that you always wanted to finish, but then a knock came. You ignored it at first, but it came again, you placed your bookmark between the two pages and went to check the door.

You looked through the peek hole of the door, and it was, ‘Kenji’s friend? who’s beside him? Kenji?’ you sighed and opened the door, “why are you here, it’s late.” you asked, not wanting to deal with your ex in the middle of the night.

“Please just take him, he wants to talk to you,” his friend said, trying to pass Kenji to you, you reconsider and reconsider, but in the end you took Kenji’s arms and closed the door on his friend.

You led Kenji to the couch, and laid him down, going to the kitchen to get warm water, but you then heard him mumble your name. You ignored it, hes probably dreaming, “Y/n? That you, baby?” he raised his head to your direction, you hummed in response, he then continued.

“I miss you, Y/n, so much. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you these last few months, heck, I had to get drunk just so I can forget you, but even that… I,” he paused, out of breath, hes clearly still worn out, “I still couldn’t get you off my mind, even the… the city has been questioning where ultraman has been-“ you cut him off by stirring the glass loudly, even though it’s just water.

“Stop your babbling and drink, so you can go back to your girlfriend, pretty sure she would be pissed knowing you’re here.” you said, clearly annoyed by his presence and him even opening his mouth.

He eventually drinks it a bit, before pushing it away and realised what you said, “oh that girl? Who is she?” Kenji asked, confused, “don’t worry you’ll remember her once you’re sober,” you said before leaving to go to your room.

“Y/n,” Kenji called, you turned to face him, “can you change my clothes? please, baby?” he pleaded.

“No, your clothes aren’t here anymore remember? and stop calling me that,” you said before continuing to go to your bedroom.

Once you laid in your bed, you couldn’t help but think and remembered, how Kenji sleeping in uncomfortable clothes can pain his back when he wakes up, but your no one to undress him. Even so, you continued opening your closet and searched for clothes that he left.

Kenji woke up with a hectic headache, he expected to wake up in your apartment, especially remembering what he said last night. “Surprised you haven’t left yet,” he heard your voice coming from the kitchen, it seems like you were making tea.

“Y/n, let’s talk,” Kenji said, with pleading eyes, “please,” you turned your head slightly and chuckled, “still drunk? Thought sleeping it through can make you sober,” you said, taking your mug and sat down beside Kenji on the couch, taking a sip and placing it down at the coffee table, “whatever, just make it quick please,” you said.

“Well, that night, that girl, it was all a lie,” Kenji confessed, you showed a confused look, ‘he wasn’t lying last night?’ you thought, he continued, “I did that break up because, I was scared,” he paused, but you quickly interfered, “what do you mean scared?” you asked, sharp tone, highly confused on what hes leading to.

“I was scared, I realised that recently that time I was focusing too much on the baseball tournaments and interviews, especially with me being ultraman, I don’t want to put you at risk, risk of dying when I can’t be there to save you,” he paused again, his eyes beginning to tear up, you kept quiet, suprised by his real reason.

“I knew that if I didn’t use the reason of seeing someone else, you would make up a reason for us to talk and solve it,” he said, he knew you, he could predict you, and you were suprised of how much he knew.

“I knew that if I looked at you before leaving that night, if I take one look into your teary eyes, I would stay and I would fail to protect you from future dangers that can come,” he said, before he completely broke down, right in front of you.

Slowly, you neared him, ran your fingers through his raven hair. When he raised his head to take a peek, you opened your arms for him to hug, which he then took. He cried on your shoulder, as you stayed quiet and gave him a silent forgiveness, caressing his back, arms, his hair.

“I’m safe, Kenji.”

#hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #angst to fluff #kenji sato #ken sato #ultraman #ultraman rising #ken sato x reader #kenji x reader #reccomended #fluff

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little-diable · 5 months ago

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A Broken Down Bike and Racing Hearts – Benny Cross (smut)

Well, I watched The Bikeriders yesterday, and I did warn y'all. I simply have to write for Benny (maybe also Johnny?). I haven't read any Benny fics yet, so this may have been done before. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Benny's bike breaks down right in front of the reader's house, who invites him in to stay the night while a thunderstorm rages outside.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, choking, slight possessiveness

Pairings: Benny Cross x fem!reader (2k words)

Contains no spoilers!

Her eyes followed his every movement. It had only been a handful of minutes since he had broken down with his bike right in front of her house. No words had been shared between them so far. While he kept fumbling with different parts of his bike, she kept smoking her cigarettes, studying the handsome man with piercing eyes.

She didn’t look away once, not as he seemed to give up on fixing his bike with a sigh, not as he placed a cigarette between his plush lips with his gaze set on (y/n). Something about him drew her in. Perhaps it was the cut that told a story of brotherhood, of family united by something thicker than blood. Perhaps it was simply the handsome face she wouldn’t mind seeing every now and then. Whatever it was, it urged her on to finally part her lips.

“I doubt you’ll manage to leave this place tonight.” Her gaze flickered up to the dark sky, knowing that it’d start raining any minute now. The guy wordlessly followed her gaze while blowing out a thick blue cloud of smoke matching hers.

“Is that an invitation to stay at your place for the night?” His voice was raspy, perfectly matching the growing smirk finding its way to his lips.

“Well, if there’s one thing I know about you bikers, it is that it’s better to have you as a friend than as an enemy. And who knows, maybe I’ll need your help one of these days too.” (Y/n) rose to her feet. She allowed herself to study him for a second or two before turning on her heel to make it back inside her house. The second she crossed the threshold, it began raining as if God himself were urging the stranger to follow her, knowing that this very match would endure all following obstacles.

The sound of his boots meeting her wooden stairs left her smiling, forcing her to turn back to him as he softly closed the door behind himself. He stepped out of his boots, ran a hand through his golden locks, and let his eyes wander.

“I’m (y/n).” She softly spoke her name while her feet carried her towards her open kitchen, reaching for two bottles of beer.

“Benny.” It was a simple reply–just his name–nothing more, and yet she didn’t need anything else. She reached the bottle out for him to take, trying to bite down the sharp intake of air wanting to leave her as their hands met. He was a stranger, nothing more than a pretty face, but the excitement his closeness pushed through her, left (y/n) wondering how this night may play out, knowing that she wasn’t one to shy away from an opportunity like this.

“Are you hungry, Benny? You must have been on the road for a while.” Benny only nodded his head as he took another sip of his beer. He was unusually cautious for a biker–at least in comparison to those she had met before–but (y/n) didn’t mind his calm demeanour, grateful for the comforting feeling he emanated.

“Do you live here alone?” He plopped down on her kitchen island, letting his feet dangle in the air while he watched her cook. The moment had something homey to it, a domestic atmosphere she hadn’t ever experienced before, torn from a broken home at an early age. Sometimes she had imagined a life like this, with a husband close to love her, to appreciate her like she had always craved.

“I do. It’s just me around here.” The hum leaving him forced her gaze towards him, unable to bite down her smile at the way he studied her. He seemed to be just as fascinated with her, drawn to the woman who had invited a stranger into her house solemnly because she knew saying no to a biker could end badly for her. But Benny was different–that much she knew already.

“Must get lonely.” Her tongue kissed her teeth at his comment, trying to hold back from dumping the confusing emotions she had always felt on him. It did get lonely from time to time. But there was no escaping this situation, at least not for now, and she had made her peace with it, grateful that she could live however she wanted to.

“You get used to it. What about you? Who are you running away from?” The silence that followed her question grew thicker with every passing moment. She was patient, waiting for him to find the strength to speak while she finished cooking their food. The past years had taught her enough about trauma, stress, and fear to understand how much people struggled with whatever it was they were running away from.

Whatever it was that Benny couldn’t speak of, she wouldn’t force him to let her in, not when she could offer him a safe space for a few hours at least.

