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humanitysstrongestsoldier1 · 5 days ago

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𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 | 𝑃. 𝑆𝐸𝑂𝑁𝐺𝐻𝑊𝐴 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

Alternate Universe: University, OG Countries

Genre: Mature, Fluff, Smut, F2L

Pairing: Seonghwa X Nerd F!Reader

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Summary:

“This may be the night that my dreams might let me know. All the stars are closer.” - Kendrick Lamar and SZA, All The Stars

You were made of stars. Stitched from constellations and loneliness. He found you anyway.

In a foreign land, where you chased your dreams of creative writing, you collided with Park Seonghwa: beautiful, radiant, terrifyingly kind. Between stolen glances, unfinished stories, rooftop constellations, and a love that bloomed like a supernova, you realise: you were never lost. You were just waiting for someone to find you in your orbit — and stay.

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Warnings: kissing, neck kissing, oral sex (fem rec.), explicit language, mirror sex, body worship, light dom/sub, slight breeding kink (if you squint), fingerfucking (kinda), overstim., manhandling, forced eye contact, handjobs. Wooyoung is his own warning lolz.

A/N: So this popped up on my fyp the day i finished my draft of this ff, the song is the same and so is the man, is this a sign from the universe or am i tweakin?? someone pls save yeosang in this ff, also this may be a bit self indulgent, reader has acne scars and stretch marks, literally waited until i finished TSDOT7 to post this, finalising this during finals week was ironic af

Being an astrophysics major by itself was a dream come true.

Indeed, the math was brutal. There were countless nights you banged your head against textbooks, hoping osmosis would bless you with answers. Growing up in a country that shaped global advancements in STEM, it felt natural, inevitable, even, to fall in love with the cosmos. And you did. You chased astrophysics with a ferocity few could match. But when your 12-year-old self first discovered writing; something shifted. Something opened. Which is exactly why, the moment you held your degree in strong hands, you applied for college again. Not for answers in equations, but for meaning in words. This time, in a country known not for rockets or labs, but for language, philosophy, and the ache of beautiful things. You wanted an adventure so you sought it out.

In this world, most countries are known for something. Like people, each country had a soul.

Illusia was music. Open beaches, summer-long festivals, street art blooming across abandoned buildings.

Halaland pulsed neon. Dance battles in alleyways, cyphers on rooftops, espresso-fueled tech startups with holographic prototypes coded overnight.

Aurelia was revolutionary. Poetry-like war cries. Taekwondo academies and experimental theatre in the same street.

And then there were two. The two that held your story between them.

Mehrasht , your home. Capital: Rajmaer . A country where science was the tenet; where teenagers programmed robots in ancient courtyards, and RIOSAF — Rajmaer Institute of Sciences & Innovation — stood like a temple for the mind. You’d entered its gates at fifteen, graduating by nineteen as one of their youngest astrophysics scholars. It wasn’t easy. It never is. But it was everything.

And now?

Atelora. Capital: Solune . The mountains watched over the city like protectors. Rain fell often, perfect for writing and introspection. The monsoon was very similar to your home and often brought you comfort. This was where you studied creative writing now — SMAI , Solune Music & Arts Institute . Modest in size, but fierce in passion. Here, painters drew images beyond explanation, philosophers debated and musicians wrote symphonies inspired by heartbreak.

Even though you were technically a “transfer student,” your presence had stirred curiosity from the moment you stepped onto campus. You were young, just twenty, already holding a degree, already having stared down and solving equations that made most students shudder. And yet you chose stories. You chose metaphors. You chose a blank page over a telescope lens– for now at least. Still, the stars never quite left you. You saw them in your writing.

And sometimes you saw them in him .

You had become extremely close friends with a group of 8 artistic men. Kim Hongjoong, Jeong Yunho, Kang Yeosang, Choi San, Song Mingi, Jung Wooyoung, Choi Jongho.

And of course Park Seonghwa. The incarnation of your desires.

When you first set your gaze upon him in your shared mythology class, it felt as though time itself had stopped ticking, going against the very physics you spent years getting a degree over. The irony of it never failed to baffle you. It wasn't his looks—although that man was undeniably beautiful—it was the book he was reading. It was about the rich culture and mythology of your country, of Mehrasht. You didn't have the courage to approach him and chose to sit a row ahead of him. Yeosang sat next to you and his curiosity got the best of him and he started asking about your astrophysics degree. You both bonded over your love for space and mythology. He introduced you to the rest of his group and you all clicked instantly, their accepting and loving nature helping you in a new country and school. When you realised that Seonghwa was part of their group, you almost started believing in a god.

—

The campus library was nearly empty. Golden light pooling through stained glass. You're sitting on the floor between the philosophy and poetry sections, legs crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed to your elbows, eyes locked on your laptop screen. Seonghwa finds you there. He just sits beside you, a quiet gravity. He’s of course still shy due to your friendship being new, but still open minded and curious about your nature.

“You’re writing something new?” he asks softly.

You close your laptop halfway, unsure. “It’s not finished.”

“Neither is the story of our lives,” he murmurs. “But it is still beautiful is it not.”

You hesitate… then open it again and slide it toward him. The title reads:

“Orbit; Closer to Me”

He reads in silence, his eyes taking in every piece of your literary marvel.

The story follows two satellites. Drifting, spinning, drawn toward the same dying planet. One is built to observe, the other to destroy. But they keep circling, unable to touch, always a second too late. Always on the opposite side of the planet. In a way it resembled you and Seonghwa. Your tendency to always search for more, your ambition and constant drive causing things to fall around you; to be destroyed. And Seonghwa, who observed everyone with tender eyes.

At the very end, one of the satellites whispers: "If I had met you in another world, would the universe allow me to love you completely? Would we be closer?"

Seonghwa’s hand tightens on the laptop. “Woah,” he says, voice raw, “Holy shit.”

You don't look at him. Not yet. “It’s fiction,” you say.

“Then let me live in it,” he replies with a chuckle.

You finally turn, eyes meeting him. Your voice, when it comes, is steady.

“Do you think stars could have a mind of their own and fall in love?”

Seonghwa pauses and takes in the character of your question, deeply thinking of a good and honest answer.

“Only the brightest ones,” he answers. “The ones who burn knowing they’ll die. Because they know what true love is.”

You smile. And for the first time in a long time, you don't feel like you're drifting, you don’t feel hollow.

—

Over time, the eight of them became family. Your corner of comfort. Music and lyrical composition with Hongjoong and Mingi. Long philosophical conversations with Yeosang. Soft, contemporary dance lessons which Yunho begged to teach you. Chaotic sleepovers at your place with Wooyoung and San. Karaoke, pranks and card games with Jongho. And despite how new everything had once felt, your world here, in Atelora, in Solune, began to feel a little more like home .

