#shy's oc

[shynmighty]

More Emmrook!

by me.

[grendel-menz]

werebeasts

[bunnysnared]

fuck it, mods asleep. post the forbidden ocship. the ghostdoves ♥

[tsukinoshinjiu]

I can finally share the piece I made for the @silentprincesszine!! I loved working on Four Swords Adventure's Zelda, her design is so pretty 🥰 They have left over sales open, so please check them out while they're still in stock ❤💚💙����

[blaysreid]

COVER STORY

pairing = oblivious!spencer + headoverheels!reader

summary = While going through a restricted room for files, Spencer and Reader are nearly caught. To protect what they’ve discovered, she whispers one impossible request "kiss me". And suddenly what starts as a cover becomes something far harder to fake.

content warning = kissing and making out but no smut. just touchy Spencer being needy without realisation.

The precinct air felt heavier at night. The room light was harsh and sterile, the kind that made everything feel more exposed than it should be. You were leaning over the conference table, palms flat against the surface, pulse a little too fast for how still you were trying to stay.

Hotch stood at the head of the room, arms folded, jaw tight. His gaze kept flicking between you and Spencer. He could sense it, not just the tension from the case, but something else. You hoped he didn’t name it. You couldn’t afford to have it named.

Spencer was next to you. Too close, honestly. You could feel the heat radiating from his arm, the light pressure of his sleeve brushing yours when he shifted. It was stupid. Three years in the BAU and you were still like this. Still ridiculously aware of every small movement he made, every time his voice dipped low when he was thinking out loud, every time he met your eyes like he didn’t mean to, like he couldn’t help it.

You were here to talk about the case. That was the whole point. And yet all you could think about was how it felt standing beside him, how the sharp scent of his aftershave mixed with the paper and dust and tension hanging in the room.

You tried to focus.

“There’s something they’re not telling us Hotch" you said, your voice sharper than intended.

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “Specifics?”

You hesitated, just long enough to feel Spencer’s eyes on you. His silence wasn’t passive, it never was. It was heavy. Calculated. A sign that he was either about to say something you’d been trying not to admit to yourself, or that he wanted you to be the one to say it first.

So you did. “Something's off not just about this case but this whole secrecy between the officers.” you said. “The way they’re handling this… they’re not just uncooperative. It’s like they’re trying to control what we see.”

Hotch didn’t answer right away. His eyes were locked on you, analytical, reading between the lines the same way he always did. You felt Spencer shift slightly beside you, hands in the pockets of his cardigan, brows drawn as he looked down at the files again.

“And there are gaps in every report,” Spencer said, his voice quiet but steady. “They’re too clean. Too consistent to be random. Like someone edited them before we even got access.”

He leaned in a little, fingers brushing lightly over the corner of the crime scene photo as he pointed to a timestamp. “This is the second scene. They said the footage was corrupted… but this mark.. see that? That’s from a recorder pause. Manual. Someone stopped the tape.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. It wasn’t fear exactly. It was pressure. The tight, growing weight in your chest that something about this case was much bigger than what was written in ink. Your heart was already pounding a little too fast, but not just because of the evidence. It was because of him.

The fluorescent light caught the soft angles of his face and the way his jaw tensed when he was concentrating, the small furrow in his brow. His hair had fallen slightly over his forehead again, and you felt that stupid, familiar ache start to crawl up your spine.

You’d liked him since the beginning truthfully. Since that awkward, rainy morning three years ago when you walked into Quantico for the first time and he offered you coffee without ever looking directly at you.

It had started slow with quiet admiration, long glances, late night case talks and his comforting words to make you feel better. He was in BAU for a few years before you joined, he knew how things worked and how badly it affects you in the beginning. Therefore he was always ready to show his support towards you. But it wasn't just calming words to you. It was something more.

Now, watching him piece together the parts of something dangerous, watching the way his brain worked through layers and lies, it hit you all over again. Hard.