……

“I could take you on a ride as soon as it’s fixed.” Benny was sitting on her couch, feet placed on the small table, as he was nursing another beer. She was sitting close, feet placed in his lap, breaking through the layers that had turned them from strangers to somewhat friends already.

It had taken Benny almost an hour to let her in, to tell her of the struggles he had faced, the people he was running from, and the fear he couldn’t shake, no matter how fast he was driving, close to bidding this life goodbye. She had listened to his every thought, keeping quiet while he rambled on, finding safety in her closeness.

“Careful, Benny, you’d have to keep me around for that.” The grin she shot him left him laughing, head rolling back to give the raspy sound enough room to break through him. It was a beautiful sight, leaving her buzzing with heat flushing through her that begged her to move closer.

Something was lingering between the two, binding them closer together while both waited for the right moment to cross the last line between them.

“Would that be so bad?” It was close to a whisper, rolling off his tongue while he turned his head back towards her. (Y/n) felt heat rise up her spine, whispering to her to give her darkest and deepest longings enough room as if she was drunk off her face, unable to hold back. Benny held a special kind of magic over her, an unfamiliar sensation she couldn’t pinpoint just yet.

“I don’t think you’re one for keeping women around. And I don’t want to leave this place.” He shuffled around, placed his bottle down before leaning closer towards her. His bright eyes danced over her face while his ringed hand found her cheek, cupping it softly. Benny’s thumb ran over her parted lips, unable to hold back his groan as she sucked his digit into her mouth.

And then everything happened all too quickly. One second he was staring down at her, and the next she was sitting on his lap, lips locked with his. It wasn’t a soft kiss; it was rough, urged on by their need to be touched, to feel some form of love they hadn’t experienced in months, perhaps even years.

Trembling fingers worked on one another’s clothes, letting the fabrics drop on the ground while their mouths explored the places that hadn’t been touched in a while. Moans rumbled through them, filling her living room as the last piece of clothing found its way to the ground.

(Y/n)’s heart was racing, pounding in her chest while Benny couldn’t help but marvel at her body; at every inch he was now fortunate enough to touch. His fingers felt cold against her heat as he pressed her back down on the couch, brushing through her folds to spread her arousal on her pulsing bundle. All while (y/n) tugged on his golden curls with her back arched off the couch and her toes curled in anticipation.

“You’re fucking beautiful, doll.” She barely picked up on his words, too far gone to focus on the praises Benny spoke. His fingers moved fast enough to make black dots appear in her vision, leaving her eyes to flutter while her orgasm crept closer and closer. He dipped his head down to suck marks into the soft skin of her chest, letting his teeth graze her skin to make her feel as if she was burning, set ablaze by his touch.

“Benny,” she choked on his name. Her thighs were trembling, body aching for the relief he was about to push through her. She wanted to speak more words, wanted to tell him how good he was making her feel, but she didn’t manage to, interrupted by the loud moan clawing through her.

She came with his name rolling off her tongue, spoken like a mantra she had learned by heart years ago. He kept moving his fingers, circling her pulsing bundle for a few more seconds before letting go. They held eye contact, staring at one another with growing smiles that were glued to their lips. The sound of thunder rang in their ears, followed by the heavily falling rain that rushed down her windows, adding even more intensity to the atmosphere lingering in the room.

Benny didn’t speak a warning before he flipped her around, only to press her chest against the armrest of her couch. She heard him spit into his palm and heard the soft groan rumbling through him as he pumped his cock a few times before finally pushing into her from behind. Both groaned in unison at the way he pushed into her, spreading her walls around his twitching cock.

“Feels so good, Benny, move, please.” He instantly gave in to her begging, pulling out of her only to push back in with more force. It didn’t take him long to find a comfortable rhythm, fast enough to leave her choking on gasps, slow enough to give the two enough time to savour every passing second.

