#without storing them in my drafts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cbeargyu · 2 months ago

Note

hi! can i request a story with nct Mark like the movie Flipped, I just love the "she fell first, he fell harder" trope. Y/n is so persistent about showing Mark how much she likes him. Since everyone knows her crush on Mark, the others tease him, which annoys him at some point & told y/n off. Hurt, Y/n kind of distanced herself for a while. During those times she got closer to another member (maybe jeno or haechan), which then makes Mark even more annoyed, not realizing he's actually jealous. Angst slow burn w/ a happy ending. I'm sorry if it's too detailed 😅 -☕️ anon

the years that I loved you

summary: you've been secretly in love with mark for years, but he's always kept his distance, even though you've grown closer over time. after a failed attempt to move on with jeno, you realize you can’t forget mark. slowly, mark starts to notice his own feelings for you.

pairing: mark x fem!reader

genre: childhood friends to lovers, slow burn romance, angst, one-sided love, fluff, college au, drama, confessions of love, she fell first but he fell harder trope.

warnings: mentions of unrequited love, emotional tension and angst, heartbreak, love triangle, public embarrassment/confessions, self-discovery and emotional growth.

wc: 12,9k

notes: anon, did you read my drafts or what? because i had this exact idea written down, even with jeno as the romantic interest omg hahaha but i never finished it because i got lazy lol, i'm not really into watching movies, so when i searched for the one you mentioned, i thought i’d have to research it to be able to write about it, but then i remembered i watched it about two years ago haha, looking for inspiration exactly, what a nice coincidence anon, i hope you like what i write <3

you were thirteen when you realized mark lee wasn’t just your brother’s best friend.

he was the boy with soft eyes who always greeted your mom with a polite smile, the one who helped your dad carry groceries without being asked, the one who laughed with jaemin until their stomachs hurt and then turned to you—quiet, awkward you—and asked if you wanted to join them at the convenience store.

he noticed you. always.

and god, that was dangerous.

you kept your secret like it was sacred. folded it between pages of your diary, whispered it into the pillow late at night when your chest hurt with the weight of wanting someone who would never be yours. he was two years older. already shining, already so good.

you thought maybe—just maybe—he was too good to break your heart.

you waited until his last day of middle school. you had written the letter three times, burned one, hid another. the final version trembled in your hands as you gave it to him behind the school gate.

“please don’t read it here,” you said, not meeting his eyes.

“i won’t,” he promised, gentle as ever. “don’t worry, okay?”

and you believed him. you always believed him.

but the next afternoon, he asked to meet you behind the gym.

it was quiet. too quiet.

you remember the way he scratched the back of his neck, the way he couldn’t quite look at you when he said, “you’re really important to me. like a little sister, you know?”

you smiled, because you didn’t know what else to do. you smiled as your eyes blurred.

and then you cried—ugly, shaking, childlike sobs you couldn’t hold back.

he tried to hug you, but it made it worse.

he said, “i’m sorry.”

he said, “i didn’t mean to hurt you.”

he said everything right.

but it didn’t matter.

because you were thirteen, and he was mark lee, and you had just learned that love doesn’t always mean something back.

high school didn’t make it easier. if anything, it made everything worse.

you tried. god, you really tried to move on—swallowed the ache, buried it deep under textbooks, sketchbooks, extracurriculars. you learned to walk past him in the hallways without letting your gaze linger too long, learned to smile politely when he said “hi” like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t held your broken heart in his hands behind the gym that day and handed it back to you gently, still cracked.

but the problem was: mark never changed.

he was still that boy—soft-spoken, warm, radiant. the kind of person who made you want to be better just by existing near him. and worse, he was always there.

your house, once a quiet place of safety, had become a second home for jaemin’s band of loud, chaotic friends. most days, the living room was full of snacks, game controllers, and laughter. renjun’s sarcasm echoing through the hall, haechan draped across the couch like he owned the place, chenle’s laugh piercing through every door, jisung awkwardly trailing behind them with his phone glued to his hand. and of course, mark. always mark.

sometimes he’d be in the backyard with your brother, their laughter drifting through the window while you did homework at the kitchen table, pencil trembling slightly every time he called your name to offer you a slice of pizza or a bottle of soda. sometimes he’d walk past you in the hallway and lightly ruffle your hair like he used to when you were twelve, before he knew how deeply you felt for him. before you knew what it meant to love someone who couldn’t love you back.

he still smiled at you like you were made of sunlight. still hugged you during holidays, still handed you wrapped presents on your birthday with that same soft voice: “happy birthday. i hope you like it.”

you hated how much you always did.

you hated how his scent lingered on the gifts long after you’d hidden them at the back of your closet. you hated how you still looked forward to seeing him, how your chest still fluttered when he said your name, how you felt thirteen and stupid every single time he was near.

but the worst was that he didn’t seem affected at all.

to him, nothing had changed. to you, everything had.

one rainy afternoon, you came home early to find the living room empty for once—blissfully silent. you kicked off your shoes, soaked to the ankle, hair damp and cheeks flushed from running back from school before the storm broke harder. you turned the corner to grab a towel from the laundry room when you saw him.

mark was there.

he stood by the window, alone, watching the rain. his hands were in the pockets of his black hoodie, hair slightly messy, lips parted in thought. he looked older. softer. like the kind of boy who belonged in a novel, not real life.

he turned when he heard your footsteps and smiled without hesitation. “hey,” he said, like it didn’t hurt, like your heart didn’t still beat for him in every goddamn way.

“hi,” you managed, holding the towel tighter against your chest.

“you’re drenched,” he said, walking toward you. “you’ll catch a cold.”

he was too close. you could smell the citrus of his shampoo, the faint vanilla of his cologne. when he reached out to brush a wet strand of hair from your cheek, you flinched—not visibly, just enough for him to stop, hand frozen mid-air.

“sorry,” he said, withdrawing. “force of habit.”

you shook your head, stepping back. “it’s fine.”

but it wasn’t. nothing ever was.

you escaped upstairs before your voice could betray you.

two weeks later, you found yourself sitting in the second row of the school auditorium, knees bouncing under the dim lights, your palms cold against the fabric of your skirt.

mark was playing romeo.

you’d heard about it from jaemin, of course—how their teacher insisted he was perfect for the role, how he’d been rehearsing every afternoon, how the girl playing juliet had been a little too eager during practice.

and now, here you were. watching him on stage under golden light, speaking lines you knew he barely even had to memorize—his voice calm, lyrical, achingly beautiful. his every movement was precise, full of emotion. he touched juliet’s face like it was made of glass, like she was something sacred.

you hated her.

she smiled when he held her hand. she leaned into him during the balcony scene. you saw her lips part just before the final act, the tension thick in the air as mark cupped her face. and then—slowly, tragically—he leaned in.

his lips brushed hers. soft. slow. real.

your throat closed.

your chest twisted so violently you thought you might get up and run. but your body stayed rooted in place, forced to watch as they collapsed together on the floor in a mock death, fingers intertwined, her head resting on his shoulder.

the applause was thunderous. everyone stood.

you did not.

you waited until after the show to find him. your feet carried you to the back hallway of the auditorium like they had minds of their own. your heart was a drum, wild and panicked.

he smiled when he saw you—still dressed in costume, hair tousled, sweat glistening on his brow.

“did you like it?” he asked, laughing softly. “i was so nervous.”

you looked at him. really looked.

“i still like you,” you said.

just like that.

no warning. no buildup. no sugarcoated version.

you were tired of pretending.

he froze. his smile dropped.

“i thought… i thought you were over it,” he said quietly.

“i wanted to be,” you whispered. “but i’m not. and watching you up there—watching her kiss you—i couldn’t pretend anymore.”

he looked down. exhaled slowly. ran a hand through his hair.

“you know i care about you,” he said gently, “but not like that. i’m sorry...”

same words.

same ache.

different year.

his hands lowered slowly, as if he suddenly didn’t know what to do with them. his breath grew deeper, slower. he was about to say something. you were going to let him speak. but before he could, you stepped forward, close enough that he had no choice but to truly see you, to hear you, to feel the heat of your words.

“i don’t accept it.”

mark blinked. “what?”

you were trembling on the inside, but you didn’t back down. “i won’t accept a no. not yet. i’ve been in love with you for as long as i can remember, mark. and yeah, maybe you’ll never see me the way i see you. maybe you’ll never feel the same. but i’m not giving up. because i can’t. even if you ignore me, even if you keep looking at me like i’m just jaemin’s little sister… my feelings for you aren’t going anywhere.”

the silence was a wall between you. thick. breathless. mark didn’t know where to look. his jaw clenched slightly. but you saw it—how hard he swallowed, the way his throat bobbed like your words had tied a knot in it. and then… that little flush, that faint blush coloring his cheeks.

he didn’t respond. he just dropped his eyes and muttered something you couldn’t quite catch before saying he had to get back to the guys.

you stayed behind, again. but this time, something was different.

you weren’t broken.

you were alive.

the days after that were… strange.

you didn’t hide anymore. you didn’t avoid looking at him, didn’t steer away when he came into your house, didn’t pretend it didn’t still ache. if you saw him, you greeted him with a soft smile. if he made a comment, you replied with one slightly sweeter. if you were near, you allowed yourself to lean in ever so slightly, as if pulled by something invisible.

mark said nothing.

but he noticed.

and everyone else did too.

renjun was the first to ask—just a casual afternoon in the backyard, you laying on a blanket with a book, the boys talking nonsense as usual. it happened right after mark came back from the kitchen and handed you a water bottle without you asking, like he already knew you’d need it.