You didn’t realize you were staring until he glanced up.

His eyes met yours.

Sharp. Soft. Curious.

There was a flicker of something behind them, something unreadable but far from indifferent. And suddenly the air between you felt different. Not heavy. Not cold.

Just… charged. And you wonder if he feels that same feeling inside your chest like butterflies are everywhere and for a second everything but his fades away.

Then Hotch’s phone buzzed. The moment snapped.

He answered with that clipped, professional tone, then tapped the screen to put the call on speaker. Garcia’s voice crackled through, bright but serious.

“Okay, boss. You’re not gonna like this. I did a bit of digging after you sent me those scans and guess what our sweet little department’s been hiding?”

Hotch looked at you and Spencer, jaw set. “What did you find?”

“A whole ass room, that’s what I found,” Garcia said. “It’s buried in the building’s floor plans, looks like a completely normal room. No surveillance, no active logins. Just… nothing. Like it’s locked off from everyone. But someone’s using it. And I've found out It’s where they’re keeping files that don’t show up in their regular system.”

Spencer looked up sharply. You could already see the wheels turning in his head.

“Someone doesn’t want us in there,” he said under his breath.

“Exactly,” Garcia replied. “Which means you have to get in. The door should be open right now until 5pm. Which means you better hurry up before they close it off for the night”

Hotch didn’t hesitate. “Reid. You’re going in. Take her with you.”

You blinked. Spencer looked over at you.

The weight of his eyes again. Not soft this time. Serious. And Something about the way Hotch said it felt heavier than it should’ve.

Spencer straightened his shoulders and nodded. “We’ll find it.”

You swallowed the nerves crawling up your throat. It wasn’t the hidden room that made your heart beat faster.

It was going in there with him.

The hallway beyond the main bullpen was poorly lit, lined with locked doors and empty desks that hadn’t seen use in years. You could still hear the low murmur of officers talking in the squad room a floor below. Too many bodies, too many eyes. But Hotch had bought you a window, and it wouldn’t last long.

Spencer walked ahead of you, quiet and quick. His posture was a little stiff, like he knew you weren’t supposed to be here but he was going anyway. That part didn’t surprise you. He always followed the rules… until he didn’t. You’d seen it more than once on cases like this when something about the math didn’t add up, when the facts refused to sit still. That’s when he changed. Still soft-spoken, still polite… but sharp. Focused. Unflinching.

The badge clipped to your hip swung slightly as you walked. It wouldn’t help you here. Not in this situation where everyone is hiding the reality of the case from agents.

“Wait,” you whispered, grabbing Spencer’s arm gently just before the corner.

He paused, turning his head just enough to hear you, and you could feel the warmth of his body even with the space between you. It was stupid, but your fingers tingled where they’d brushed his sleeve. You dropped your hand.

“Two officers coming down the west stairs,” you murmured.

Spencer nodded once, barely perceptible, then leaned in closer than necessary to point toward a side door you hadn’t noticed before. “Janitor’s closet. Connects to the file corridor. If we cut through, we can reach the archive wing from behind.”

You blinked. “You sure?”

He gave the faintest smile. “I memorized the blueprint Garcia sent.”

Of course he did.

You slipped in behind him, pressing the door shut just as footsteps echoed down the hallway behind you. Inside, it smelled like bleach and old paper towels. Dark. Cramped. Close.

You could feel his breath. Hear the tiny inhale he tried to stifle when your shoulder accidentally brushed his chest.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

By the time you reached the sealed corridor Garcia mentioned, your pulse was back under control.. barely. The hallway here was silent. No cameras. No badge scanner, just an old room with a cracked door.

Spencer stepped forward, fingers gliding over the handle pushing it down slowly until the door creaked open.

Inside, it was dusty like nobody's entered it in weeks. Room reeking of poor insulation and secrets. Metal shelves lined the walls, stacked with unlabeled folders, worn tape reels, and scattered evidence boxes. At the side of the room, a waist-high counter stretched beneath a long strip of flickering fluorescent light.