Still, with Seonghwa, things moved... differently. At first, he barely spoke to you. Not out of disinterest, but out of something that almost felt like reverence. Like he didn’t want to ruin something fragile and rare just by getting too close. He listened more than he talked. Always watching, always gently smiling.

But slowly, things shifted after that day in the library.

It started with shared glances during lectures. Long, held eye contact across the seminar room which ended with both of you looking away with blushes coating your cheeks. Then came the silent routine of walking out of class together, neither of you planning it, but always falling into step as if the universe programmed it.

One day, he tapped your shoulder with a quiet, “Hey Y/N,” as you were packing your notes. You turned — breath caught somewhere between your ribs due to his touch— only to find him holding your Mehrashtri fountain pen.

“You dropped this.” It was such a small thing. But when his fingers brushed yours the hum of the world changed frequency.

—

A study session just the two of you was meant to be about ancient symbolism in myths, but somehow ending with him asking about your favorite stars.

“Do you still look up at them?” he asked one night.

“Always,” you replied. “Even when I write, I think I’m trying to translate starlight into words.”

He’d gone quiet for a moment. Then, softly:

“That’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful , you almost said. But didn’t.

Instead, you let yourself fall in love with his presence. The way he gently corrected your posture when you slouched over your notebook, pushed up your glasses with a laugh as they slipped. The way he hummed under his breath when reading. The way he memorized your favorite coffee or chai order and even started bringing it without asking. The way he cared for his 7 brothers, mother hen style.

He started borrowing your books. You started sketching constellations in his notes. When he spoke about Mehrasht, he did so with admiration. Not as someone who studied it from afar, but as someone who now saw it through your eyes.

Sometimes, you caught him looking at you like you were a story he was trying to finish; or maybe one he was too scared to begin.

He didn’t say it, not yet. But Seonghwa was falling.

And you. Brilliant, quiet, starlit. Were becoming his galaxy.

—

One afternoon, you were in your car, inching out of campus traffic, when you spotted Seonghwa stepping through the front doors of the main building.

“Seonghwa!” you called out, rolling your window down.

His head lifted from where he’d been tucking a pencil into his tote. He turned toward the sound of your voice, eyes scanning until they landed on you, and then, he smiled. That soft, radiant smile that made your heart do impossible things. He jogged over, tote swinging at his side.

“Hey, Y/N! Heading home?”

“Yep. Want a ride?” you asked, eyes lighting up with a mix of mischief and sincerity.

There was a flicker of hesitation in his gaze, subtle, but you didn’t catch it.

“If it’s not a problem,” he said gently.

“My love, you are far from a problem. You’re my salvation,” you replied, lips curling into a flirty smirk.

The blush was immediate. A red flush crept from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears, blooming beautifully across his cheeks.

“Spoken like a true creative writing major,” he murmured, looking away with a grin.

You laughed. “Get in, loser.”

He didn’t hesitate after that. He opened the passenger door and slid in, and just like that, the two of you were back in your orbit. The two of you sang along to songs from both your countries, laughing at each other’s dramatic falsettos and purposely missed notes. His pronunciation in your mother tongue never failed to impress you. At this point, Seonghwa was an honorary Mehrashtri. When you finally pulled up in front of their shared house, Seonghwa turned to you, his expression softening. He reached for your hands, took them into his, and pressed gentle kisses to your knuckles.

“Thank you for the ride,” he whispered.

You didn’t need to reply. The smile you gave him said enough.

As your friendship grew, so did the bravery to start being physically affectionate with each other. Closer than you even realized. He had started reaching out to you more, sitting beside you even when there were other open seats, touching your wrist when he wanted your attention, letting his hand linger longer than necessary when passing you notes. And you… you welcomed it all.

Every graze of fingers, every shoulder bump, every brush of knees. It was intoxicating. Friends, yes, but always on the verge of something more. That tension definitely did not go unnoticed.

Jongho and Wooyoung were relentless in their teasing towards you . Hongjoong and Yunho, on the other hand, took it upon themselves to push Seonghwa — nudging him with pointed looks and strategic wingmanning. The seven of them were on a mission to get their oldest with you.

As you drove away that day, you waved at him through the window. He stood at the curb, watching you disappear into the streetlight-dappled horizon. Then, sighing to himself he turned and walked inside.

What you didn’t know, what you still didn’t know, was this:

Seonghwa had driven himself to campus that day. His car was parked in the northern lot.

But the second he heard your voice calling his name, he didn’t even think twice. Jumped into your car with a smile and a heart beating faster than it should’ve. He never regretted it. Not even when he walked all the way back to campus just to retrieve his car later that night.

Because love — or something dangerously close to it — was worth walking miles and miles for.

And you… beautiful you; were always worth it.

—

You hadn’t meant to overhear. You really hadn’t. You were just trying to return a book Hongjoong lent you. But when you rounded the corner near the media lounge, voices froze you in place.

“I think I’m in love with her,” Seonghwa’s voice was quiet, raw.

Behind the bookshelf divider, you could see Hongjoong’s silhouette leaned against the piano, Seonghwa pacing slowly, his slender alarms crossed.

“Seonghwa, we've all known that. We’ve been trying to get you to admit it too…but tell me why you finally think so, get it off your chest,” Hongjoong asked gently.

Seonghwa let out a breath. “She’s quiet, but intense. She’s like a black hole wearing headphones. Like, you know something massive is happening under the surface and it hums through the air when she’s near.”

You bit the inside of your cheek at his attempt of building a metaphor. Your hands curled around the book in your grip.

“She understands loneliness. Being in a new country, with a new culture and new people. With a new major and more dreams. Her ambition is always drifting but she doesn't understand it in a sad way — it's more like gravity. Always there, always pulling, and she still manages to orbit it gracefully.”

There was a pause, then softer:

“She writes notes related to astrophysics in her margins. Combining science and arts. Little ones. Precise. Brutal. She’s smarter than any of us and doesn’t flaunt it. But I see it. God , Hongjoong. Her weird ass writes poetry in binary and has all the locations of the stars in the night sky memorised and I love her for it.”

Hongjoong said something inaudible along the lines of “that cute lil nerd,” and Seonghwa laughed once, short and breathless.

“She once wrote this short story called ‘Singularity’ for her project. It was about a black hole shrinking due to radiation. The whole thing was a breakup metaphorical allegory, but it hurt. I’ve read it twelve times ever since she sent that PDF. And I still don’t know if I want to cry or kiss her. Everything she does, everything she writes or creates, I fall in love with because it's a part of her.”