“are you guys, like… a thing?” renjun asked, half-joking, half-serious.

mark laughed awkwardly. “what? no. of course not.”

but you looked up from your book, calm, almost proud.

“i like mark,” you said. not shy, not hesitant.

the silence was immediate.

haechan stopped chewing his gum. jisung stared at you like you’d grown horns. chenle let out a choked “wait—seriously?” and jaemin… jaemin looked at you like he’d just uncovered a secret that had always been in plain sight.

mark tensed. his hand around the empty bottle clenched slightly. he didn’t look at you. but you looked at him.

“i like him,” you repeated, voice steady. “i don’t know if that’ll ever change. for now, it hasn’t.”

the air shifted, thick with something unspoken. jaemin cleared his throat.

“wow… okay, didn’t see that coming.”

mark let out a nervous chuckle. “seriously, there’s nothing going on.”

you smiled softly. “not yet.”

and that was that.

they tried to go back to talking about something else, but the topic hung in the air like perfume—sweet, heavy, impossible to ignore.

after that day, the looks between you and mark carried weight. not just because of what you felt, but because now everyone knew. his behavior became more cautious, measured, like every move might be misread, like every glance might be taken the wrong way.

but he still looked at you.

he still smiled.

sometimes, he still sought you out without realizing it.

and you…

you kept loving him, even when it wasn’t a secret anymore.

valentine’s day hit the school like a storm.

the halls were dripping in pink and red, balloons bumping against lockers, the air thick with the scent of cheap chocolate and desperation. you weren’t immune to it—if anything, you were worse.

you had spent the night before in your kitchen, standing over a counter covered in baking disasters, painstakingly melting chocolate, shaping little hearts by hand, writing stupid tiny notes on colorful slips of paper. you stayed up until almost three in the morning, ignoring your mother’s concerned looks, all for one boy.

mark lee.

you didn’t half-ass it either. no. you went full force.

you woke up at five a.m. on valentine’s day, backpack bursting with gifts, heart pounding with something between excitement and fear. the moment you got to school, you made a beeline for his locker. you stuffed it full—letter after letter, pink and red envelopes practically exploding out of the sides. every letter started the same way, "dear mark, i really really like you," and got progressively more unhinged as you got sleepier. one of them ended with a doodle of you two riding off into the sunset on a giant gummy bear. you didn’t even regret it.

and then, the chocolates. you had them in a heart-shaped box you decorated yourself, glitter peeling off the sides. you snuck into his classroom early, your hands shaking, and dumped them right on top of his desk—pile after pile of messy, misshapen chocolate hearts, each one lovingly wrapped in plastic and tied with curly red ribbon.

it wasn’t subtle. it wasn’t graceful.

but it was you.

when mark walked into class later, you watched from behind the doorframe like some kind of deranged cupid. he stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the mountain of candy and cards like it might explode. his friends started laughing—haechan howling loud enough to draw attention from other classrooms, renjun pretending to cry from how beautiful it was, jisung muttering “bro’s got a stalker” under his breath while chenle recorded everything on his phone.

mark didn’t get mad.

he didn’t yell.

he just... looked so painfully polite about the whole thing, his bright smile twitching at the corners, his ears turning an adorable shade of pink. he stood there, awkward, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes scanning for an escape route.

you chose that exact moment to spring.

you practically bounced up to him, heart hammering, face on fire, and blurted out in front of everyone, “mark! i like you! a lot! like, a lot a lot! like, marry-me-under-a-rainbow kind of a lot!”

you didn’t know where that last part came from. you regretted it immediately.

mark laughed. this soft, helpless little sound that made your chest ache. he looked at you—really looked at you—and for a second, you could almost believe he was touched. or maybe just very, very overwhelmed.

"thank you," he said gently, voice a little strained. "you’re really sweet. but—uh—i think... we should just stay friends, yeah?"

you nodded furiously, tears pricking at the back of your eyes, but you smiled through it because you were determined not to make it worse.

"friends! sure! but, like, if you change your mind... i'm available. permanently."

haechan choked. chenle dropped his phone from laughing too hard. renjun whispered “oh my god, she’s serious,” like he was witnessing a car crash in slow motion.

mark gave you a look, half grateful, half pleading, like he was begging the universe to save him from this situation without hurting you. he patted your head—your actual head, like you were a golden retriever—and hurried to clean up the mess you’d left.

the rest of the day, every time you crossed paths, you beamed at him and chirped "i like you!" like it was a greeting. he’d flinch slightly every time, force that damn brilliant smile, and respond with a tiny nod or a mumbled "thank you..." before speed-walking away like his life depended on it.

it became a running joke. teachers started asking him about his “secret admirer.” students left fake valentines in his locker just to mess with him. he took it all in stride, patient and painfully kind, but you knew deep down it was wearing him out.

still, you couldn’t help it. you were in too deep.

when the final bell rang, and you caught him stuffing all your letters into his bag like he was trying to hide contraband, you grinned so wide your cheeks hurt.

maybe, you thought, love didn’t have to be perfect to be real.

even if it was one-sided. even if it was a little ridiculous.

your heart still beat for him. and for now, that was enough.

you followed him to university without a second thought.

not because you were obsessed. not because you were desperate.

maybe it sounded crazier when you said it out loud, like some reckless teenage daydream you should have outgrown by now, but in your heart, it had always been simple. wherever mark went, you wanted to go too. so when he decided to major in literature at a university two cities away, you didn’t hesitate—you applied to the same program, you studied harder than you ever had in your life, and when that acceptance letter came, you clutched it to your chest and cried, thinking it was fate smiling at you.

you convinced yourself that it was a new beginning, that maybe, somehow, away from the crowded hallways of high school and the well-worn patterns of rejection and affection, things could be different. you could be different. you could be the kind of girl he might actually look at twice.

but reality wasn’t a fairytale, and no amount of shared classes or accidental brushings of hands across desks could change the fact that mark had drawn a line in the sand years ago—and he wasn’t about to cross it.

still, you stayed close, orbiting him like a stubborn, quiet moon, your love for him woven into every choice you made, every dream you dared to have.

he was still kind. still soft-spoken and careful with your heart. he’d pull out chairs for you in lecture halls, lend you his notes when you were sick, laugh at your dry jokes when no one else did. he still bought you birthday gifts—carefully wrapped, always with a little handwritten note in his neat handwriting. still hugged you every christmas. still remembered your favorite snacks and left them on your desk when you were cramming.

but he never crossed the line.

mark lee was a boy of boundaries. polite, good, respectful. especially with you.

especially because of jaemin.

the others —haechan, chenle, renjun, even jisung—had started making comments. light teasing when mark waited for you outside your dorm. when your fingers brushed as you passed him a pen. when he remembered things you said in passing and brought them up weeks later.

“just date already.”

“you’d make such a cute couple.”

“jaemin would murder you, but worth it.”

but jaemin never laughed. he’d stare straight ahead, jaw clenched, eyes hard.

“it’s not happening,” he’d say flatly. “drop it.”

and mark—mark would just smile and shake his head.

“we’re just friends.”

always the same line. always gentle. always final.

and still, you stayed. because a piece of you still hoped. still wondered if maybe, maybe, something would shift.

until summer.

that was when everything changed.

it started small.

mark smiling at his phone when he thought no one was looking. mark turning down movie nights, saying he was “tired” or “busy.” mark humming under his breath as he walked across campus, like he couldn’t help it.

he looked… lighter.

brighter.

and he wasn’t looking at you.

you found out by accident.

a lazy sunday. mark had left his phone on the coffee table in the shared dorm lounge while he went to grab snacks. a message popped up, screen lighting briefly.

“can’t wait to see you again 💛” from: yerim 🍒

kim yerim.

a girl from another department. bright, confident, everything you weren’t.

you blinked at the message like it was written in another language. your throat tightened. your hands went cold. you couldn’t look away.

when mark came back into the room, smiling like he always did, you could barely breathe. he didn’t notice the way your gaze dropped. or maybe he did, but he didn’t say anything. just offered you a packet of chips like nothing had changed.

but everything had.

by the time the others found out, mark and yerim had been quietly seeing each other for nearly two months.

the teasing stopped.

no more jokes. no more comments. just a strange, heavy silence.

even haechan kept quiet. only once, after a long night out, he said it in a low voice—when mark had gone off to call her, when everyone else was half-asleep on the floor.