“We won’t have much time,” you said, but your voice felt far away. You quickly started searching for the box of documents you needed to find.

Because the moment you stepped fully inside, something changed.

It was the silence. The proximity. The fact that you and Spencer were suddenly alone, surrounded by sealed truths and flickering shadows. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That it was just another room, just another case, and that the flutter in your stomach was from adrenaline.

But it wasn’t.

"I found it." Spencer called out, his voice pulling you back to your feet as you make your way back to the front of the room.

You moved toward the counter, trying to shake it off. Focus. That’s all you had to do. You weren’t the type to swoon over someone just because they smelled like old books and stood too close in the dark. You weren’t seventeen.

You hoisted yourself up onto the counter, hoping your knees wouldn't feel so weak anymore. Boots thudding softly against the metal as you settled on the edge. Casual. Confident. Or so you hoped.

Spencer didn’t sit. He stood beside you, shoulder inches from your knee, fingers flipping carefully through the packet he’d pulled from the shelf.

“This is it,” he said, thumbing the corner of a faded document. “These files, none of them were scanned into the system. These are the originals.”

You leaned toward him without realizing it. The scent of his cologne, barely there, clean, something warm, hit you again, and you had to focus on the folder in your lap to keep from looking at him.

He kept reading, shifting a little closer without meaning to. His arm brushed your leg this time.

Neither of you moved.

The air felt heavier here. Not dangerous, just… charged. Like even though you were both focusing on the yet to be solved case, you understood there's unspoken words yet to be said.

You wondered if he noticed. If he felt it, too.

But Spencer was impossible to read. His eyes stayed on the files, mouth slightly parted in concentration. But there was a faint flush at the edge of his collar. Barely there. But real.

You turned a page, pretending not to notice. Pretending you weren’t thinking about how easy it would be to reach over. To tuck that curl behind his ear. To say something you couldn’t take back.

But instead, you cleared your throat.

“Anything useful?”

Spencer blinked, almost startled. Then nodded. “Very. Did you find anything?”

Still no distance between you. "Just the information we already have"

Still no words about it yet he hums in agreement.

The door had clicked shut behind you both just ten minutes ago. You and Spencer stood alone in the dim room, lit only by the buzzing fluorescents overhead.

“This is insane,” you muttered under your breath, flipping through one of the file boxes on the shelf. “I mean, this whole section’s been completely hidden from any reports.”

“Not just hidden,” Spencer said from beside you, pulling out another manila folder. “Look at this... These are from the original investigation. Some of these witness statements never made it into the official file we were given.”

You turned and leaned against the metal counter, trying to act unaffected trying to ignore how close he was to you now, how warm his voice was even when he was being clinical. "I can't believe they'd think that we wouldn't be able to find out about this."

He stood only a foot away. His eyes flicked over the page in his hands, jaw tensed, brows pulled tight. You’d known Spencer for three years now. Joined the BAU together. Watched him from the other side of glass, from across motel rooms, jet seats, crime scenes.

You wanted to say something, but you got distracted again just watching the way his lips moved while he read.

It wasn’t fair. You bottled up so many emotions towards him, of course sometimes there's gonna be cracks and you can't hold back.

But he was so focused. So serious. And all you could think about was how badly you wanted to run your thumb along the edge of his jaw. How your stomach kept flipping every time he looked at you for too long.

You were about to say something anything when footsteps echoed down the hallway.

You both froze.

Spencer’s hand tightened around the folder. You turned your head slowly toward the slightly ajar door — and that’s when you hear it.

An officer talking into a radio, his footsteps getting closer and closer with the keys dangling in his hand.

You didn’t even breathe.

His voice carried faintly as he muttered something into his mic maybe checking in with someone, maybe just stopping to listen.