Your body betrayed you in that moment and a soft gasp escaped before you could swallow it down.

And silence. Hongjoong’s eyes meeting yours and widening, lips parting.

Then, “Y/N?” Seonghwa’s voice, closer now, cautious.

You turned and ran.

—

You don’t respond to his texts for the rest of the day. But that night, as promised every Friday, you show up.

The rooftop above the humanities building was forgotten by most but sacred to you both. A medium-powered telescope hung over the edge of the rail, but you ignored it, your own scope slung over your shoulder. You always brought the better one. He was already there, wrapped in a black hoodie, eyes flicking up the second he felt your presence. Like gravity itself had shifted.

You set your bag down on the old four-legged charpai, the ropes creaking just a little. Quietly, you pulled out your telescope and began adjusting it, setting the lens on Jupiter — your favorite.

Seonghwa didn’t say a word. He just watched you. In the way he always did. Like you were made of dark matter and wonder.

“I wasn’t supposed to hear,” you finally said, voice low, eyes still on the stars.

Seonghwa turned his head, his gaze soft, unflinching. “I’m not sorry you did.”

You let out a breath, half-laugh, half-crack. “Seonghwa… I’m complicated. And I’ve always assumed that was too much for people.”

You sat down on the edge of the charpai, hands clasped between your knees. “Throughout my life, I believed no one would ever truly understand me. My weird love for weird things. The way I talk to myself, the way I disappear into my own mind. I’ve always been… too much or not enough.”

You looked up at the stars, eyes settling on Altair, blinking hard. “My mind never stops. It spirals. One second I’m calculating exoplanetary distances and the next—as you noticed— I’m writing poetry in binary. I dove right back into school for creative writing because I felt… hollow. And for funsies, apparently.”

You laughed once, bitter and real.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend. Most of my life I’ve just… existed in loneliness. Whispering to walls when I needed someone to listen. Friend groups leaving. Family never really understanding my soul. My skin’s marked with scars I’ve learned to love — my own little craters and constellations — but I still don’t always feel beautiful. I’m not put together. I’m a mess half the time. And you? Seonghwa, I'm jealous of how beautiful you look all the time. I look like a greaseball in a hoodie and you look like some runway model in yours.”

Your voice broke just a little as you laughed in denial. “But somehow… you love all the parts of me I’ve spent years hating. And that?...That fucking terrifies me, Seonghwa.”

You finally turned to face him, eyes burning, lip trembling just slightly. “Why, Seonghwa? Why would you love someone like me, when no one else has?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he crossed the small space between you, sinking to his knees before the charpai, resting his hands on either side of your legs, face close enough that you could feel his breath. His eyes searched yours, and when he spoke, his voice was steady.

“Because you don’t pretend. You don’t dress up your soul to fit someone else’s standards. You’re chaos and constellations and wild brilliance, but you let me orbit around you anyway.”

He touched your hand, gently. “You say you’re hard to love, but I’ve never felt such fire in my heart before. You talk about loneliness like it’s something shameful, but I see it in your writing, in your silence, and I think you turn it into something beautiful. If anyone could understand the quiet parts of me, it’s you. Not Hongjoong, not our other 6 little idiots, you. What I have taken and perceived from you, I can say without a doubt, you are probably the best thing that has happened in my life for a while.”

His fingers traced the back of your knuckles. “You don’t need fixing. You’re not ‘too much or ‘not enough’ You’re... vast. Like the universe. Perfectly designed, like the universe. And I’m just grateful you let me be a part of yours.”

You blinked, and the tears fell from your eyes, cascading down your cheeks. He wiped them with his thumb like he was handling stardust.

And when you leaned into him, forehead to forehead, noses touching, lips brushing each others, heart cracking open under the starlight, you whispered:

“Stay with me tonight.”

“I was never going to leave,” he murmured.

And somewhere in the distance, Jupiter glowed quietly.

Witness to your unfolding as your lips connected with each other.

—

It had been a while since that night.

The two of you claimed your relationship. It was too strong, too cosmic, to be labeled with something as soft as ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’ . That felt like trying to describe a galaxy with a single syllable; inaccurate, reductive.

You two were more than that. More like twin stars caught in mutual orbit. Irrational but perfectly everywhere like π.

You existed around each other in ways you didn’t have to define. Only feel. And it was mutual. In public, your fingers found his under tables. In private, his lips found yours, his hands caressing your skin.

Tonight was different. Tonight you gave yourself to him.

Your apartment door clicks shut behind you, muffling the distant throb of the club’s bass still echoing in your body. You’re breathless, flushed from dancing and drinks and the way Seonghwa kept hand possessive on the small of your back, his breath always brushing your skin, his gaze burning through your dress like you were already naked beneath it. He was jealous and worked up over the vision of you on the dance floor with Wooyoung and Yunho. His fists almost crushed the glass he was holding when Wooyoung pressed up behind you while holding your hips.

Now, in the quiet of your space, you’re vibrating with the weight of it all; wanting, needing.

He watches you as you slip off your heels, movements slow and slightly unsteady. The dress hugs you like sin, and he doesn’t move for a second, just lets his eyes trail down your figure. The bend of your body allowed him to just get a small peek of your navy blue lace panties and he had to control himself right then and there. You placed your heels into the shoe closet and turned to look at him. His eyes were darkened, full of lust and you gulped.

“You look unreal tonight,” he says, voice low, roughened by restraint. His other hand reaches for your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “You have no idea what it did to me, watching everyone else look at you, dance with you. And knowing you were only ever going home with me.”

You breathe out a quiet laugh, nerves and heat mixing. “I wasn’t even the prettiest one there. I mean, did you see Princess Mingi?” Attempting a joke to ease the tension.

Seonghwa pauses. His brow furrows. “Say that again,” he murmurs, pulling you close, backing you gently against the wall.

Your breath hitches. “I said—”

“No,” he cuts you off. “Don’t. Don’t joke. Don’t talk down on what I consider sacred.”

Your heart stutters. His lips brush your jaw. “You really have no idea, do you?” His mouth moves lower, his voice barely a whisper.

He lifts you swiftly, throwing you over his shoulder and you scream; instinctively pushing to get down by flailing your legs but Seonghwa smacks your ass, denying you. “Don’t fool around, starlight. You're not escaping me.” He sets you down, facing the mirror and stands behind you, tall, sculpted, the heat of him seeping into your spine.

“I need you to see what I see,” he murmurs, lips ghosting your ear.

Your mouth parts, heart racing. He brushes your hair aside, kissing the back of your neck slowly.

His hands slowly unzip your dress. “Look at you,” he whispers. “ God , look at you.”