“you’d be better for him.”

you looked up. your eyes were wet. you hadn’t even noticed.

haechan’s gaze softened. “but he’s not ready to see that, huh?”

you didn’t answer.

because what was there to say?

you’d loved mark for so long it had become a part of your identity. it was in the way you walked, the way you chose your classes, the way your heart lit up every time you saw him laugh.

but he was never yours.

and now, there was someone else who made him laugh. someone he looked at like that. and the worst part?

he looked happy.

genuinely, radiantly happy. the kind of happy that couldn’t be faked.

so you smiled too. you congratulated him. you listened to him talk about yerim with soft eyes and careful words.

and when you were alone, you cried into your pillow, biting down hard to keep the sound in.

because this wasn’t betrayal. this wasn’t a lie. this was just love—one-sided, unchanging, and devastating.

you didn’t blame him.

you just didn’t know how to stop loving him.

you weren’t sure when yerim began to notice.

maybe it was the way you went quiet whenever mark entered the room. maybe it was how your eyes never quite met his anymore. or maybe it was something deeper—something only another woman could sense. a kind of residual ache, the ghost of something that used to be almost something.

she never confronted you. never threw it in your face.

but her gaze lingered.

a little longer than necessary. a little too perceptive. especially when mark spoke your name.

and mark—he started choosing his words more carefully. his laughter dimmed around you, like he didn’t know how to act anymore. like being near you was stepping into a room still filled with the scent of a fire long gone out.

you weren’t mad. you were exhausted.

your chest carried the weight of every second you’d spent wishing for something that never existed outside your imagination. you’d painted a fantasy in your mind and clung to it like a lifeline, and for what? he never promised you anything. never kissed you. never called you “mine.”

he was just… kind. and you were just stupid.

so when you met lee jeno, it was like inhaling after drowning.

he was part of the sports science department—tall, tan, always wearing that damned sleeveless hoodie like he knew the effect it had on people. he had this cocky little smile and a voice that made you pause. and god, he was smooth. but not in a sleazy way.

jeno was bright in a way mark never was. he didn’t hesitate. he didn’t overthink.

he noticed you from the first time you sat across from him in a shared elective. you were sketching half-distractedly, and he leaned over with that grin that stretched from ear to ear.

"you always draw like the world’s ending tomorrow?"

you blinked up at him, startled. "excuse me?"

he just laughed. “you’re good. i like intense girls.”

you rolled your eyes. but he didn’t stop talking to you after that. he’d walk you to class, show up with energy drinks during finals, and compliment the color of your nails like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

and one day, without drama or overthinking, he just asked:

“go out with me.”

no hidden meanings. no caution. just jeno, smiling, offering you something real.

you hesitated.

you thought of mark. of his careful hands, his lingering warmth, the smile he used to give you before it all got awkward. but that was the thing—it had gotten awkward. broken. distant. he belonged to someone else now. he never belonged to you.

so you said yes.

after weeks of holding onto a secret that was slowly tearing you apart, you finally decided to give jeno a chance. you couldn’t keep pretending like mark didn’t already have your heart in his hands, even if he didn’t want it. you couldn’t keep letting your feelings for him dictate everything, so when jeno, the charming and confident guy from your physical education class, asked you out one day, you hesitated.

you hesitated for a long time, thinking of how many times mark had walked right past you, never once acknowledging your heart, never once looking at you in a way that made you feel more than just his friend’s younger sister.

but this time, it was different. jeno was persistent, and there was a spark in his smile that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you could move on. so, after a long conversation with yourself and an even longer discussion with your heart, you said yes. but you weren’t going to drag jeno into something he wasn’t prepared for, so before you agreed to anything, you told him the truth.

“i’ve been in love with someone else for so long,” you admitted, your voice soft, vulnerable. “and i don’t know if i can just let go of that... but i want to try. i want to try with you.”

jeno smiled at you, and his eyes softened, like he understood. “i know,” he said, his voice steady. “i’ve seen it. but i’ll do my best to make you forget about him. i’ll do everything i can so that you only look at me the way you looked at him.”

it wasn’t a promise of forever, but it was a promise to try. and for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you could start anew. so you accepted, feeling a little lighter, but still carrying the weight of what had once been.

the first few days were like walking on air. jeno was easy to be around—funny, charming, the kind of guy who made you feel like you mattered. when you walked around campus together, everyone noticed. people were happy for you, the long-lost couple that everyone was rooting for. but mark? mark looked like he had swallowed something bitter.

mark had never been good at hiding his feelings, and even if he tried, yerim saw right through him. it had been a few weeks since you and jeno started dating, and mark’s behavior was becoming more noticeable by the day. his lingering stares, the way he would look at you and jeno when you walked into a room together—yerim had seen enough. she had been patient with him, but there was only so much a person could tolerate.

you caught him looking at you and jeno one too many times, his eyes narrowed and his lips set in a firm line. it made you uncomfortable, the way he would glance at you, then at jeno, like he was calculating something, weighing something in his mind. but you didn’t think much of it until the day he pulled you aside after a class, his face clouded with something unreadable.

“hey,” he started, his voice softer than usual, though there was still a bite to it. “i don’t think jeno is good for you.”

you blinked, startled. “what do you mean?” you asked, confused, but also feeling a knot tighten in your chest. why was he saying this now? after all this time?

mark rubbed the back of his neck, looking uneasy. “i mean... you’re my friend, and i care about you. i just don’t think he’s the right person for you. you deserve better than him.”

you could feel your heart racing. “what do you know about what’s good for me or not?” you replied, your tone sharp. “you’re not my... you’re not my anything, mark. i don’t need you to tell me what’s best for me.”

he frowned, a flicker of guilt crossing his face, but he didn’t apologize. instead, he sighed. “i’m just looking out for you, okay? you’re... important to me.”

the words stung more than they should have. important to him. you let out a bitter laugh. “important to you? you’ve barely noticed me for years, mark. don’t try to pull that with me now.”

his face shifted, caught somewhere between frustration and something else that you couldn’t quite place. “i’m serious, okay? just... be careful with jeno.”

before you could respond, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, feeling more confused than ever.

but things didn’t stop there.

it wasn’t just that mark had said what he said—it was the way he started acting afterward. jeno was around, and whenever jeno was around, mark seemed to get this look in his eyes, like he was watching you two, trying to figure out something that wasn’t adding up. he started showing up more, always offering you little things, always asking if you needed anything. he would bring you your favorite coffee between classes, or linger a little longer than usual when he saw you and jeno walking together.

you noticed it. everyone noticed it. especially yerim.

it was one afternoon in the student lounge when yerim couldn’t hold it in any longer. “mark,” she said, voice tight, “you’re doing it again. you’ve been acting like this... like you’re in love with her.”

mark froze, caught in the act of watching you laugh with jeno. he opened his mouth to deny it, but yerim didn’t let him. “don’t even try to deny it,” she continued. “you’re constantly around her, always looking at her like you want something more. you’re jealous every time jeno is near her.”

mark looked at her, eyes wide with shock. “i’m not—i mean, no, that’s not it.”

“really?” yerim’s voice was sharp now. “because it looks like it. you’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

the words hung in the air like a weight neither of them could lift. mark’s face went pale. he opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out at first. then, slowly, he shook his head, almost as if to convince himself.

“no,” he muttered. “i’m not.”

yerim stared at him for a long moment, her expression a mix of disbelief and something more profound. “mark... you can’t just keep pretending you don’t care about her. you’ve been doing it for years, and now you’re pushing jeno away like this. stop lying to yourself.”

he didn’t say anything. he just stood there, looking at you as you laughed with jeno, the smile on your face not quite reaching his eyes anymore.

it was the last straw when mark once again casually mentioned your name while they were eating lunch together, and yerim couldn’t hold her tongue any longer.

“mark,” yerim began, her voice quiet but firm. “i can’t keep doing this.”

mark looked up from his phone, confused. “what do you mean?” he asked, trying to mask the tension in his voice.

“this,” she motioned between the two of them, the table between them feeling like a chasm. “your obsession with her. it’s becoming impossible to ignore, and frankly, i’m tired of it.”

he blinked, shocked by her bluntness. “what are you talking about? i’m not obsessed with anyone.”

“oh, really?” yerim’s eyes narrowed, her tone ice-cold now. “because every time i bring something up, you somehow find a way to tie it back to her. last week, we were talking about your plans for the summer, and you—” she paused, shaking her head as if in disbelief, “you brought her up. again. you’re not fooling me, mark. it’s always about her. i’m starting to think you’re not really here with me.”

mark opened his mouth to argue, but yerim held up her hand, stopping him mid-sentence. “no. don’t try to lie to me. you’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

the words hit him like a punch to the gut. he looked away, unable to meet her gaze. a flash of memories flashed in his mind—those moments when your name slipped out of his mouth without even thinking, how he’d catch himself whenever he accidentally mentioned you during their time together.

he remembered the time they were having a casual dinner at a restaurant and he had jokingly said, “y/n would love this dish.” yerim had paused, her fork mid-air, her eyes narrowing. but mark quickly covered it up, offering a distracted smile, as if it didn’t mean anything. another time, they were walking through the campus, and he had said, “this place reminds me of something y/n and i used to do.” yerim had looked at him, confusion and hurt crossing her face, but mark had just shrugged it off. it wasn’t anything, he assured her. just memories of a friendship.

but yerim wasn’t stupid. and she was done pretending she didn’t see it.