The door was open enough that if he glanced in. if he took one step closer, he’d see everything.

The documents. The open drawers. You. Him.

Your pulse spiked hard in your ears. You looked at Spencer. His jaw was clenched, eyes wide but actions swift as he moved the documents behind the now closed box. As if not one document left that box in the first place.

But you both knew there's no excuse for you being there regardless of that closed box. There's no reason you could've went to a floor that's not in use, lights off, door barely open.

And then, without thinking, you grabbed his sleeve, pulling him between your legs and whispered:

“Spencer, kiss me.”

He turned so fast it was almost comical. “What?!”

“He’s gonna look in here,” you said in a rush. “We have no excuse, no way of leaving. Pretend we're- you know..”

Spencer’s mouth opened, stunned silent, eyes darting between your face and the doorway. “I-”

And then he moved.

He stepped forward, fast and sharp, and suddenly he was pressed up against you, hand braced against the counter beside your hip. The other one found your waist—awkward at first, but then steady.

Then his lips were on yours.

And just like that your brain short-circuited.

You hadn’t thought it through. Not the part where his breath would catch. Or the way his fingers tightened slightly, unsure, until you kissed him back. The heat of his chest against yours. The way his lips were soft but nervous, like he didn’t know how to fake this kind of thing, because maybe he’d never wanted to fake it.

You heard movement outside.

But you didn’t stop. Because his hands became greedy, pulling you closer by your waist. Your legs now wrapped around him, hand tugging on his perfect curls as he whimpers into your mouth from the feeling.

He leaned in more. Letting you touch him, letting you feel his soft hair as your other hand slid up his chest, curling lightly into the collar of his shirt.

And that’s when the door creaked wide open. Right when his hands fiddled with the top buttons on your shirt, completely forgetting about the officer, the case, the documents and where you were. His mind was filled with you.

“Oh—uh—whoa.”

You barely pulled away, still taking one last second of that kiss to cherish when you've cleared your head.

The officer stood in the doorway, blinking at the sight of you tangled together.

“Well… that’s one way to kill time on shift,” he said, laughing under his breath.

You broke the kiss and turned quickly, trying to hide your red face in Spencer’s shoulder. “Oh my god Spence I told you we were being reckless,” you said, feigning flustered giggles. Trying to hide the reality between what was actually going on.

Spencer stammered something like, “Sorry.. uh-we didn’t mean to-”

The officer held up a hand, shaking his head. “You agents are all the same. I’ll let it slide, but this room’s off limits. Go somewhere else and take your, uh… moment, somewhere else too.”

You laughed nervously again, until you felt Spencer's hand tighten on you, picking you up before placing you back on the ground and pulling your hand in his. “C'mon.”

Spencer managed a crooked, helpless smile. the worst actor you’d ever seen and while you pretend to fix your clothes, the officer obviously feeling the need to face the other way, Spencer slowly slid one of the folders to the side with his sleeve as you shifted off the counter. Your hand stayed casually on top of the incriminating file, sliding it smoothly under your jacket.

The officer didn’t seem to notice.

Didn’t even glance at either of you anymore, simply focusing on locking the door the second Spencer stepped out the door.

As you two walked out, shoulders brushing, you could feel Spencer vibrating with tension beside you.

You kept your expression calm, playful. But your heart was still racing.

And behind the flush on his cheeks and the scatter in his breath, Spencer Reid looked like a man who was never, ever, going to forget that kiss.

A/N = if you enjoyed please check out my other works, im new and it'd really help out to see if I should continue if people are interested :)

masterlist

[uyunto]

Fenny!

[my oc]

[bananastarlo]

I see you

childhood friend yandere x shy reader

You two are in the same daycare. He is the complete opposite of you — a loud, confident boy who charms both the adults and the other kids with the big grin he always enters the room with.

You, on the other hand, didn’t stick out too much. Always a bit more hesitant and shy around new people.

One of the things on the agenda today was a field trip.