The fabric slips down your arms like a sigh. Your bra and panties match, navy blue lace, fragile against your skin—and the moment your dress pools around your feet, he lets out a soft, “ fuck ”.

His hands find the plush of your hips, kneading just a little, slowly moving up so that his thumbs brush your ribs. He kisses your shoulder and the stretch marks that lay there. Celestial fault lines—beauty forged under pressure.

His fingers slip beneath your bra strap and drag it down slowly, and you shudder.

“I’m going to make you feel everything,” he says.

You nod, breath catching.

Seonghwa unhooks your bra and slides it down your arms, dropping it to the floor. His hands move to your breasts—gentle, as if touching something divine. His thumbs circle your nipples and you moan, back arching slightly, head falling onto his shoulder.

“Perfect,” he murmurs. “So perfect it hurts.”

You feel his bulge press against your lower back, and your breath hitches.

Then he kneels. Right in front of you. Holding your hands and kissing them with such gentle affection.

“Watch me.”

Seonghwa’s fingers find the waistband of your panties and slides them down slowly—agonisingly slow—pressing kisses to your hips, your thighs, the soft curve of your stomach. His hands settle on the back of your thighs pulling you closer to his face. When his mouth finally descends, you arch with a gasp, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. He doesn’t let you hide, doesn’t let you pull away from the way he fucks you with his tongue. You nearly collapse when you look down and see his dragon-like eyes set on your face.

But he’s not fast. He’s not rough. He takes his time, like you’re a language he’s learning by mouth alone. Tongue soft. Then firm. Then soft again. Teasing, tasting, licking.

“Stay still baby,” he says as you squirm just a little, voice muffled against your cunt. “Let me worship you.”

You grip his beautiful black hair, threading your hands through it.

His tongue moves with unbearable precision; deeper, firmer, until your reflection blurs with the pleasure cresting in your lower belly. His lips wrap around your clit and you gasp loudly.

“Seonghwa—”

He hums against you, continuing his ministrations. “Say my name.”

“Seonghwa.”

“Again.” He suckles gently.

“ Seonghwa !” You moan his name helplessly, begging for some sort of release.

“You taste like fucking stardust,” he groans, and you let out a sound that borders on a sob, thighs trembling around his head.

His eyes are on you again, the peaks of your breasts pushed out due to your arch and your mouth gently open, head thrown back, moans escaping you.

He’s not happy. You aren't listening to him. He told you to watch.

His mouth moves away from your folds and he plunges two fingers into your wet, seeping hole without warning causing you to shriek and tighten your grip on his hair.

“Hwa – fuckk ! What–what are you doing?!” You yell softly, unconsciously pushing your hips down on his fingers, fucking yourself with them.

He slaps your ass and red marks are left behind in his wake. His eyebrows are furrowed, his eyes teasingly angry as they meet yours. “What did I say? Hmm? I told you to watch. ”

“I'm sorry, I’m so sorry Hwa please–” you beg.

“Don’t you dare look away.” He presses his fingers in deeper, his lips latching on to your sensitive bundle of nerves again. “Eyes up, beautiful. Watch how you fall apart for me.”

You do.

You see your own mouth part, your hips trembling as he devours you like a man in devotion. His fingers curl, hitting the right spots inside you — thrusting, curling, pulling out and plunging again. When you come, it's not quiet. It’s messy, overwhelming, and he stays with you through every second, hands firm on your outer thighs, mouth relentless. He kisses and gently bites your inner thighs after, like he's thanking them.

You think he's stopped? You thought wrong.

Not even a second later he’s spreading his tongue over the entirety of your core, making sure no drop of your nectar goes to waste.

“Give me more. Give me everything.” He groans, ignoring your shrieks of overstimulation.

The lewd, wet sounds that ring throughout the air make your cheeks flare up but Seonghwa is completely unabashed. Deep moans escape from his honed voice as he traces your folds.

“Cum for me,” he says. “Give it to me, baby. Be a good girl.”

You do. Again. Shuddering. Repeating his name like salvation.

And he rises. Licks his lips. Takes his belt off with one hand while steadying you with the other.

He doesn’t let you breathe for long. His mouth crashes to yours as he undresses fully. You can taste yourself on him and it makes your breath hitch for a second. Tongues dancing around each other as he slowly pushes you backwards to the edge of the bed with his weight. His hands are busy unbuttoning his shirt and removing his boxers. His length slaps against his stomach, hot, heavy and red. You look down, his lips leaving yours with a pout.

God . Oh god. He was dripping . White, pearly, sticky essence beading at his tip.

“Oh Hwa, is this all for me?” You ask, confidence rises.

“You think I can have a taste of you and not end up like this?” He smiles, realising how your demeanour changed.

You smirk and your hand makes its way to his curved cock and you slowly pump him.

“Fuckkk~ Y/N . No, princess.”

You don't stop. You feel the vein on the underside of his length and tremble at the thought of him inside you. And not even a second later as if he read your mind, stops you.

“No love please, I need to–I need to, God! Ah~ come inside you.” Your eyes widen, goosebumps littering your skin at his declaration. His fingers wrap around your wrists stopping the motion.

He’s holding back, grounding himself in you, for you.

He lifts you effortlessly and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, his cock rubbing against your core. You’re breathless, gripping his shoulders, stunned by how easy it is for him to move you like this, to hold you like you weigh nothing.

He lays you down like something precious. Seonghwa was mesmerised by the state of you on the bed; vulnerable, naked and all his. Your hair contrasted against the bright silk of the bedsheets and sprawled out around you like a halo. He climbs over you slowly taking his time with your body, dragging his lips across your stomach, your ribs, the curve of your tits.

“You’re a goddess,” he says, voice thick. “And I’m going to worship you properly.”

“Oh, Seonghwa, you beautiful man. I can’t believe you're all mine.” You whisper against his lips which peck yours, eyes showing nothing but love. Pure, unfiltered love.

“All yours. And I'm going to show you. Gonna fuck you,” he breathes. “And you’re going to watch. Every. Single. Second.”

You wrap your arms around the back of his neck.

He lifts your thigh and slides in slow, stretching you, filling you, making you feel it.

You’re already so wrecked but he doesn’t let you hide. Doesn’t let you look away.

“Look at me,” he growls, gripping your jaw, “I want to see your face when I ruin you.”

Your eyes meet his and he smirks devilishly at your fucked out expression.

Was this the same Seonghwa you believed was an angel? Or a sex demon who bound himself to you and you only.

“You feel like fucking heaven,” he moans, “tight, warm… made for me.”

Your nails dig into his back, gasps spilling freely now, but he doesn’t stop. One hand grips your jaw, keeping your eyes on him, the other sliding between your bodies to rub circles on your clit. You’re soaked, overstimulated, and yet you still want more. Need more.