“you’ve been so distracted, mark. and i’m over it,” yerim’s voice grew stronger now, the anger finally coming through. “you don’t have the right to string me along while you’re still hung up on someone else.”

mark’s heart raced in his chest, the weight of her words sinking in. he couldn’t deny it anymore. yerim wasn’t wrong, and he hated himself for it. “i didn’t mean for it to be like this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “it’s just... y/n... i never meant to hurt you.”

but yerim wasn’t having it. she was proud, and she recognized her worth. her eyes flashed with frustration as she stood up from the table, throwing her napkin down with a sharp motion. “it doesn’t matter what you meant, mark. what matters is that you’ve been leading me on, and i’m done. i’m not going to sit here and pretend everything’s fine when you clearly can’t even give me your full attention.”

mark stood up too, his voice soft, almost pleading. “yerim, please don’t—”

“no, mark. i’ve had enough. i need someone who’s here for me, not for someone else.” she turned to leave, but stopped at the door, her back still to him. “think about it, mark. because if you’re not careful, you’re going to lose both of us.”

the door slammed shut behind her, and mark stood there in silence, feeling the weight of her words settle in. but before he could process what had just happened, his phone buzzed in his pocket. he pulled it out, and there it was again—your name, flashing on the screen.

a flood of memories hit him all at once—the late-night talks with you, the way he had always put you on a pedestal, and how, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. he couldn’t stop caring about you. yerim had been right. it had been you, always you.

but that wasn’t all. as he sat there, the memories of his time with yerim also came flooding back. the times she’d gotten upset with him for talking about you too much. he had brushed it off, saying it was nothing, just casual references. but deep down, he knew he was never really there for her. not the way she deserved.

a sharp pain twisted in his chest, and he realized something—yerim had always been more than just a girlfriend to him. she was a distraction, a way to cover up the hole in his heart that he refused to acknowledge. but now, everything felt different.

it was supposed to be a day of fun, something to make you forget. jeno had planned a trip to the amusement park, hoping that the laughter, the rides, and the sweet cotton candy would distract you from everything that had been weighing heavily on your heart. he was always there for you, attentive and sweet, trying his best to make you feel special. his hand never left yours, and he had a way of making you feel like everything was going to be okay, even though you weren't sure it ever would be.

but as the day went on, the fun rides, the silly carnival games, and even jeno’s bright smile couldn’t keep your thoughts from drifting back to mark. you tried so hard to push them away, to focus on the moment, on the person beside you who was giving you his all. jeno was perfect. he was patient, kind, charming in ways that made you laugh without even trying. but no matter how much he tried to pull you out of the hole you’d fallen into, mark was still there, lingering in your heart like a shadow you couldn’t escape.

it wasn’t until you were sitting on a bench near the Ferris wheel, looking out at the glowing lights of the park, that the dam finally broke. tears blurred your vision, and for the first time in a long while, you let them fall. jeno’s hand gently cupped your face, his thumb wiping away the first tear, and then another, as his soft voice reached your ears.

“hey,” he murmured, his eyes filled with concern and something deeper, like he already knew what was happening. “what’s going on?”

you shook your head, struggling to find the right words. “i... i’m so sorry, jeno. i thought i could... but i can’t. i can’t stop thinking about him.” your voice cracked, and the sobs you had been holding back spilled out. “it’s not fair to you. i feel like i’m using you, but i can’t... i can’t let go of mark.”

jeno stayed quiet for a moment, his hand still resting on your cheek, tender and warm. he didn’t look hurt, not the way you expected him to. instead, his eyes were filled with understanding, the kind of understanding that made your chest ache even more.

“you don’t have to apologize,” he said softly, his voice steady and calm. “you can’t force yourself to move on, y/n. you can’t just push those feelings aside because you want them to go away. i know that. i won’t ask you to stop thinking about him, or to stop loving him. but you need to realize that you’re only hurting yourself by holding onto something that might never be.” he paused, giving you a moment to absorb his words, his thumb tracing your cheek slowly. “if you’re not ready for this, if you’re not ready for me, then it’s okay. we can stop here.”

his words cut deeper than you expected. you looked at him, and in his eyes, you saw nothing but kindness, the kind of person who would never push you, who would never force you to be someone you weren’t. but that only made it harder to bear. jeno was giving you his everything, and yet, your heart was somewhere else.

“jeno...” you whispered, your voice shaking, “i’m so sorry. i wish i could just... let go. but i’m not ready for this. for us. i thought maybe... maybe i could love you. but i can’t stop thinking about him. and it’s not fair to you. you deserve someone who can love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

jeno smiled at you, but it wasn’t the smile of someone who was happy. it was a smile tinged with sadness, a resignation that seemed to come from a place of understanding rather than disappointment. he took your hand in his and held it firmly, as if to reassure you that it was okay.

“i knew,” he said quietly, his voice soft but sure. “i knew this wasn’t going to be easy. and i’m not mad at you, y/n. i’m just... i’m just glad you’re being honest with me.” he gave your hand a squeeze. “you don’t have to force anything. if you want to keep holding onto mark, then do it. if that’s what you need to do to move on, then i won’t stop you. i want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me.”

you blinked back more tears, unable to find the right words. jeno’s face was full of hurt, but also full of understanding, and you hated yourself for not being able to give him what he deserved. you loved jeno, you really did, but your heart was still anchored to mark, and nothing was going to change that just because you wanted it to.

“i don’t deserve you,” you said through a broken sob, the guilt overwhelming. “i’m sorry, jeno. i’m so sorry.”

“don’t apologize,” he said again, his voice steady and soothing, despite the sadness that lingered there. “just think about it, okay? take your time. but don’t stay in this place forever. don’t let yourself be stuck on someone who can’t give you the love you deserve.”

you nodded, unable to speak, and jeno, ever patient and kind, pulled you into a gentle embrace. his warmth was comforting, but it also reminded you of the hole in your heart that mark had left behind.

you could feel the weight of his words, the truth in them sinking deeper than anything you had ever felt. he wasn’t going to hold you to something that wasn’t real, and you hated the fact that it took you this long to realize it. jeno wasn’t just someone you could use to fill the gap mark had left. he was someone who deserved to be loved completely, and you weren’t capable of giving him that.

as you pulled away, you could see the understanding in jeno’s eyes, and it was that very understanding that made the pain in your chest grow even stronger. jeno wasn’t going to hold onto something that wasn’t meant to be. and maybe, just maybe, that was the hardest thing for you to accept.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered again, your voice small, broken. “but i think i need to try with mark. maybe... maybe he’s the one i’m meant to be with.”

jeno smiled again, but this time, it was bittersweet. “then go for it, y/n. do what you need to do. i’m not going anywhere.”

and just like that, you knew. you had your answer. but the question now was whether mark would ever feel the same way.

the days at university dragged on, each one more suffocating than the last. you had your friends around you, and yet, you felt like you were drowning in the same sea of unresolved feelings. it was a strange comfort to be surrounded by people, but their presence didn’t erase the emptiness you felt inside. mark’s presence lingered everywhere, like a ghost. even in the cafeteria, you couldn’t escape the feeling that something was missing. his silence, his avoidance, it was all becoming too much to bear.

one morning, as you sat at a table with your friends, a subtle shift in the atmosphere caught your attention. mark had arrived late, as usual, and took a seat at the opposite end of the table, his gaze distant, his face blank. the usual chatter buzzed around you, but there was an unmistakable tension in the air. the others seemed to sense it too, noticing how quiet everything had become since the both of you had entered the room.

haechan, always the one to try and lighten the mood, leaned back in his chair, his grin wide and teasing. “so guys, what’s going on here? someone want to spill the tea?” his tone was playful, but there was an edge to it that made it clear he wasn’t fully joking.

you felt your stomach twist, but before you could respond, mark shifted in his seat, his fork tapping against his plate. the room grew unnaturally quiet, the teasing atmosphere fading into something more uncomfortable. mark’s voice broke through the silence, his tone so flat it was almost impossible to read.

“yerim… she broke up with me,” mark said, the words coming out without any emotion, almost like he was just stating a fact. it wasn’t a confession or a cry for sympathy, just an acknowledgment of something that had happened.

the table fell completely silent. everyone, even haechan, froze, unsure of what to say. it was as if the air had thickened, and no one dared to move or speak for a moment. you kept your eyes fixed on your tray, unable to meet anyone’s gaze, though you couldn’t help but sneak a glance at mark from the corner of your eye.

he was eating his breakfast now, like it was just another normal morning, his face emotionless. but you could see the small, almost imperceptible signs of tension in his posture. his shoulders were a little more rigid, and his hand gripped his fork a little tighter than usual. but he said nothing more, and the others didn’t press him for details.

renjun, ever the curious one, broke the silence by shifting in his seat and looking directly at you. “what about jeno?” he asked, his voice soft but probing.

the question hit you harder than expected. it was like everyone had just been waiting for you to talk about it, to explain what had happened between you and jeno. you hesitated, biting your lip as you considered how to respond.