“You belong to me now, doll. I can’t let you go again.” (Y/n) didn’t properly understand what he meant by these words, too focused on the feeling of his hand finding her throat, pulling her into his chest. He tightened his grasp on her throat to hold on to her while he fucked them closer towards their high, knowing that they’d give in soon.

“Tell me that you’re mine.” He murmured the words against the back of her neck, while he left yet another mark that wouldn’t fade for a while. She was trembling in his grasp, struggling to reply while he softly choked her, heightening her senses. “Speak, (y/n).”

“I’m yours, fuck, Benny, I’ll always be yours.” A satisfied hum left him at her words–a hum that gave her the final push to throw herself over the edge. She came again with a moan, with squeezed-together eyes and her teeth buried in her lower lip. Benny kept snapping his hips against her behind, chasing his own high with his moans vibrating on her skin.

A deep “Fuck” left him as he came, pulling out of her just in time to paint her behind with his cum. Both were panting, holding onto the couch while they came down from their highs, unable to see through the hazy fog just yet.

“I mean it, doll, we belong together now.” He pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder before he rose to his feet to disappear from her sight. Her mind was racing, her heart was pounding, but no matter how confused she was, deep down she knew that she wouldn’t want to let go of him, following Benny wherever he’d take her.

#Benny Cross smut #Benny Cross imagine #Benny the bikeriders #Austin Butler smut #the bikeriders #Austin butler #the bikeriders imagine #Austin butler imagine

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keekee-23 · 4 months ago

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Unspoken Desires

A Y/N x Damian Priest Fanfiction

Warning: Smut

Summary: Damian Priest offers Y/N a place to stay during her house fumigation. She accidentally catches Damian in an intimate moment, leading to a passionate encounter that reveals their hidden feelings.

Y/N sighed as she locked the front door of her house, taking one last glance at the “Fumigation in Progress” sign staked in her front yard. She knew it was necessary, but the inconvenience of finding somewhere to stay for a few days wasn’t something she’d anticipated. Fortunately, her good friend Damian Priest had offered her a solution. He had invited her to stay at his place until the fumigation was complete. While she initially hesitated, his genuine concern and insistence had won her over.

The thought of being so close to Damian made her nervous, not because she feared for her safety—she knew he would protect her without a second thought—but because of the feelings she had been harboring for him, feelings she had kept hidden for far too long.

When she arrived at Damian’s place, she was struck by how comfortable and inviting it was. Damian’s home was a perfect reflection of him—modern, stylish, and undeniably masculine. The walls were adorned with a mixture of Batman, horror paraphilia and Asian inspired decor, and the furniture was sleek yet comfortable.

He greeted her with his usual charming smile, his tall, muscular frame leaning casually against the doorframe.

“Make yourself at home, Y/N,” Damian said, his voice smooth and inviting. “I’m really glad you decided to stay here. It’ll be nice having some company.”

Y/N returned his smile, though her heart was pounding in her chest. “Thanks, Damian. I really appreciate you letting me crash here. I didn’t want to impose.”

“You’re not imposing at all,” he assured her, his dark eyes holding hers for a moment longer than usual. “I’m happy to have you here.”

The warmth in his voice made her stomach flutter. She had always been attracted to Damian—who wouldn’t be? He was tall, tatted, handsome, and had an effortless charisma that drew people to him. But there was more to him than his looks. He was kind, thoughtful, and had a way of making her feel special, even when she was just a friend in his orbit. And now, staying under his roof, she couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same way about her.

After Y/N settled in, Damian insisted on making dinner. He moved confidently around the kitchen, his strong hands expertly chopping vegetables and seasoning the meat. Y/N watched him from the kitchen island, admiring the way his muscles flexed under his shirt as he worked.

“You’re quite the chef,” Y/N remarked, trying to distract herself from the way her body was reacting to him.

Damian chuckled, glancing at her over his shoulder. “I like to cook. It helps me unwind after a long day. Plus, it’s a great way to impress guests.”

Y/N smirked, feeling a little more at ease. “Well, consider me impressed.”