He gives it to you. All of it. Every thrust is praise. Every groan is adoration. He kisses your scars. Holds your gaze. Whispers all the things he loves — your mind, your madness, your quiet power, your wild soul.

“You’re mine,” he grits out, hips relentless.

“I’m yours~” you whisper, wrecked.

He goes deeper, the bulb of his cock brushing your cervix and the sensitive areas of your walls. He’s let go of your jaw but your eyes are still locked onto his.

“Seonghwa oh my–fuckk baby right there…dont fucking stop!”

“Say it again.” He snarls.

“I’m yours, Hwa. I’m all yours, my star.”

He moves. Deep. Intentional. Worshipful.

“That's right,” he grits through his teeth, one hand splayed low on your stomach to feel where he is inside you. “This body. This heart. Every moan, every breath — all fucking mine.”

“All yours, yes~!” You groan against his hair, his face buried into the crevice of your neck now.

He thrusts . Again and again, with his body pressed against yours, your name breathed between desperate kisses against the skin of your neck, your legs trembling around him and tears slipping from the corners of your eyes, not from pain, but from the immensity of it all.

“Cum again,” he says, voice commanding but still full of love. “Let me feel you fall apart on my cock.”

Loudly. Shamelessly. Your body seizes under him, muscles clenching, vision going white. You swore you saw the stars you view every night in your telescope. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, keeps moving inside you with the patience of someone who’s waited years to worship you like this.

Only when your nails dig too deep, when your legs are shaking violently around his waist, does he finally let go — spilling deep into you with a moan so heavy, so desperate , it sounds like your name carved into the stars of his universe.

Your reflection is ruined.

Lips swollen. Thighs shaking. Eyes wet. Sweat slicking your skin. His seed spilling out of your swollen cunt. And still, he kisses you like you’re divine.

“Still think you’re hard to love?” he whispers while moving back to look at your pretty face again.

You don’t answer. You just pull him back in. Kissing him again and again and again and again.

He whispers praises between every breath. “My starlight, mine. Always.” he murmurs. “I love you. I love you so much Y/N.”

Fat, globs of hot tears spill from your eyes at the pure words he spoke of you. You were loved. So loved.

He pulls back, tears also spilling from his eyes. “Thank you for letting me be yours.”

“No Seonghwa. Thank you for helping me find myself. Thank you for being my north star.”

He smiles, all teeth, eyes crinkling and nose scrunching. He pulls you up and lifts you effortlessly, one arm under your knees and the other wrapped around your shoulders. You loop your arms around his neck, still dizzy from everything, and let him carry you through the soft haze of candlelight to the bathroom.

The tub is already filling, steam rising, the water shimmering with the gentle swirl of jasmine-scented bubbles. He sets you down on the edge, brushes your hair from your face, and helps you in first, never once letting go of your hand. When he joins you, the water sloshes gently around both your bodies as you settle between his legs, your back against his chest.

His arms wrap around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as he pulls you close. His fingers trace lazy circles on your thigh under the surface. Not lustful. Just the kind of touch that says ‘ you’re mine’ without needing to say it at all.

“God,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your damp shoulder, “how are you real?”

You hum, leaning into him. “You always ask that.”

“Because I still don’t believe it.”

You giggle at his lovestruck cheesiness.

He rinses your hair with care, fingers untangling the strands gently. When you return the favor, scrubbing his scalp and watching his eyes flutter shut in bliss, you giggle. He opens one eye at the sound and catches the grin on your face. You had put a blob of soapy bubbles on his head, giving him a little hat.

“What?”

“You’re cute like this.”

He raises a brow. “Like what?”

“Melting. For me.” You boop his sharp nose with a sudsy finger.

He smirks and pulls you into his chest, arms curling around you. “I’m always melting for you.”

The warmth of the water, the silence between you, the occasional kiss to your neck or cheek or the valley between your breasts where your heart lay—it all feels suspended in time. He runs his fingers gently through your hair, massaging your scalp until you melt against him with a contented sigh.

When the water cools and your fingers wrinkle, he helps you out with a soft towel and even softer hands. You both dry off in quiet laughter, brushing against each other in the mirror, stealing kisses between getting dressed.

When you both finally leave the bathroom, dry and dressed in the softest clothes you can find, he can’t seem to stop touching you. His hands never leave you as he leads you to the bed, gently guiding you onto the sheets. The bed feels like home, with his body curling around yours, his warmth seeping into your skin.

You lie there, tangled in each other’s arms, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin, tracing your cheeks. The quiet of the night wraps around you like a blanket, but his next words cut through the stillness.

“You are the center of my gravity,” he whispers into your hair, his voice barely holding together. He’s clutching you so tightly it feels like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You don’t. You’re still there. Glowing. Glorious. His.

“And with you,” he continues, “all the stars are closer.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air, a promise, a truth. You settle deeper into his embrace, feeling the soft, steady rhythm of his heart beneath your ear as you both drift off to sleep, wrapped up in love.

—

The next morning is soft and slow.

Sunlight filters through the curtains, casting golden lines across the bed where you and Seonghwa are still tangled together. His arm is heavy around your waist, his face buried against your hair, breathing you in like he’s still dreaming.

You shift gently, turning in his hold. His eyes crack open, hazy with sleep, and when he sees you, he smiles.

“Morning, angel,” he mumbles, voice still deep and rough with sleep.

You grin, brushing a thumb over his puffy cheeks. “Morning, Hwa.”

There’s a beat of silence where you just look at each other. Then his phone buzzes on the nightstand, shattering the bubble. He groans dramatically, reaching for it without letting go of you.

It’s the group chat.

Hongjoong: Rise and shine, lovebirds 😈. You guys better not bail on camping today ⛺

Yeosang: If you’re late, we’re leaving you behind.

San: we would never 💗 but hurry tf up i want s’mores.

Wooyoung: get yall’s gigachad asses up

You laugh, and Seonghwa grins into your neck.

“Guess it’s time to pack,” you say, nose scrunching.

“After I kiss you at least ten more times,” he murmurs, already pressing soft, lazy kisses down your throat, making you giggle and squirm.

Eventually, after a chaotic half-hour of trying (and failing) to stay focused, you both throw together your backpacks—tossing in sleeping bags, clothes, snacks, extra jackets, and, of course, your beloved star map and high-powered telescope.

By the time you arrive at the meeting points the boys are already there, buzzing with excitement near the rented van and having way too much energy for how early it is.

The second they see you two hand-in-hand, sunglasses on, looking very much like you did not sleep early last night, the teasing starts immediately.