“i… i ended things with jeno,” you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended.

chenle raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. what? you were just starting to get into it. why would you stop now?”

you shrugged, feeling a lump form in your throat. “i wasn’t prepared for what he needed.”

another silence filled the room, heavier this time. you could feel their eyes on you, but you didn’t dare look up. the tension in the air was suffocating, and you could feel it building up around you like a thick fog. it wasn’t just the conversation that was uncomfortable—it was everything that had been left unsaid. the way mark kept his distance, the way you couldn’t stop thinking about him, the way you couldn’t shake the feeling that things were never going to be as simple as they once were.

you stole another glance at mark, your heart tightening at the sight of him. he was still eating, his movements slow and deliberate, but you could tell he was aware of the conversation. the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his eyes flicked toward you for a fraction of a second—it all spoke volumes. but he said nothing more. he wasn’t going to make this easy for you. he wasn’t going to chase you or beg for your attention. it was always like this with him, wasn’t it? he had this way of making you feel like you were the only one who cared, while he remained distant, unreachable.

as you sat there, feeling the weight of the silence press down on you, you realized that maybe you weren’t the only one who had been avoiding the truth. maybe mark was doing the same thing. maybe he, too, had been holding back, pretending that everything was fine when it wasn’t.

and then, as if on cue, mark glanced up at you. his eyes met yours for just a moment, and for the briefest of seconds, you saw something in them—something raw, something vulnerable. but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the same mask of indifference he wore so often.

you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling the ache in your chest, the pain of wanting something that wasn’t yours to have. you didn’t know what this meant, what the silence between the two of you meant. but it hurt. it hurt in ways you couldn’t explain.

suddenly, mark stood up, his chair scraping against the floor, and without a word, he grabbed his tray and walked away, leaving the table in stunned silence once again. you didn’t know if it was his way of shutting everyone out or if he was simply tired of pretending that everything was fine.

haechan glanced at you, his expression a mixture of concern and confusion. “well, that was... something,” he muttered.

but you didn’t respond. you couldn’t. all you could do was sit there, surrounded by your friends, but feeling more alone than ever before. you didn’t know what would happen next.

but you did know one thing: nothing was going to be the same again.

mark never liked to admit it, but the words yerim had said earlier echoed in his mind like a loud, unwanted reminder. "you're in love with her, aren't you?" he couldn't shake it. the way she confronted him, the certainty in her voice, it felt like she was peeling back layers of something he didn’t even know he was hiding. he tried to brush it off, told himself he wasn’t like that—he couldn’t be. you were his friend, his best friend’s sister, and he had always kept a distance for a reason.

but the more he thought about it, the more it hit him. the way his heart reacted when you gave him those letters, when you filled his locker with chocolates you’d made yourself, and when you said "i like you" so casually, so boldly, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. mark could still feel the warmth in his chest when he read your letters. he could still picture the way you’d smile at him, your eyes shining with a hope that made him feel both uneasy and... strangely content. it made him feel things he couldn’t quite name.

he had always kept his distance, tried to maintain the line between friendship and something else, because he knew it was wrong. but what if it wasn’t? what if everything he’d told himself about not crossing that line was just an excuse to avoid the truth? there were moments, fleeting but intense, when he felt your gaze on him, when he felt you watching him more than anyone else, and it made him ache in ways he didn’t understand. it was subtle, but it was there—your attention, your small gestures that spoke louder than words.

and mark... mark had never been one to ignore someone he cared about. he would remember the smallest things about you—your favorite color, how you liked your coffee, the way you hated the cold but still insisted on walking with him outside when it was freezing, just because you liked the fresh air. he noticed these things, even when he told himself it was just concern, just the instincts of a friend. but now, in the silence of his own thoughts, it became clear: he was lying to himself.

it had never been just friendship. he was always there when you needed him, always paying attention to the little things that mattered to you. he didn’t know when it started, but somewhere along the way, those small acts of kindness had shifted into something deeper, something more complicated. and now that yerim had pointed it out, it was impossible to ignore.

the worst part? he didn’t want to. he didn’t want to admit that he was falling for you, that the thought of seeing you with someone else—a guy like jeno, someone who actually understood you in ways he never could—made him feel this... discomfort, this jealousy that gnawed at him, something he hadn’t ever expected to feel. it wasn’t like he hated jeno—no, he didn’t. he was a good guy. but the idea of him being close to you, of him holding your hand, of him kissing you... it made mark want to break something, even if he didn’t understand why.

he remembered the first time you told him you liked him. it had been so simple, so direct, and yet, it had left him shaken. "i like you, mark," you had said, and his chest had tightened. it wasn’t the confession itself—it was the way you said it, the sincerity in your eyes, the lack of hesitation. you made it sound so effortless, like it was no big deal. but to him, it felt like the world was shifting beneath his feet. he had tried to laugh it off, tried to brush it aside, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

and now, as he sat there, the realization hit him full force. yerim had been right. he was in love with you. and it scared the hell out of him.

he had always tried to convince himself that it wasn’t anything more than friendship, but the truth was staring him in the face now. this—his attention to you, the way he always found a reason to be near you, the way he knew things about you that no one else did—it wasn’t friendship. it was something else. and as much as he hated to admit it, it was something he couldn’t control anymore.

mark let out a slow breath, closing his eyes for a moment. he didn’t know what to do with this feeling. he didn’t know how to face you, knowing this now. he had tried so hard to keep things uncomplicated, to keep the walls up, but somewhere along the way, they had crumbled without him even realizing it.

and then he thought about the way you’d looked at him this morning, about the way you’d still found time to check in on him, even though you were moving on with jeno. he hated it. he hated how much it hurt to see you with him, how it felt like he was losing you to someone else. but what could he do? he couldn’t just throw away the bond he’d spent years building with you. and yet, now that he had started to realize the truth—that he, maybe, maybe... loved you—it felt like everything he did was too little, too late.

mark ran a hand through his hair, frustration rising in his chest. he was an idiot. he always had been. and now... now you were slipping away from him. and maybe it was for the best. maybe he didn’t deserve you.

but god, did he wish he could change everything.

the professor of your writing class, a serious man with a gaze that seemed to read the minds of his students, made an unexpected announcement at the start of the class. there was a new activity, a group project where you had to work with a "superior," as he called it, to learn more about the challenges and demands that came with quality writing. as if it wasn’t enough, the professor began mentioning names, and when he got to yours, it wasn’t just any name.

"y/n," he said, his eyes locking with yours for a moment. "i know you all know mark lee. so, he'll be your partner for this task. i’m sure you'll learn a lot from him."

the entire class turned to look at you, and the blush immediately crept up your neck. they all knew you liked mark. it was obvious to everyone. a murmur spread across the tables, and a small ripple of laughter echoed in the air. your heart raced, and you could feel the tension building. you froze for a moment before quickly trying to compose yourself.

"after this class, i’ll be heading to mark’s group. so, i’ll let him know," the professor added, barely noticing your discomfort. it was as if he had done this before, pairing you two without a second thought.

the rest of the day felt like it was dragging, and even though you tried to distract yourself with the usual distractions of university life, everything felt off. your thoughts were heavy with mark. you had been in the same place so many times before, but now, it felt different. this wasn’t just any task; this was going to force you and mark into the same space, the same moments, and you didn’t know how to handle it.

later, as you met him in the university library, the tension was palpable. everything felt too familiar yet too strange. you hadn't been so close in so long, and now you were working on something that required your attention.

at first, there were small, careful interactions. you would look at him briefly, and he’d turn away, pretending to focus on the task. but soon, those little moments started to build.

one evening, you were sitting together at a table in the library. you were writing, trying to focus on the task in front of you, but mark was watching you, the air around you both charged. the quiet hum of the library didn’t help the feeling building between the two of you.

without realizing it, your hand brushed his as you reached for the same book. your heart jumped in your chest, and you both froze. he looked at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort. when none came, he slowly took your hand into his, his fingers curling gently around yours. you didn’t pull away.

you continued to write, trying to act like nothing had changed, but every single brush of his fingers against yours made your heart race. mark, in his usual composed way, didn’t say a word. he just adjusted in his seat, took a deep breath, and continued flipping through a book with his free hand.

but you couldn’t ignore the feeling. your heart was pounding, and every moment felt too intense.

mark’s touch, his attention, was starting to feel different. the physical closeness, the subtle interactions, they were all making you feel things you didn’t know how to process.

one night, as you worked late on an essay, you were sitting in the university’s shared house, with mark next to you. the house was quiet, but the air between you two was anything but.

as you wrote the final paragraphs of your essay, mark casually placed his hand over yours, like it was the most natural thing in the world. you froze for a second, then continued writing with your other hand. he didn’t let go of your hand, though. he just sat there, quietly turning the pages of his book, but his attention was completely on you.

you could feel the warmth of his hand, his fingers lightly tracing the back of yours. you were trying to focus, but everything inside you was screaming.

what was happening between you two?

the moment felt like it would last forever. your heart raced, and your stomach twisted with nerves. the way his hand felt against yours, the way you couldn’t stop thinking about him—it was all becoming too real. slowly, as if testing the waters, mark squeezed your hand gently, a silent acknowledgment that you were still there, together.

you tried to act normal, but the intensity of the moment was almost too much. you didn’t know what this was, but it felt like it was something more than you’d ever expected.

and as the days went by, you found that you were no longer just working with mark. you were starting to feel something again, something that wasn’t just based on your past feelings, but something that was growing stronger every time he smiled at you, every time he reached for your hand, every time his voice got just a little bit softer when he spoke to you.

you were starting to realize that you were falling for him all over again.

mark sat alone in his room that night, the moonlight spilling through the window as he stared at the pages of his book without really seeing them. his mind kept drifting back to the moments he had shared with you—those small touches, those fleeting glances that made his heart skip a beat. it was impossible to ignore the feelings that were starting to bubble up inside him.