Having arrived at the destination, the caretakers gave you instructions:

“Okay, little stars. Today is a wonderful day to play a game, don’t you agree?“

The others cheered in agreement.

“We hid clues that you’ll be able to find in this area! So get in pairs, if possible with someone new!“

As the childcare worker claps in her hands, the children scatter around, most of them sticking with their usual friend groups.

However, you stayed back. Nobody came up to you, and you were too anxious to approach the others, fidgeting with the sleeves of your shirt while focusing on the ground with your head low.

The caretaker took notice of your little form and exchanged worried glances with the other adults, slowly drawing near and crouching down to your level.

“Hey, have you found a partner yet?“

You shook your head no.

Reaching out her hand, she kindly offered to find a partner for you.

Yet, before you could take her hand, he appears in front of you — scraped knees, a backwards cap and messy hair — flashing you a boyish grin.

“Come on, let’s go together!“ he chirped, eyes glistening with fondness while yours lit up with happiness.

He took your hand and led you to where his friends were. They couldn’t understand why he refused their offer to pair up, until you showed up, shielded by his body.

As you both were hunting for clues, you felt yourself growing more and more relaxed in his presence.

He always protected you from slimy bugs and held your hand so that you wouldn’t get lost without him.

“You’re now my best friend.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question, because he wouldn’t accept you saying no.

And you smiled.

“I like that.”

And the smile you gave him was so genuine, he felt his own heart beating a little more than usual.

You spent the rest of your childhood years sticking to him like glue. You admired him and his presence.

One day, when you were older, you spent time at his house. It was basically yours as well, with how much time you spent there.

Lying next to each other, you faced away from him while he stared at your back, too scared to move.

At times, he could be quiet. He could be soft. But only you were allowed to see this side of him. Only you deserved it.

As he listened to your slow, rhythmic breathing, you turned around.

You weren’t expecting him to be so close — your noses almost touched.

And your stomach flipped at the sight of his half-opened eyes that now widened as much as your own.

He saw it — your pupils, dilated.

His heart began hammering against his ribcage, and he pressed his face into the mattress.

“What?“ you murmured softly.

“N-nothing! You just threw me off guard.”

His response made you chuckle. It was cute to see him without his usual confident tone.

As older teenagers, you both started to see each other differently.

Behind his golden-boy personality and sheepishly handsome face, there was something deeper, a protectiveness directed at you.

He saw you as a woman now. And you, well—

You planned a movie night. Just the two of you.

You’d both been so busy lately, you started to miss his annoying voice and the way he always made you feel right.

As the movie played, you became bored and decided to mess with him a little, just enough to get a reaction.

“Heeey,” you utter, laying your leg on his.

He grinned, showing the dimples you adored so much on him.

But as you started to snuggle up even more and chose to playfully ruffle his messy hair, he became serious.

His hand gently gripped your wrist halfway, and your smile dropped.

“Do you not realize what you’re doing to me? That’s not fair,” his voice croaked — low, with a dangerous hint.

You became nervous and replied, laughing the awkwardness off.

“What do you mean? I’m just playing with you.”

He sighed, propping himself up on top of you, which knocked the breath out of your lungs.

“I’m not the little boy anymore who took these things as innocent gestures. Please acknowledge me as a man. And if you were to do that with every man while being so oblivious… I would rather keep you locked up. Do you understand?”

You couldn’t deny the way that made you feel — more than it should.

[anbaisai]

"(Sigh) We'll continue this another ti- mmf?!"

With a guy like Jamil, you really gotta pick up the slack sometimes. No tie to pull on though, so I guess we'll just have to use that hoodie!

(Inspired by this artwork by オレコ on Pixiv!)