“Oh look,” Wooyoung cackles, elbowing Yunho. “The stars themselves have descended to grace us with their presence.”

Yeosang smirks. “Took you long enough. Busy being constellations?”

Mingi fake swoons dramatically into Jongho’s arms. “Love is in the air.”

Hongjoong just grins knowingly, arms crossed. “Hope you saved some energy for setting up camp, lovers .”

You flush hot all the way to your ears, ducking your head into Seonghwa’s side to hide your face. He just chuckles lowly, tugging you closer and pressing a kiss to your temple in front of everyone without a single ounce of shame.

“She’s my star,” he says simply, proud and unabashed.

There’s a beat of stunned silence—before San lets out a shriek of pure secondhand embarrassment.

“Bro what the hell!,” San yells, throwing a handful of trail mix at him.

“Get a room! WAIT NO GET A TENT,” Wooyoung howls.

You laugh so hard you can barely breathe as everyone dissolves into chaos around you.

—

By the time the sun dips behind the mountains, you’ve made camp.

It’s messy, hilarious teamwork — Yunho struggling with the pop-up tent instructions, Jongho methodically getting the fire going like a boss, you and Seonghwa set up your shared tent quietly but efficiently, moving like a real team.

Across the clearing, a commotion breaks out.

"WHY IS THE TENT COLLAPSING ON ME?!" Wooyoung’s voice shatters the peaceful mountain air.

"BECAUSE YOU MOVED TOO MUCH, YOU FREAKING FLAILING NOODLE," San screeches back.

You and Seonghwa exchange a knowing glance and peer over. There, in a heap of tangled tent fabric, two legs kick furiously in the air.

Hongjoong, pinching the bridge of his nose, mutters darkly, "I knew we should’ve supervised them."

Meanwhile, Yeosang stands off to the side, completely unbothered, recording the chaos on his phone with a blank, documentary-worthy expression.

You lean into Seonghwa and murmur, "Survival of the fittest," your voice low enough that only he hears. He nearly doubles over, laughing silently as he tries to contain it, shoulders shaking.

Eventually, all the tents stand (miraculously) and the fire roars to life, throwing flickering gold light over tired, grinning faces. The chill of the night seeps in, crisp and clean, while above, the stars unfurl like an endless, shimmering ocean.

Wooyoung insists on playing Truth or Dare. And naturally, his first victim is Jongho.

"Truth," Jongho says confidently, unaware of the chaos he has just invited.

Wooyoung leans in, eyes glinting wickedly. "Do you sing to your plants?"

A beat of dead silence. Every head swivels to Jongho.

"...They grow better when they feel loved," Jongho says, entirely unashamed.

The camp erupts. Laughter echoes off the trees, even Seonghwa letting out a rare, loud laugh that warms the whole circle.

Hongjoong smirks and turns to you next. "Truth or Dare, Y/N?"

You roll your eyes at Wooyoung’s dramatic drumroll. “Truth.”

San groans, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you. “Y/N, you coward! A dare would've been so much more fun!” His pout deepens until Seonghwa casually slaps the back of his head from behind you..

Hongjoong’s gaze pins you in place, sharp and curious. "Would you marry Seonghwa in the future?"

Time freezes. Every pair of eyes zeroes in on you.

You feel your face heat up as you glance down, shy but smiling. “Yes.”

The reaction is instant and cataclysmic.

“PLAY THE WEDDING MARCH!” Yunho shouts, springing to his feet.

Mingi immediately starts blaring an off-key trumpet impression, stomping around like he’s in a parade.

Hongjoong, grinning wickedly, yeets a burnt marshmallow straight at Seonghwa’s head. "You lucky bastard!"

Seonghwa turns crimson, the firelight making it even more obvious, and the group bursts into a cacophony of teasing "awwws" and gagging noises.

"Okay, okay, can a girl live?" you protest, laughing. "San, since you wanted chaos so badly, you're next."

San’s eyes gleam like a mischievous gremlin. "Dare."

You smirk. "Lick the bottom of Yunho’s sock."

All hell breaks loose.

"AW HELL NAH!" Yunho screeches, jumping back from San who is devilishly biting his lips and rubbing his hands together like a fly. "Y'ALL NASTY ASSES."

The dares spiral more and more ridiculous until finally, giggling and exhausted, you all call it quits for the night. While setting up the sleeping bags in your shared tent, you hear Mingi’s outraged yell slice through the night. “Who the fuck took Y/N’s leftover chips? She saved those for me!”

But no one had taken them … so who or what–? A sound interrupts the silence. The ruffling of a chip bag, and it's from none you.

San leaps up, eyes wild. “I knew I heard something outside!” He runs to the sound and finds himself in front of a little friend.

You find San staring down a fat ass raccoon that has zero fear and is currently chewing on your chips.

Yeosang is right behind you and whispers, “Y/N, I think that’s your spirit animal,” and you die laughing because it is literally you.

“GIVE THAT BACK, YOU STRIPED CRIMINAL!” Mingi roars, lunging forward like he’s storming a battlefield.

The raccoon doesn’t run. It stares. Unbothered. Unmoved. It judges him.

Yeosang tries to stop the poor idiot, walking towards him. “Mingi, you’re gonna get rabies.”

San puts his hand on Yeosang’s shoulder stopping him. “At least he’ll go out dramatically.” Ever the agent of chaos.

—

Morning comes soft and misty, the sky dusted with gold as you blink awake in an empty tent. Seonghwa was already gone, off helping Hongjoong prep for the group hike. You stumble out into the chill morning air. San’s hair is a disaster, sticking up like he got electrocuted, while Mingi stumbles around, eyes squinted against the sunlight. You wander toward the campfire and nearly trip at the sight.

Yunho, looking disgustingly handsome and backlit like a prince, flips pancakes with a ridiculous amount of grace. Beside him, Seonghwa arranges a fruit platter so perfectly it belongs in a five-star hotel. And somehow, he looks even more delicious than the food.

You sneak up behind him, sliding your arms around his waist. “Good morning, Hwa.”

He hums warmly, leaning back into you. “Sleep well?”

“Mhm. With you? Always.”

The nine of you eat a sleepy, happy breakfast together before getting ready for the hike. Halfway up the trail, it all goes to hell when San chases a butterfly straight into the woods and Wooyoung gets distracted by a squirrel doing, in his words, "weird ninja stuff while looking like Hongjoong"

You and Seonghwa fall behind, walking slowly, hands entwined.

“I still think you tricked me into loving you,” you say.

He glances over, amused. “How so?”

“You’re too perfect. I feel like I glitched the universe or something.”

He stops walking. “You are the glitch,” he whispers, tilting your chin up. “My favorite kind of anomaly.”