why does it feel like this? he thought. this wasn’t supposed to happen.

he remembered when you first started writing him those letters, how you didn’t care that others saw, how you openly told him you liked him. at first, it made him uncomfortable, and he didn’t know how to react. but now, looking back, he realized it had always been more than just a casual thing for him. you had always been more.

mark sighed as he recalled those moments when he would catch himself thinking about you in class, or how his eyes would follow you around the room. it’s not just concern, is it? he thought. i care about you more than i ever wanted to admit.

he thought about how he would remember the little things—like how you always smelled like lavender, how you would always bite your lip when you were concentrating, how you’d laugh at the smallest jokes. he knew you so well. but why hadn’t he realized it before?

mark leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. it’s not just worry... it’s something more. his heart ached as he realized the truth, and it was almost too much to bear.

he was falling for you.

the days passed in a soft, almost imperceptible way, but mark could feel the change. it wasn’t loud or obvious, but it was there, lingering between you two like a quiet hum. at first, the moments were small — a brush of your fingers as you passed him the pen, a shared smile when the professor made an awkward joke, the way he always seemed to look for you in the crowded hallways. you had grown so accustomed to each other's presence that it felt almost natural to be together, even in silence. but there was a difference now.

he was aware.

mark noticed the way you would glance at him when you thought he wasn’t looking, the soft curl of your smile when he said something funny, or the way you always tried to be near him. he noticed the little things, things that before he might have brushed aside. it was easy to pretend that it was nothing, but deep down, he couldn’t ignore it anymore. you were changing something inside him, something he wasn’t sure how to handle.

they started to get closer, working together more than the project required, as if there was something magnetic pulling them together. late nights in the library, sharing the quiet, with nothing but the sound of papers shuffling and soft footsteps on the floor. the way mark would sneak glances at you when you weren’t paying attention, the way his hand would linger near yours when you passed the pencil over to him. it was simple, tender. there was no rush, no hurry — just a slow, steady burn.

one evening, as you both sat at the same table in the house, the quiet between you two felt charged with something unspoken. mark had just handed you a book you’d asked for, his fingers brushing yours for a moment too long. you felt it, and so did he.

"you’ve been quiet," mark said, his voice low, almost thoughtful. "thinking about the project, or… something else?"

you glanced at him, feeling your heartbeat quicken. "maybe both," you replied, your voice soft.

mark raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "you know, it’s funny. we’ve spent all this time together, but i still don’t think i know everything about you."

you smiled, trying to play it cool, but inside, you were nervous. "what do you want to know?"

he didn’t answer immediately. instead, he leaned back in his chair, a small smile playing on his lips. "i guess… i just want to know how you see the world. the little things that make you… well, you."

you blinked, taken aback by the question. it felt oddly intimate, like he was asking to know you on a deeper level, not just as a classmate or a friend, but as something more.

"that’s… a lot to ask," you murmured, your cheeks flushing.

mark smiled, his gaze softening. "maybe," he said quietly. "but i think… i think you’re worth the effort."

the way his voice sounded made something tighten in your chest.

you didn’t know what it was, but you felt it — that spark, that connection.

and so it continued, these quiet, intimate moments between the two of you. each one made the feelings grow stronger, but neither of you acknowledged it outright. there was no rush. this wasn’t about forcing something, it was just about being together, in whatever way it worked. a slow, steady love building like a quiet storm.

finally, the day came for you to present your project. everyone had gathered in the lecture hall, seniors and juniors alike. the professor was setting up the papers, his usual stern expression softened by the anticipation in the room. the seniors were all whispering among themselves, and you couldn’t help but notice how mark sat just a little too still in his chair, his eyes occasionally glancing over at you.

the professor cleared his throat, signaling that it was time. "alright, y/n, mark — it’s your turn. please come up and present."

you stood up, your heart beating a little faster as you walked up to the front, your palms sweaty. mark was beside you, his presence oddly comforting, though you could feel the tension between you two. you weren’t sure what to expect, but you knew that something was about to change.

mark didn’t speak right away. instead, he took your project, carefully setting it down on the desk in front of the class. you watched as he stood behind it, adjusting his posture and looking around at the gathered group. for a moment, he seemed lost in thought, then he cleared his throat.

"before i present this," he began, his voice steady but with a certain softness that made you pause, "i think i should talk about something else."

your stomach dropped. what was he doing?

the professor, who had been prepared to listen to a formal presentation, now looked intrigued. "mark?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

mark’s gaze shifted to you for a moment, then back to the class. he was taking his time, choosing his words carefully."this is a story about someone i came to know. at first, i didn’t think much of it. she was just someone i worked with, just another student. but as time went on, i began to notice little things. the way she always smiled, even when she was exhausted. the way she laughed at things that most people would have ignored. the way she always tried to be better, even when she didn’t have to."

mark paused, and you felt your heart race as your eyes locked with his. his voice had a strange warmth to it, and the room seemed to hold its breath as he continued.

"i don’t know when it happened, exactly. it wasn’t a moment — it wasn’t like i suddenly realized. but i know that one day, i found myself thinking about her when she wasn’t around. and when i looked at her, it felt like i was seeing something… something that was more than just a person. it felt like i was seeing a world, a life. and i wanted to know more, to be close to her, to understand who she was."

mark looked at you then, his gaze soft and steady. "this person… she’s not just anyone. she’s someone who changed the way i see things, who made me realize what it means to care about someone. and i think, somewhere along the way, i realized… i was falling for her."

you felt your breath catch in your throat.

he was talking about you.

there was a stunned silence in the room. even the professor looked taken aback for a moment, his mouth slightly agape. mark continued, the words flowing from him almost effortlessly.

"this might not be the most professional presentation," he said, his voice now more playful, "but it’s the truth. and i think… that’s the most important part of any story."

the professor, still recovering from the surprise, gave a small chuckle, but quickly regained his composure. "well, mark," he said, "that was… certainly unexpected. but if after all that, you don’t present the real work," he said, raising an eyebrow, "i’ll have no choice but to fail you. and your partner."

mark smiled, but you could see the playfulness in his eyes fade. "don’t worry," he said softly, "the real work is here." he turned, pulling the actual project from under the desk and placing it in front of you. "y/n, it’s all yours."

you couldn’t help but blush, your heart still racing from his words. the class was silent, the weight of what had just happened hanging in the air. mark’s confession had left an unexpected warmth in the room, and for a moment, it felt like everything had shifted. everything felt different.

the rest of the room buzzed with whispers, the air thick with the lingering tension. you felt the weight of the moment heavy in your chest, but you were frozen, unable to move. mark’s words had completely caught you off guard, and now, as he stood there, his usual confident demeanor had softened — there was a vulnerability in his posture, a quiet but undeniable sincerity in the way his eyes met yours.

for a second, everything felt out of place, like time had slowed down just for you two. your heart was pounding in your ears, and yet, there was a part of you that was oddly calm.

this was real.

this moment, this confession — it wasn’t just a dream.

you glanced around the room, meeting the eyes of your classmates. some of them looked just as stunned as you, others had the tiniest smirk tugging at the corners of their lips, and the professor, still slightly in shock, was scribbling something on his notepad, probably to process what had just transpired.

mark cleared his throat, his eyes still on you, waiting for a response. but you were too overwhelmed to speak. you just looked at him, taking in the moment, trying to find the words that seemed to be stuck in your throat.

the warmth from his words, the honesty in his voice, left a tingling sensation in the air. but as much as you wanted to hold it together, the words he said, the way he looked at you — it was too much. the feelings you had buried so deep, the longing you had hidden, began to spill out uncontrollably.

your hands shook as the tears began to well up. you couldn’t stop them. they fell freely, a mix of relief, sadness, and love all at once. the room fell silent, everyone staring at you. and you knew. they all knew. but now it was your turn to finally say it out loud, to let go of the fear of rejection.

"i’ve always loved you, mark," you whispered, your voice shaky, barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "i’ve been in love with you for so long, thinking i was just some fool. but... i can’t hide it anymore."

you looked up, your vision blurry with tears, and there he was. mark, standing before you, a mixture of surprise and something softer in his eyes. he didn’t seem shocked, but there was something in his gaze that said he knew. it wasn’t a revelation to him — he had always known.

“i— i don’t know what to say, but... thank you,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “thank you for loving me all this time. for waiting. for staying. i... i had no idea. i didn’t want to admit it to myself.” he paused for a moment, stepping closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours. "but now... i get it. i’m starting to understand what i feel, and it’s... you. it’s always been you."

your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you thought you might fall apart. but mark’s steady presence kept you grounded. he was here, and he was saying things you had longed to hear for so long.

“i’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out,” he continued, his voice quiet but filled with so much emotion. "i’ve been... holding back. afraid. but now, i can’t hide it anymore. i like you. i like you so much. i’ve been trying to pretend it was something else, but it’s you. it’s always been you."

your heart raced, your chest tight, as his words sank in. this wasn’t just a confession from you anymore. it wasn’t just about what you had been feeling. mark felt the same way.

“thank you for loving me,” he whispered, his hand reaching out slowly to take yours. his fingers brushed over your skin, sending a wave of warmth through your body. “it’s my turn now, to love you back. for real.”

you blinked, a soft gasp escaping you, and the tears came again, this time in a different way. not from sadness, but from the overwhelming emotion of knowing that after all this time, mark was finally letting himself feel the same. finally.