They ate together at the dining table, the atmosphere comfortable but with an undercurrent of tension that neither could ignore. They talked about everything and nothing— her job, his upcoming wrestling tours, their mutual friends, old memories—but there was something different about their conversation tonight. Damian seemed more attentive, his gaze lingering on her lips when she spoke, his hand brushing hers when he passed her the salt. Y/N felt the heat rise in her cheeks every time their eyes met.

After dinner, they moved to the living room. Damian poured them each a glass of wine, and they sat on the couch, the dim lighting creating an intimate ambiance. They continued talking, their conversation flowing easily, but Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to happen, something that would change everything between them.

When it was finally time to call it a night, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. The day had been surprisingly perfect, and the thought of it ending left her with a longing she couldn’t quite shake.

“Goodnight, Damian,” she said softly as he showed her to the guest room, the wine having left her feeling warm and slightly flushed.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replied, his voice low and filled with something she couldn’t quite place. “Sleep well.”

She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, letting out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. Her heart was still racing, her mind replaying every moment of the evening. It was as if something had shifted between them, something subtle but undeniable.

Y/N changed into her pajamas and slipped into the guest bed, but sleep wouldn’t come.

Her mind replayed the evening's events, the way Damian had looked at her, the subtle touches that sent shivers down her spine. Did he feel the same way she did? Or was she imagining things, letting her attraction to him cloud her judgment?

Sometime later, she woke up with the need to use the bathroom. She rubbed her eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep as she padded down the hallway. On her way back to the guest room, something caught her attention. Damian’s bedroom door was slightly ajar, and a soft light spilled into the hallway.

Curiosity got the best of her, and Y/N found herself peeking through the crack in the door. What she saw made her heart stop.

Damian was lying on his bed, his shirt discarded on the floor, his muscular chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. One hand gripped the sheets beside him, while the other was wrapped around his length, moving with steady, deliberate strokes. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she realized what she was witnessing. But what shocked her more than anything was hearing him moan her name, his voice thick with desire.

“Y/N…”

The sound of her name falling from his lips sent a shockwave of arousal through her body. She should have turned away, given him his privacy, but she was rooted to the spot, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of him pleasuring himself, thinking of her.

She bit her lip, feeling a rush of heat between her thighs as she watched him. The sight of Damian in such an intimate moment, his face contorted in pleasure as he whispered her name, was the most erotic thing she had ever witnessed. Her pulse quickened, and she felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to go to him, to be the one to satisfy the desire he was feeling.

But just as she tried to back away, her foot accidentally bumped into a small table by the wall, the sound echoing loudly in the silent hallway. She froze, her heart leaping into her throat as Damian’s eyes snapped open and locked onto hers.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Y/N’s face burned with embarrassment, her mind racing as she tried to come up with an excuse, anything to explain why she was standing there, watching him. But Damian’s expression was calm, almost amused, as if he had been expecting this all along.

Slowly, he sat up and adjusted himself. His movements were deliberate as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Y/N’s eyes were drawn to his body, the way his muscles flexed as he moved, the sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. He didn’t seem the least bit ashamed of being caught in such a compromising position. If anything, he looked pleased.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down her spine.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Her brain was still trying to process what she had just seen, what she was still seeing. Damian’s eyes were dark with desire as he stood and slowly walked toward her, his movements predatory, like a panther stalking its prey.

Y/N’s body reacted before her mind could catch up, her heart pounding in her chest as he approached. She knew she should turn and run, retreat to the safety of the guest room, but she couldn’t move. The way he was looking at her, with such raw, unfiltered lust, made her knees weak.

When he was only a foot away, Damian reached out, his hand cupping her cheek as he gazed down at her. His touch was warm, his thumb gently stroking her skin as he tilted her head up to meet his eyes.

“I didn’t expect you to see that,” he murmured, his voice sending vibrations through her body. “But I’m glad you did.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. There was something in his tone, something in the way he was looking at her, that made her feel like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, about to fall. Her mind was racing, trying to process what was happening, but all she could focus on was the heat radiating from his body, the way his breath ghosted over her skin.