Bonus Jamil for the rest of the day:

[slimespecter]

i thought of something funnier than 24

[pcktknife]

someone on twitter said itd be fun if we made tennas based on our own tvs and i dont have this one anymore but its the one ive been nostalgic about since finishing chapter 3

[shynmighty]

Screenshot re-draw 😎

[grendel-menz]

my love mine all mine

[blobbei-art]

Repurposed the fairy AU Kasifer design and turned it into its own character. Bee fairy!

[riddlesrizzler]

𝙒𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙋𝙤𝙤𝙝

summary: You can’t just sit in your corner of the forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes. characters: mattheo riddle. shy! ravenclaw! reader. mentions of slytherin boys. warnings: none! word count: 2.5k

The familiar buzz of morning chatter filled the air, but it was all too distant, too muffled in the back of your mind as you scanned the room. Mattheo’s friends were clustered together at their usual spot, sitting at the Slytherin table, their voices rising above the hum of conversation. You felt the familiar knot of anxiety twist tighter in your stomach.

The weight of the book, the note-it had been all you could think about since you found it, and now you couldn’t ignore it any longer.

You told yourself to breathe, to focus. The cool morning air filled your lungs as you exhaled, and you forced your legs to move toward them, each step feeling heavier than the last. You had to speak to him. You had to understand what it all meant-the book, the message, his intentions. You had no answers yet, only questions swirling in your mind.

As you neared the table, Draco was the first to notice you. His gaze flicked up from his conversation, and a knowing look passed between you two-sharp, almost predatory. He raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips, but he didn’t speak, simply watching you. He knew why you were here, and he wasn’t going to offer any assistance unless you asked. It was in his nature to let you come to your own conclusions.

Theo, however, didn’t have that same reserved nature. He glanced up from his food, his eyes scanning you briefly before his lips twitched into a grin. The grin wasn’t malicious, but there was a hint of mischief there, as though he had already guessed the reason for your sudden appearance. His posture was casual, laid-back, the picture of someone who had all the time in the world, but you could feel his gaze sharpen on you when you stopped in front of him.

“What’s up?” he asked, his voice low and easy, but there was something almost knowing in his tone, as though he’d seen this all play out a thousand times before.

You hesitated, caught in the rush of emotions and confusion. Finally, you managed to speak, your words spilling out before you could stop them. “Do you know where Mattheo is?”

The question hung in the air, a thick silence settling over the table for a moment. Theo’s grin widened, and you swore you could feel the heat rise in your cheeks as the attention shifted to you. Enzo, who had been pretending to concentrate on his breakfast, looked up, his eyes glinting with amusement. He exchanged a knowing glance with Theo before leaning forward slightly.

“You got his message then?” Enzo’s voice was light, but there was an edge of something deeper to it, something that made your cheeks burn hotter.

“Yes,” you answered, your voice quieter than you intended, but the words carried the weight of everything that had built up in your chest. “But I need to talk to him. Where is he?”

Theo chuckled softly, his arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back in his seat, making no effort to hide the amusement on his face. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, but his smirk faded slightly, his expression growing more serious, almost thoughtful.

“He’s probably in the Quidditch locker rooms,” he said, his voice unhurried, as though it were an obvious fact. “That’s where he goes when he needs to think. If he’s been, you know, trying to figure stuff out.”

The words hit you like a sudden blow to the chest. The Quidditch locker rooms? The thought of him being so close, yet so far away, sent a jolt through you, but it also fueled the urgency in your veins. You couldn’t wait any longer. You had to find him.

You nodded quickly, already turning toward the door. The air in the hall felt thick now, the space closing in on you as you tried to push past your nerves. But just as you were about to walk away, Theo’s voice stopped you.

“Hey,” he called out, his tone a little more serious now, softer than before. It was almost as if he were considering his words carefully. You turned back, confused, because this wasn’t the Theo you were used to-the one who teased relentlessly, who always had a sarcastic comment on hand.

This Theo was different. He was still sitting casually at the table, but his eyes had lost their usual edge, replaced with something far gentler.