And then he kisses you so gently, so completely, that the woods go quiet — even the bugs stop bugging.

Until Hongjoong’s voice shatters it from a distance: "YOU TWO HEADASSES BETTER STOP FRENCHING AND GET BACK TO THE GROUP!"

The entire day is spent doing fun activities — skipping stones across the glittering lake, racing up mossy trails, daring each other to jump into the freezing water below the waterfall. Yunho and Mingi get into a splash war that soaks everyone within a ten-foot radius, while Jongho sits dry on a rock, pretending he doesn’t know any of you. Wooyoung and San challenge Hongjoong to a stone-skipping contest and dramatically accuse him of witchcraft when he wins.

But then comes the time to leave. The sun dips low again, the air cooling, the shadows stretching long. Tents are packed away, ashes are buried under earth, and the clearing that had been so alive with your chaos slowly returns to stillness.

Everyone is crammed into the rental van. Bags piled high. Snacks demolished. Legs squished.

Sitting with Seonghwa and Yeosang in the way-back row, you’re drowsy from the camping high but the chaos of the van doesn't allow you to fall into slumber.

“Yo,” Wooyoung says, twirling the AUX cord. “I have the perfect song.”

Jongho squints. “I swear to god—”

The song consisted of high bass boosted beats and explicit words and moans that speak of sex.

Jongho screams at Wooyoung “BRO.”

Yunho, driving, screams the lyrics into the windshield, jamming to the song while being in charge of everyone's lives. Mingi opens a window and belts into the wind. Meanwhile, you're frozen.

He raises a brow. “Funny song. Lyrics sound familiar?”

You elbow him. “Do not make me jump out of this moving vehicle.”

“Jump and I’m jumping with you.”

Wooyoung turns around with devil eyes. “Ohhh, you’re blushingg. Confirmed post-coital energy. You freaky lil mofos.”

Jongho lunges over the seat. “I will STRANGLE YOU with your OWN AUX CORD.”

Wooyoung’s gremlin noises take over the van and Hongjoong holds himself back. The van goes over a bump, everyone screams, the song switches to ballad music mid-scream.

Two full hours of pure discord.

–

You all decide to go to their house, planning on sleeping over there anyways; you packed extra clothes.

Mingi attempts to carry all the bags inside at once like some tragic pack mule, wobbling like a cursed tower of luggage. Yeosang watches him with the slow, unblinking gaze of a man waiting for nature to take its course and sure enough, Mingi collapses under the weight with a majestic crash.

Jongho silently takes three bags — huge bags — and hauls them inside with a smirk on his face, asserting his strength.

Meanwhile, you get out of the van and steady yourself on your feet, smoothing down your hair, “We barely survived that.” you say to Seonghwa, who's grabbing your astrophotography tech from on top of Mingi.

As you stagger toward the house, you hear Mingi, still flat on the grass, shouting, "HEY, WHO'S GONNA HELP ME? UH HELLO?? ARE YOU ALL JUST GONNA LEAVE ME HERE TO DIE??"

Yeosang, without looking back, just says, "You'll be fine. Natural selection."

The front door slams open, and a yell echoes from San inside. "THE FUCKING RACCOON CAME BACK WITH US!!"

Chaos unfurls.

Screams, wild laughter, the thundering of feet. Pure, reckless joy spilling out into the neighborhood.

But this. This beautiful, absurd, ridiculous mess — is exactly how you want it. You glance over at Seonghwa through the swirl of mayhem, and he’s already looking at you, laughing. And you feel complete. You feel at peace.

In a universe full of infinite galaxies and in a timeline that could have gone a million different ways…

You found him and he found you. And somehow, across all odds, you collided. But not a crash. Not an explosion. But an orbit. Not a destructive gravity but a soft one.

One — like Seonghwa said — that makes all the stars feel closer.

And you became his favorite constellation. The one he’ll spend every lifetime tracing, loving, watching and wishing on.

Every night. Every sky. Every universe. Every time.

----

End Note:

fix off ;)

(yes i have written poetry in binary--no it was not fun--it was an assignment)

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reiderwriter · 2 years ago

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Hii! Could you write a Spencer x fem reader, she's extremely confident & forward and Spencer gets all flustered, shy and overwhelmed at how forward she is with flirting with him and complimenting him (even tho he loves it), thank you:-)

A/N: This was such a cute request, thanks for sending it in! I love shy and oblivious Spencer he's so silly and cute ㅠㅠ

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Genre: pure fluff

Word Count: 2k

Summary: Spencer Reid is a genius. But if he hasn't noticed you've been flirting with his for a week straight, he must be an idiot. Non-BAU!Reader.

Warnings: Alcohol intake. Kissing. Slightly suggestive ending.

Here's my masterlist, requests are open! 🎉

Working with the FBI as a consultant on a case was practically a dream come true for you, but what was even more dreamy was the man you got to work with whilst consulting. You’d arrived bright and early, really eager to help with the case you’d been called in for. On the phone, Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner had asked for your help decoding some documents that the team thought had something to do with the Literature you were teaching as part of your course at a local university.

In all honesty, you were a massive fan of detective novels, an early love for Agatha Christie and the Golden Age of mystery making you entertain an idea in law enforcement before you decided that really wasn’t for you, so you were eager to help out in anyway you could fathom.

“One of our Special Agents, Doctor Reid, has decoded most of it, but he says there are some key areas he may be missing and he wants to pick your brains, to see if you can help him come up with something,” he said, guiding you into a small sideroom.

Having previously heard that Doctor Spencer Reid had achieved no less than three PhDs and three additional Bachelor's Degrees in varying subjects, you weren’t quite sure to expect when walking into the room. You certainly weren’t expecting one of the prettiest men you’d ever seen in your life to be sat reading through a pretty thick tome at an incredible speed.

“Reid, this is Professor Y/L/N, she’s here to help you decode the cypher. Professor, this is Doctor Spencer Reid.” Hotchner introduced you, but as soon as you picked your jaw up off the floor, you instantly stepped forward.

“Please, call me Y/N. It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you… Spencer was it?” You smile and stick out your hand. You notice the flush on the man's face and your grin grows even wider as he hesitates to take your hand.

“I’m sorry, I don’t really shake hands, the number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It's actually safer to kiss.” He stutters through the words, almost struggling to get them out, but you don’t falter for a second.

“Kiss me then,” you say smirking up at him and you realise that the other agent had since left the room, leaving you alone with the object of your affections. Ignoring your response, but face tinged such a bright shade of red that you knew he was effected by it, he dives into the facts of the case.

“We think that he’s using some kind of cypher based on some books you’ve been researching recently at the University, which means we think he could possibly be a student of yours. I read through your PhD thesis this morning, and there are certain commonalities that suggest you could be the key to solving some of our unknowns.”