“I… I didn’t mean to—” she started, but Damian cut her off with a soft shush.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?” he whispered, his hand coming up to caress her cheek. His touch was gentle, but there was a firmness to it that made her shiver. “How long I’ve imagined this?”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She could hardly believe what she was hearing, but the sincerity in his voice, the intensity in his eyes, left no room for doubt. He wanted her—just as much as she wanted him.

“I’ve thought about you, too,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it, but she didn’t care anymore. The truth was out, and there was no taking it back now.

Damian’s eyes darkened with desire, and before she could say another word, he closed the distance between them, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. Y/N melted into him, her hands coming up to clutch his shoulders as she returned the kiss with equal fervor.

The kiss was everything she had imagined it would be—intense, passionate, and filled with a longing that had been building between them for so long. Damian’s hands roamed her body, exploring every curve with a reverence that made her feel cherished, desired. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers in a way that made her toes curl.

He pulled her closer, his body pressing against hers, and Y/N moaned softly into his mouth. She could feel the heat of his arousal through his boxers against her, and it only fueled her own desire. She wanted him—needed him—more than she had ever needed anyone.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifted her off the ground, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried her toward the bed. Y/N’s heart pounded with excitement as he laid her down gently, his body hovering over hers, every movement deliberate, as if he was savoring the moment.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and desire. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Me too,” Y/N admitted, her voice trembling with anticipation. She reached up, tracing the lines of his jaw with her fingertips, marveling at the softness of his skin beneath her touch. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Damian.”

Her confession seemed to ignite something in him. With a low growl, Damian claimed her lips once more, the kiss searing and intense. His hands were everywhere, sliding beneath her shirt to push it up and over her head, discarding it carelessly to the floor. Y/N’s breath hitched as his hands moved to her bra, deftly unclasping it before tossing it aside. He paused for a moment, his gaze raking over her exposed chest, his eyes darkening with desire.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He leaned down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her neck, down to her collarbone, and lower still. Y/N’s breath hitched as he kissed his way down to her breasts, his tongue flicking out to tease one of her hardened nipples.

Y/N gasped, her back arching off the bed as Damian gently took her nipple into his mouth, sending a surge of pleasure through her. The sensation was overwhelming, and she instinctively tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as he lavished her breasts with tender attention. His tongue teased and his lips caressed, each movement igniting a fire that spread through her entire body. Damian’s hands began to explore further, slipping under the waistband of her shorts with a deliberate, slow motion, smoothly tugging them down along with her panties, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.

Once she was completely bare before him, Damian paused to drink in the sight of her. His eyes traced every curve, every inch of her exposed skin with an intensity that made Y/N’s heart race. The heat of his gaze made her skin tingle, and she felt a flush rise to her cheeks under his thorough scrutiny. Yet, despite her initial shyness, the way he looked at her—with such raw, unfiltered admiration—made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

Y/N's thoughts blurred, lost in the whirlwind of sensations coursing through her. The earlier embarrassment she had felt was now a distant memory, drowned out by the overwhelming desire that consumed her. All she could focus on was Damian—how incredible his touch felt, how deeply she craved him. Every caress, every kiss was like a spark to the fire burning within her, intensifying her need for him with each passing moment.

Sensing the depth of her longing, Damian's lips began to travel lower, brushing over the soft, sensitive skin of her stomach, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. His hands followed, gentle yet firm, as they continued to explore her body. He paused briefly, lifting his gaze to meet hers, his eyes dark with desire and filled with a silent question. Y/N, breathless and unable to speak, simply nodded, her consent clear in the way her body responded to his touch.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Damian leaned down, his lips pressing a tender, lingering kiss to her inner thigh, sending a shiver of anticipation through her. Every movement, every touch, was filled with a reverence that made her feel cherished, desired, and utterly consumed by the moment.