“I just want you to know something,” he continued, his voice quiet but firm. “Mattheo... he’s never really been the type for all the... bookish stuff. You know, the notes, the quotes, all that. But he’s doing it for you. He’s been trying because... well, he cares.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. They were simple, and yet they held so much weight. You swallowed hard, trying to digest what Theo had just said. Mattheo, the one who always seemed so guarded, so distant, had been changing for you? The realization left you momentarily speechless, and for a moment, you felt vulnerable-exposed.

But at the same time, there was something undeniably comforting about Theo’s blunt honesty. It was like a small reassurance, a promise that maybe you weren’t walking into this blind.

You nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. “Thanks,” you muttered, your voice softer than you expected. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at your lips as you turned away, heading for the door once again. “I’m going to go find him.”

As you made your way toward the exit, Enzo’s voice called after you, light and teasing, but there was a warmth in his tone that made it clear he wasn’t just joking. “Good luck!” he called, his voice carrying across the room with a touch of mockery, but underneath it, you could hear the sincerity.

You didn’t look back, but the small gesture made your chest feel lighter, as though it had all somehow shifted. The Quidditch locker rooms. That’s where you’d find him. Your pulse quickened with every step, your thoughts racing ahead of you. What would you say? How would you even begin? The words you had rehearsed in your mind felt suddenly insufficient, and the weight of the moment pressed down on you, but you couldn’t turn back now. You just hoped that when you found him, you’d be able to find the right words-words that would finally unravel the tension, finally explain the feelings swirling between you both.

And as you pushed through the door, stepping out into the crisp morning air, the world around you felt like it was holding its breath.

-

The Quidditch locker rooms were enveloped in an eerie kind of stillness, the only sound the soft, rhythmic brushing of Mattheo’s broomstick being polished. The faint, comforting smell of wood polish and leather clung to the air, mingling with the lingering scent of freshly cut grass from the pitch outside. The mid-morning sunlight streamed through the open windows, casting soft, golden beams across the room, illuminating the dust motes floating lazily in the air.

Mattheo, with his usual intensity, was meticulously focused on his task, his brow furrowed in concentration as he ran a cloth over the broom, ensuring every inch was spotless. His hands moved with practiced ease, the movements almost ritualistic, as though the broomstick itself demanded the same precision and care he gave everything else.

But you couldn’t focus on the serenity of the moment. Every step you took toward him felt like it was dragging you through a thick fog of uncertainty. Your thoughts were a whirlwind, your heart hammering in your chest with every echoing footstep. This wasn’t a place you had ever imagined being, not like this, not with everything you had kept buried for so long. You had been avoiding this conversation, this confrontation with your own feelings, but now it was all too real. The words you had kept locked away were threatening to spill out, and no amount of hesitation could hold them back.

You paused in the doorway, your hand brushing against the frame as you gathered your courage. Mattheo didn’t seem to notice you at first; he was too caught up in his task, his focus entirely on the broom in his hands. It was only when you took a quiet breath and said his name that he looked up.

“Mattheo?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the quiet like a sudden rush of wind.

His head snapped up, his eyes widening in surprise as they locked on you. For a split second, his expression was unreadable, but then a flicker of something softer crossed his features. He set the broom aside with deliberate care, brushing his hands together before straightening up.

“Hey, what’s up?” His voice was calm, though there was a trace of curiosity in his tone, his gaze not leaving you.

You felt your breath hitch, your chest tightening under the weight of his gaze. It was always like this with him, like he could see straight through you, and it made everything feel so much more intense than it should have been. But you couldn’t back down now. You had to say it.

“I-” You started, but the words caught in your throat. You swallowed hard, gathering your thoughts, then pushed through. “Thank you for the book,” you said, your voice a little steadier this time, though there was still a nervous tremor there. “The new copy of Pride and Prejudice... it’s perfect. You really didn’t have to.”