“you don’t have to thank me,” you whispered, still trying to catch your breath, but your chest felt full, the emotions swirling inside you, making it impossible to think clearly. "i just needed you to know how i felt. i... i never thought you’d feel the same."

mark smiled softly, stepping closer until his chest was almost pressed against yours. “i do. i really do. and i’m not going anywhere. i want to be with you, if you’ll let me. no more hiding. no more pretending."

your heart soared as you looked at him, standing so close, his eyes full of honesty. you had waited so long for this, and now it was happening.

“i want that too,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "i want to be with you, mark. always."

mark nodded slowly, his hand resting gently on the side of your face, his thumb brushing away the last of your tears. "then let's not waste any more time," he said, his voice warm and soft, a promise in the words.

the world outside seemed to disappear as you stood there, together, finally on the same page. no more hiding, no more pretending. just the two of you, taking the first step toward what you both knew could be something real.

days passed, and the universe seemed to shift around you. mark and you were no longer just two people who shared silent glances and unsaid words. now, you were together, the air around you both full of something new, something beautiful. but not everyone understood it right away.

you and mark sat together in the cafeteria, just the two of you, laughing quietly. the others were around you, but it was as if the world had faded, and it was just the two of you in that small bubble. you could feel it—the connection, stronger than ever.

haechan, sitting across the table with jisung and jaemin, eyed you both with an exaggerated glance. his expression was a mix of disbelief and amusement. he leaned toward jaemin and sighed.

"i never thought i'd see mark being all... cheesy and love-struck like that," ahechan chuckled, nudging jaemin with his elbow. "i swear, he's practically glowing."

jaemin, who had been quietly observing, just shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "yeah, well, mark's always been that way when it comes to her," he muttered, already knowing what was coming. "took him long enough, though."

meanwhile, jisung, still looking grumpy about something, crossed his arms over his chest and shot a look at chenle. "you know what this means, right? i’m gonna have to give you 100,000 won now."

chenle grinned like he had won the lottery. "told you they'd get together eventually," he said with a teasing wink, clearly proud of his bet-winning skills.

jisung grumbled, staring at his half-eaten sandwich. "i hate you. i can’t believe i lost this bet."

"it’s not like you had much of a chance, anyway," chenle teased, laughing.

jaemin just sighed, shaking his head as if he already knew what was coming. "this was inevitable," he muttered under his breath. "mark was always going to fall for her. he just took his time."

you glanced at mark, your hand casually resting in his as you both shared a quiet smile. it was the kind of smile that said everything without saying a word.

renjun’s voice broke the moment. "so, when's the wedding?" he joked, but there was warmth in his eyes. "mark's acting like he's already head over heels. never thought i'd see the day."

mark’s cheeks flushed, but he squeezed your hand gently, his eyes soft. "i’m just taking my time with her," he said, his voice full of affection.

you laughed, your heart soaring. it felt right. this was real.

and though everyone around you may have teased and joked, you knew deep down that this was only the beginning. you and mark had found something special. something that, despite the slow burn, had bloomed into something beautiful and undeniable.

“so,” ahechan continued, looking at the two of you with a teasing grin, “when do we get to hear about your first official date?”

you turned to mark, your heart racing in your chest. "maybe you should wait for that one," you said with a wink, “but... it’s gonna be worth it.”

the group burst into laughter, and mark’s hand tightened around yours, his smile the brightest thing in the room. because no matter what anyone else said, you and mark had finally found each other, and nothing else mattered.

516 notes · View notes

devilish-cherry · 3 months ago

Text

ᨳ♡₊➳ teaching choso how to use a phone hcs

ᨳ♡₊➳ choso x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ pure crack with fluff

₊⊹. You finally convinced Choso to get a smartphone because, honestly, the idea of your 150-year-old, half-cursed spirit boyfriend wandering the city without a way to contact you was stressing you out. Unfortunately, the first time he activates Siri, he immediately becomes obsessed. He spends the next hour having a full conversation with her, convinced she’s some omniscient, all-knowing woman trapped inside the device.

“Who is this? How does she know the weather?” he asks, genuinely amazed.

You try to explain AI, but he just frowns. “So she’s… not real?”

You confirm, but he doesn’t believe you. He starts saying “please” and “thank you” to her, thinking it’s the polite thing to do, and when Siri responds with “I live to serve,” he turns to you with wide eyes. “She’s loyal. I respect her.”

Later, you catch him whispering to Siri at 2 AM. “Siri, what is rizz?” She gives him a Wikipedia definition, and he nods solemnly, as if she just revealed the meaning of life.

₊⊹. When Choso first opens the front camera it's purely by accident and he jumps because he thinks someone is staring at him.

It takes you ten minutes to explain that it’s his own face.

He looks at the screen, frowning. “Why do I look like that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought I looked…better.”

₊⊹. You teach Choso how to properly use the camera app, and he’s instantly hooked. The problem? He has zero concept of angles. Every selfie he sends you looks like it was taken by a dad who just discovered Facebook.

One is a close-up of his forehead. Another is 90% his nose. A few are taken at such an unflattering angle that you physically recoil. You try to guide him, but he insists that “this is my true form.”

The worst part? He never realizes he’s sending them. He just accidentally spams you with the most nightmarish, low-quality images imaginable. One time, he sends you a blurry picture of his eye, and when you ask what it means, he just responds, “I see you.”

You live in fear of opening your notifications.

₊⊹. At first, Choso types like an old man who just discovered the internet. Every message is unnecessarily formal and it takes him fifteen minutes to type a single one. “I hope this message finds you well. I am currently at the grocery store. Do you require anything?” You tell him he doesn’t have to type like he’s drafting a letter in the 1800s, but he doesn’t get it.

₊⊹. You made the grave mistake of teaching Choso how to use Google, and now he types full, grammatically correct sentences into the search bar like it’s a formal letter.

“Dear Google, can you die from drinking too much orange juice? Sincerely, Choso.”

At one point, he panics because he thinks he’s talking to a real person at Google.

“Dear Google, do you sleep? Do you need a break? I worry for you. Sincerely, Choso."

₊⊹. One day, you introduce Choso to the concept of voice messages because he struggles with typing. He loves it. But because his voice is naturally deep and monotone, everything he sends sounds like a mafia boss delivering an ultimatum.

You: “Hey, what do you want to eat?”

Choso: "Stay put. I will find you.”

You: “Do you need anything from the store?”

Choso: “It is already too late.”

He never means it that way. He’s just bad at tone. One time, he accidentally holds down the record button for three minutes, so all you get is the sound of him breathing heavily while a distant microwave beeps.

Another time, he sends you a 15-second voice memo that is just him sighing deeply followed by:

“…I saw a pigeon today.”

Then he sends another:

“…It was looking at me weird.”

Then another:

“…I don’t trust it.”

That’s it. No context. You’re in the middle of work and have to excuse yourself because you’re laughing too hard.

₊⊹. The first time Choso sends an email, he notices the little “Sent from my iPhone” signature at the bottom. You forget to explain that it’s automatic, so he thinks he has to manually type it out every single time, email or text.

It doesn’t matter what the message is.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well? Sent from my iPhone.”

“Do you want McDonald’s? Sent from my iPhone.”

You don’t have the heart to correct him.

₊⊹. He also discovers autocorrect. One time, he meant to text “Good night.” but autocorrect changed it to “God nut.” You have never known fear like receiving a 2 AM message from him that just says "God nut." with no context.

₊⊹. You introduce Choso to the concept of online shopping, thinking it’ll be harmless. It is not. He immediately becomes addicted to buying the weirdest things. He orders a 200-pack of rubber ducks. He doesn’t even like rubber ducks that much. He just thought it was fun.

₊⊹. Choso has zero understanding of what’s a scam. He clicks on everything. Every pop-up, every link, every “Congratulations! You’ve won a free iPad!” ad. He has installed seven viruses in one week. He sends you a link: “Look! This website is selling a brand-new TV for only $5!” You tell him it’s a scam. He doesn’t believe you. “No, see, it says ‘totally real, not a scam’ in the description.”

At one point, he proudly tells you he got a message saying he won $1,000,000, and all he has to do is send them his bank details.

“Choso, no.”

“But they said—”

“Choso, please block them.”

“But what if—”

“Block them.”

He sulks like a kicked puppy and mutters about how it seemed like a good opportunity.

₊⊹. Choso doesn’t trust “the ghost box” (your Bluetooth speaker). The first time you paired it to your own phone, the automated voice said, “Connected.” Choso froze. Looked you dead in the eye.

“Who was that. WHO WAS THAT."

₊⊹. The first time Choso accidentally took a screenshot, he thought he broke the phone.

He ran to you, panicked and waving his phone around.

“I don’t know what I did, but the screen—it remembers.”

You explain that it’s just a screenshot and show him how to do it on purpose. Now, he takes screenshots of everything like an old man who doesn’t trust the internet.

“What if they delete this? I need to keep evidence.” (It’s just a recipe for banana bread.)

₊⊹. One time, he accidentally took a picture of your face mid-sneeze and he decided to set it as his lock screen. Now, every time he unlocks his phone, he sees your cursed sneeze face.