Y/N bit her lip, a soft moan escaping her as his lips moved closer to the place where she needed him most. Her hands gripped the sheets beneath her, her body trembling with anticipation as Damian continued his exploration, his mouth leaving no inch of her untouched.

When his tongue finally flicked over her sensitive core, Y/N cried out, her hips lifting off the bed as a wave of pleasure crashed over her. Damian’s grip on her tightened, holding her in place as he delved deeper, his tongue teasing and tasting her with a skill that made her head spin.

He worked her with a precision that spoke of experience, his movements deliberate and focused. He knew exactly what he was doing, exactly how to drive her to the edge of ecstasy. Y/N’s moans grew louder, her body writhing beneath him as she lost herself in the sensation, her mind a blur of pleasure.

“Damian…” she gasped, her hands reaching for him, needing to feel him, to touch him.

Damian lifted his head, his lips glistening with her arousal as he crawled back up her body. He kissed her deeply, allowing her to taste herself on his tongue, and Y/N’s desire for him only intensified. She could feel him, hard and ready against her thigh, and she wanted him inside her, needed him more than anything she had ever needed before.

“I need you,” she whispered against his lips, her voice trembling with the intensity of her longing.

Damian didn’t keep her waiting long. He quickly stripped away his boxers, revealing his tatted muscular body in all its glory. Y/N’s eyes roamed over him, taking in the sight of his broad shoulders, the defined muscles of his chest and abs, the way his body seemed to radiate strength and power. And then there was the hard, thick length of him, standing proudly between his legs, a clear testament to his desire for her.

Y/N swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry as her eyes locked onto his. Damian’s gaze was molten with need as he climbed back onto the bed, positioning himself between her thighs. He leaned down, capturing her lips in another heated kiss as he guided himself to her entrance, the tip of him brushing against her wetness.

Y/N moaned softly into his mouth, her hips bucking instinctively as she sought to bring him closer. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, her body aching for him, for the fulfillment she knew only he could provide.

Damian groaned, the sound vibrating against her lips as he slowly began to push inside her. He moved with a deliberate slowness, inch by agonizing inch, stretching her, filling her completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious combination of pleasure and pressure that had Y/N gasping for breath.

When he was fully seated inside her, Damian paused, his forehead resting against hers as they both took a moment to savor the feeling of being so intimately connected. Y/N’s breath came in shallow pants as she adjusted to the size of him, her body stretching to accommodate him in a way that felt almost sinful.

“You feel so good,” Damian whispered, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. He pressed a soft kiss to her lips before slowly beginning to move, withdrawing almost completely before sliding back in with a smooth, controlled thrust.

Y/N moaned, her head falling back against the pillows as she gave herself over to the sensation. Every thrust was measured, deliberate, as Damian took his time, building a slow, steady rhythm that left her trembling with need. He was relentless, driving into her with a precision that made her toes curl, each stroke sending waves of pleasure radiating out from her core.

“Damian,” she gasped, her fingers digging into his back as he increased the pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more demanding. The sound of their bodies coming together filled the room, a symphony of skin against skin, punctuated by the breathless moans and gasps that fell from her lips.

Damian shifted his angle slightly, his hips rolling in a way that hit just the right spot inside her, and Y/N cried out, her body arching off the bed as a powerful surge of pleasure washed over her. He was hitting all the right places, every thrust pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

Y/N’s world narrowed down to the feeling of Damian inside her, the heat of his body pressed against hers, the way he was driving her absolutely wild with every thrust. Her breath hitched as she felt the familiar coil of pleasure tightening in her lower belly, winding tighter and tighter with every movement.

Damian could sense her nearing the edge, and he increased his pace, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, as he sought to bring her to the peak of pleasure. His hand slid between their bodies, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at her core and pressing down with just the right amount of pressure.