He shrugged, his usual indifference creeping back into his demeanor, but there was something in his eyes that softened the action, something that made the air feel warmer between you. “You needed a new one,” he said casually, though there was an unspoken tenderness in his voice. “Your old one was falling apart.”

You nodded, but the words felt heavy now, like they were leading you to something you couldn’t avoid. The silence between you stretched, thick with unspoken things. You had to say it, even if it terrified you.

“I am no better than the book you gifted me,” you blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush. “At first, I judged you. I listened to what others said, I let their words shape my view of you. But then... you started talking to me about books, like The Great Gatsby, and I knew, even then, that I had feelings for you. I just didn’t know how to say them.”

A slow realization crept across Mattheo’s face, his eyes softening. You could feel the weight of the moment between you, the truth hanging in the air like an open wound.

“I can read as many words as I want,” you continued, your voice trembling slightly, “but it doesn’t mean I know how to say them. I’ve been afraid... because I didn’t know how to tell you how I felt.”

You paused, a lump forming in your throat, the truth finally spilling out in the most vulnerable of ways. "But I do know now. I like you, Mattheo. I like you in a way that no book or quote could explain. It's more than that, and it's terrifying."

He took a small step closer, his expression unreadable for a moment, but then something shifted in his eyes. It was like everything between you clicked into place. Slowly, as if testing the waters, he reached out and cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin.

“What made you come out here?” he asked, his voice softer now, filled with curiosity. There was a vulnerability there, something unguarded, and you felt a rush of affection for him, the way he always seemed to make space for your feelings, for your thoughts.

You bit your lip, searching for the right words, but in the end, the only thing you could think to say was simple, and it felt right somehow. “You,” you whispered. “You made me come out here.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly puzzled. You smiled, stepping a little closer to him. “You can’t just sit in your corner of the forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes,” you said, quoting the words from Winnie the Pooh that had always stuck with you. They felt like the right words now, even if they were odd in the moment. You weren’t sure why you said it, but it felt true.

Mattheo stood still for a long moment, blinking slowly, as though your words were taking time to sink in. Then, to your surprise, he laughed-a soft, genuine laugh that rang out through the otherwise quiet room. It was like a weight lifting off your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sound.

“You’re quoting that yellow bear right now?” he asked, his eyes wide with amusement, an incredulous grin spreading across his face. “You really went there?”

You nodded, fighting the urge to laugh yourself. “He’s very wise,” you said seriously, meeting his playful gaze, the mischievous glint in your eyes betraying your words.

He shook his head, still smiling. “You’re something else,” he murmured, and before you could reply, his hand was at your back, gently pulling you closer. You didn’t resist; in fact, you leaned into the touch, feeling the heat of him radiate through you. It was a natural pull, an unspoken invitation to let go of everything you’d been holding onto.

Neither of you spoke for a moment, the air thick with the closeness that had always been there but never fully acknowledged until now. The walls between you both felt like they were crumbling, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but honesty, raw and real.

And then, before you could say another word, his lips were on yours, gentle at first, as if he were waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t. You leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body, the steadiness of his presence as he kissed you, the feeling of his lips against yours sending a wave of relief through your chest. The kiss deepened, and for the first time, it felt like everything you had been hiding inside was finally coming to the surface.

When he pulled back, both of you were breathless, and there was an understanding between you now-something unspoken but real.

You leaned against him, your forehead resting gently against his. “You don’t have to read for me, Mattheo,” you whispered, your voice soft, but full of meaning. “If you don’t want to.”

Mattheo smiled, his eyes filled with something that made your heart race. “I’ll write a whole book for you,” he said with a quiet intensity, his voice steady and sure. “Anything you want. A story just for you.”

Your smile widened, your heart swelling with emotion at his words. It wasn’t just a promise, it was everything he had been too afraid to say until now, everything you had needed to hear. And in that moment, you realized that this was just the beginning.

The beginning of something honest and true, something you both would write together, one page at a time.

[chorioretinitis]