“You read my thesis? What did you think of it?” you ask, moving to sit in the chair directly next to him, scooting it a little bit closer than was polite.

“I don’t have a degree in Literature of the Renaissance Period, so I’m not sure how much value my opinion really holds in this scenario,” he looks at you and you’re pleasantly surprised at how genuine he’s being.

“Well, you’ve seen mine, can I see yours?” you allow the cogs in his brain to keep turning for a few seconds then continue. “I’m sure with three PhDs to your name, you’ve probably got a few research papers floating about, right?”

“Oh….” he blushes again, turning his eyes away from you and doing his best not to make eye contact. “I’m sure I could send them to you after we’ve completed this case if you think they would allow you a deeper insight into any of my fields of study.” He coughs a little to hide the way his voice pitched up as he spoke and kept his eyes trained on the book in his hands.

This consulting role was going to be the most fun you’d had in weeks.

–X–

A week later, you found yourself sat at a bar, surrounded by the members of the BAU team celebrating another case closed, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to fully partake in their merryments exactly. You’d assumed, after an entire week of flirting very openly with Reid, that when he’d asked you to the bar that evening to celebrate wrapping up the case, he’d meant just the two of you. Alas, you had discovered over the week that not only was he the most adorable man you’d ever met, he was also the most oblivious. Impressive for a man with an IQ of 187.

You couldn’t complain too much. Your help on the case had meant the rescue of two young girls, two of your students in undergrad courses nonetheless, so you’d at least made a difference. You had nothing against the rest of the team either, having become fast friends with Garcia, and enjoying your twenty minutes of small ltalk in the morning at the coffee station with Prentiss, Morgan and JJ as well. Hell, you even loved Rossi, who gave off the fun Uncle vibe that you found rounded out the team well. But you couldn’t curb your disappointment still, so you distanced yourself from the table a bit and removed yourself to the bar to grab yourself a new drink. You stayed there for a few minutes to nurse it.

“Hello, beautiful,” the man sat at the barstool next to you leered down at you, “you looking for some company in the bottom of that glass tonight?” He winked at you and your skin crawled. It wasn’t just his creepy smile, and the disgusting way he dragged his eyes over your body, it was that he was also very likely older than your own father. Some people were into that, but you certainly weren’t

“Not today, thanks,” you said, hoping that would be enough to get him to leave you in peace, but of course it wasn’t.

“Hot piece of ass like you, you need a real man to take care of you.” He pushed his hand out and for a split second you were convinced he was going to make an attempt to smack your ass. Before he was able to make contact, and, perhaps more importantly, before you could be arrested for aggravated assault, a hand was wrapping around your hip and pulling you away from the man, your back colliding with a firm chest behind you.

“Y/N, Special Agent Hotchner is about to leave and he wanted to thank you for coming to consult for us. The FBI is always really grateful for conscientious citizens like you willing to help us keep the streets safe.” Spencer turned you around and said, emphasising words to make it clear what his job was, speaking loudly enough that you knew the words were only for the creep behind you who’d thought to lay a hand on you.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said as the man downed the rest of his drink and made to leave the bar, obviously embarrassed and threatened by Spencer’s arrival. He made to loosen his grip on you as the man left, but you through your arms around his neck, not letting him leave. If this was your last opportunity to make him realise what you wanted, you absolutely weren’t going to let it get away from you.

“I wanted to thank you for this week as well, Spencer. Hotch said it was you that recommended me for the consulting role.” He blushed and stood there a little awkwardly, but made no move to leave, his hands unmoving from your hips. It reminded you of your middle school prom, in all honesty.

“Oh that’s no big deal. It worked out pretty well in the end, though, right, with your students and everything.” You nodded and thanked him again, but you were still pretty reluctant to see him walk away, back to the table filled with his closest friends and colleagues.

“So, are you looking forward to going back home? I’m sure your boyfriend or husband or whatever will be really glad to see you again.” He mumbled and you felt your heart stop for a second.

“Spencer, I don’t have a boyfriend. Or a husband, or any kind of partner for that matter. I’m sorry if I made you think I do,” you saw his eyes widen in panic a little, and you relaxed a bit yourself as he started to talk again.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I just assumed that someone as pretty as you couldn’t be single.” He stuttered every single word out, and you didn’t quite register his words for a second.

“You think I’m pretty?” you ask looking up at him and he gapes down at you, realising this conversation is just him shooting himself in the foot over and over again.

“Shit… what I mean is…Y/N you have to know you’re gorgeous, right?” It was your turn to blush then, feeling the sincerity in his words.

“You know, I thought you were asking me out on a date tonight.” You tell him, watching his entire face crumple again in distress.

“But I told you we were going out to celebrate finishing the case!” He spoke in his defence.

“Spencer, what were your exact words?”

“Y/N, do you want to grab a drink tonight? It would be nice to celebrate now that the case is closed and- oh. OH.” The realisation dawned on his face, and you enjoyed the little look of devastation that played out there as his blush deepened.

“It’s fine, Spencer, really. If you’re not interested in me, you’re not interested, I get it.” You sighed, finally moving to let him go, resigned to your fate now.

“Wait, Y/N, that’s not what I meant!” He grabbed you by the hand gently, not quite as close as you were the moment before but still standing notably close. You realised you probably had an audience for this.

“I didn’t realise that you’d want to go on a date with me, you’re so beautiful and smart, I just never thought you’d be interested.” Your brain almost exploded with that, and you had to make a conscious effort to not have your jaw drop to the floor, but apparently the man wasn’t finished. “I just assumed you had a flirty personality, and like, really look at you and then look at me-” you absolutely had to cut him off before he said anything else, so you did.

Crashing your lips up into his was the most sensible thing you’d done since stepping into the bar that evening. He was statuesque at first, unmoving while your lips pressed against him, but he warmed up to it and began kissing you back with equal fervor. You moved the hands that were holding yours to your waist, then moved your own hands up to tangle in his hair, playing with a few curls at the base of his neck.

After a few minutes, you finally pulled away to see a dumbstruck expression on his face.

“Oh. Oh, I see now,” was all he could get out, unable to form more words as he panted into the space between you,

“Yeah? That’s good. I’ve been flirting with you all week, so it’s nice of you to finally notice.” You giggle up at him slowly, and he tightens his grip on your waist.

“What should….what should I do now?” He asked, obviously a little bit unsure of himself, and happy to let you take the lead.

“Well, you can either take me back to your place now, or you could start with asking me out on that date?” He looked like he was seriously weighing up his options for a minute, before he looked you in the eye again.

“Can I do both?”

--X--

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