Y/N’s eyes flew open, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as the pleasure exploded within her, a white-hot burst of ecstasy that had her entire body trembling. She clung to Damian, her nails digging into his back as her orgasm crashed over her, wave after wave of intense pleasure rolling through her body. Y/N's moans filled the room, her voice raw and unrestrained as she gave herself over completely to the sensation.

Damian groaned in response, his own control fraying as he felt her walls tightening around him, pulsing with the force of her climax. The way she responded to him, the way her body moved with his, was pushing him to the edge faster than he expected. But he wasn’t ready to let go just yet. He wanted to make this moment last, to savor every second of being with her like this.

He slowed his pace slightly, his thrusts becoming deep and measured as he rode out her orgasm, drawing out her pleasure until she was left trembling and spent beneath him. Y/N's breath came in short, ragged gasps as the aftershocks of her release pulsed through her, her body still clinging to Damian's with a desperate need.

But Damian wasn’t done. He wasn’t satisfied with just one climax; he wanted to see her fall apart again, to hear her cry out his name as he took her to new heights of pleasure. With that thought in mind, he shifted his position slightly, hooking one of her legs over his shoulder to change the angle of his thrusts.

Y/N gasped as the new angle sent a jolt of pleasure straight to her core, her eyes fluttering shut as she felt another wave of arousal build within her. Damian’s movements were more controlled now, each thrust precise and deliberate as he pushed her closer and closer to another climax. His hand found her clit once more, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that had her hips bucking against him, chasing after that delicious friction.

“Damian, please,” Y/N whimpered, her voice desperate as she felt herself teetering on the edge once again. She was so close, so achingly close, and the need to fall over that edge was almost unbearable.

Damian’s eyes darkened at her plea, a growl rumbling in his chest as he increased the pace of his thrusts, driving into her with a renewed intensity. He could feel his own release building, the tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter with every thrust. But he held back, determined to bring her to the brink first.

“Y/N,” he groaned, his voice thick with need. “Come for me again, baby. I want to feel you fall apart around me.”

His words were like a trigger, pushing her over the edge with a force that took her breath away. Y/N’s body tensed, her back arching off the bed as her second orgasm slammed into her, even more powerful than the first. Her vision blurred, and she cried out his name, her voice hoarse and trembling with the intensity of her release.

The sight of her coming undone beneath him, the feel of her tight, pulsing walls around him, was Damian’s undoing. With a guttural moan, he finally let go, his hips snapping against hers as he buried himself deep inside her, his release hitting him with a force that left him trembling. He groaned her name, his voice rough and low as he spilled into her, his body shuddering with the intensity of his climax.

For a moment, they were both still, their bodies locked together as they rode out the last waves of their release. Y/N’s breath came in soft, ragged gasps, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Damian remained above her, his arms trembling slightly as he held himself up, his breath hot against her neck.

Finally, when their breathing began to slow and the room grew quiet once more, Damian gently pulled out of her, collapsing onto the bed beside her. He immediately wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close as they both basked in the afterglow of their lovemaking. Y/N snuggled into his chest, her body still humming with the remnants of pleasure as she listened to the steady beat of his heart.

They lay like that for a long time, neither of them wanting to break the comfortable silence that had settled over them. Damian’s fingers traced lazy patterns on her back, his touch soothing and tender, as if he couldn’t get enough of feeling her skin against his.

Y/N sighed contentedly, her eyes fluttering shut as she let herself relax completely in his embrace. She had never felt so at peace, so completely satisfied, as she did in that moment. Everything felt right, as if this was exactly where she was meant to be.

“I’m glad you stayed,” Damian murmured after a while, his voice soft and filled with contentment. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering against her hair.

“Me too,” Y/N replied, her voice equally soft as she nuzzled closer to him. She knew that things would be different between them now, that their relationship had shifted in a way that couldn’t be undone. But she wasn’t afraid of that change. In fact, she welcomed it.

There was no need for words in that moment. They both knew what had happened, and they both knew that it was the start of something new, something beautiful. And as they drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, they knew that whatever came next, they would face it together.

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