He refuses to change it. He says it’s sentimental.

“It reminds me of your strength.”

₊⊹. Choso does not understand emojis. At all. You try to explain their meanings, but he insists on using them his own way.

Example: He once texted you, “Thinking about you. ❤️🛐🔥🔪🐍🚬”

You immediately call him, asking if this is a threat. He is confused. “What? No. The heart means I like you. The prayer hands mean I respect you. The fire means you’re attractive. The knife means I’d protect you. The snake means you’re clever. The cigarette means you’re cool.”

₊⊹. Despite all of this, Choso is genuinely trying. He wants to learn because he likes talking to you, his brother, and staying connected. He still struggles, but he remembers what you teach him. He still sends weird messages, but they’re sweet and he means well. And when he finally figures out FaceTime, he lights up.

“Now I can see you anytime,” he says softly. “That’s nice.”

That alone makes it all worth it.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #choso x reader #choso kamo #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios #jjk crack #jjk fluff #choso x you #choso x y/n #choso #jjk headcanons #jjk hcs

514 notes · View notes

notlongtolove · 4 months ago

Text

to be an accountant of the heart

because it’s utterly, bone-deep terrifying. to look into the eyes of the person you love most in the world and feel the weight of a possibility that you might love them more than they love you.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst-ish, fight and makeup

content: established relationship fight and makeup woof woof rookie bau reader feels insecure about how much she loves spencer, worries she's too clingy, spencer reid best bf ever

word count: 5k

note: this was haunting me in my drafts for the longest time... please be nice my heart can't take it (psa guys don't ever tell ur partners that they love you more than you love them bc 5 years down the road they'll cope by writing deranged spencer reid fics like this)

a line: You’ve always been this way—more flame than moth, more lightning than thunder. It’s one of the things he loves most about you.

and then it is hundreds of hours later, and you are still hunched over your flowcharts and abacus, trying to decide if you have gotten enough. This is the loneliest job in the world: to be an accountant of the heart. - tony hoagland

The English language draws a neat line between many and much. It divides the countable from the uncountable.

The word many is meant for things you can count. How many cups of coffee have you had? How many days will you be gone for?

The word much belongs to what cannot be counted, what cannot be numbered. How much longer do we have in bed? How much did you miss me? How much do you love me?

How much?

It’s an innately impossible question. Love, after all, is supposed to be infinite, unbound, unquantifiable. Any attempt to measure it—to reduce something so sacred to a number, a unit—is to taint it. And why would you want to do that? Why would anyone? There shouldn't be any need to measure something so inherently immeasurable.

Deep down, you know there's no actual way to count love. You suppose this instinct to measure has always been there, to wonder if the love you received can be tallied like time. It’s buried deep, old as the child you once were.

Still, the question begs itself. How much? How much more? How much less? If comparison is the thief of joy it’s only because it leaves you with the revelations nobody asked for, the truths nobody ever wants to see.

Put love on a scale, wait and see—Will it balance or won’t it?

“Glaring at the clock isn’t going to make time pass any faster,” Elle teases from two desks away, her eyes locked on the report she’s skimming.

You don’t bother hiding your sigh as you glance up from where your chin rests heavily in your palm, elbow propped against the desk. The pencil in your other hand twirls idly, betraying your impatience. “He said they landed an hour ago,” you grumble. Only the faintest trace of a pout slips through.

“Working hard or hardly working, ladies?”

Your head perks up at that. Trust Derek Morgan to know how to make an entrance, arriving right on cue, grin wide and swagger intact.

JJ, seated beside you and noticeably more amused by your restlessness than concerned, spins her chair around as she asks, “How was the convention boys?”

“It was great—more than great actually,” Spencer says, appearing from behind Morgan. He’s lugging a bag that seems twice as heavy as when you’d helped him pack it five days ago. “All the speakers were incredible. I got to talk with Lonnie Athens himself. He gave me a signed copy of his latest book.” His grin widens tenfold. “It’s not even out in stores yet.”

You’re halfway out of your seat, ready to pounce on Spencer the moment he sets his bag down. But instead, he offers a halfhug and a light squeeze to your shoulder. It’s understated, but it’s Spencer. Public displays of affection aren’t his thing, and you know better than to expect more. Still, five days without him makes you ache for just a little more.

“It was alright,” Morgan interjects with a casual shrug as he takes a seat at the edge of your table, narrowly missing your nth mug of coffee. “Great sandwiches though.”

“Yeah, you sure seemed interested in the sandwiches,” Spencer says dryly, the kind of tone that suggests sandwiches were not the main attraction.

Morgan smirks, unbothered. “New York, man,” he says with a grin. “New York.”

You turn your attention back to Spencer. “How’d you sleep?” you ask, your question aimed entirely at him.

“Surprisingly well, actually,” Spencer replies, “Despite the snoring.”

Morgan’s response is immediate—a light thwack to the back of Spencer’s head. “How’d he sleep? More like, how’d I sleep. Lover girl over here had him on the phone half the night.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” you shoot back, narrowing your eyes at him. But then your gaze drifts to Spencer, searching for confirmation. “Was I?”

Spencer hesitates, his lips pressing into a faintly sheepish line. “I did wake up late for one of the panels,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh, you think you had it bad? I’ve never seen someone go through so much coffee in a week,” JJ says, nodding in your direction, “She wiped out the entire stock.”

“Almost bashed her over the head with a cup of coffee myself when I had to settle for the instant stuff,” Elle chimes in. A collective shudder goes through the group. “No offence, Reid,” she adds.

“None taken,” Spencer replies smoothly, just in time to earn another smack on his arm, this time from you.

You’ve endured more than your fair share of teasing—it comes with the territory when you’re part of a team like this. You, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, three years his junior. Him, more comfortable rambling about the number of kernels on an average cob of corn than talking to any girl, let alone one with a smile like yours that could make his knees buckle. What had been an odd match to some, made perfect sense to others—Though Spencer would argue that Garcia just liked seeing him with any girl who could make him laugh the way you could, especially within three days of meeting him. It’s a feat nobody else has yet to achieve in the year you’ve been on the team.

“Missed you,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear.

Spencer flushes as his lips part, maybe to respond, but Elle cuts in before he gets the chance. “Save it for later, lover girl. Some of us want to hear about those sandwiches.”

“Oh, they really were better than last year’s,” Spencer begins, now distracted, completely oblivious to Elle’s sarcasm, “Probably because the annual reports showed an increased budget for the global initiatives.”

JJ raises an eyebrow in amused disbelief. “You read the FBI’s annual budget breakdown?”

Spencer looks genuinely surprised by the question. “You don’t?”

Chuckles echo throughout the group and though you smile faintly, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You just can’t help it as the tally marks start to stack up in your mind. One for the way his attention is just a little too distant, his excitement seemingly aimed at everyone but you. Another for every time you wait for his gaze and it doesn’t come. He’s too absorbed in recounting a discussion about deterministic causality he’d had with a keynote speaker.

Compared to Spencer, who was often so reserved, it was easy to feel like your emotions were too big, too eager. Dragging him, wide-eyed and stammering, up the stairs to Hotch’s office six months ago had been nothing short of a test of strength and sheer determination. You’d been the one to silence him with a gentle kiss to his knuckles, promising him that everything would be okay. You were a live wire compared to him, everyone knew that. Lover girl, they teased, though never cruelly. In the field and out of it—Clingy to a fault, always wearing your heart on your sleeve.

Lover girl through and through, you wait patiently for Spencer to look your way.

He doesn’t.

“Yours or mine?” Spencer asks as you stand side by side on the curb, bags in tow.

“Think I’ll go to mine,” you reply curtly. You don’t trust yourself to say anything else right now.

“That’s fine. I’ve got an extra day’s worth of clothes with me.”

“You can go home,” you say, cutting him off. It comes off sharper than you intended. Then, softer, as if trying to backtrack, you add, “If you want.”

He looks at you, baffled. “Why would I do that?”

It’s not a rhetorical question, he genuinely doesn’t understand. Weekends apart have never really been your thing.

“Because—” You cut yourself off mid-sentence. What could you even say? Because you seem so perfectly fine after 120 hours apart. Because the tally marks said so. Because the scale said so. Instead, you huff an exhale and settle for, “No reason. You look tired. Thought you’d want to go home or something.”

“Again sweetheart. Why would I do that?” he repeats, incredulous.

You fight off a resigned sigh, though you’re sure he catches it, and pull out your phone. “I’m calling a cab,” you mumble, thumbing at the screen. “Are you coming or not?”

“Yeah, I’ll come with you,” he says, still calm but clearly confused.

“Fine.”

The ride home is quiet, save for the driver’s rambling complaints about freeway traffic at this hour. Normally, you’d be the one to humour any conversations with strangers, chiming in with polite nods and oh, reallys while Spencer watched, bemused by your ability to make small talk with anyone. But today, you’re just not in the mood, leaving poor Spencer to fend for himself.

Which to his credit, he does—By turning the conversation into a tangent about how traffic patterns correlate with certain hours and commuter behaviour, and delving into a detailed explanation of the queueing theory. He does this till eventually, even the driver goes silent, though whether it’s out of confusion or exhaustion, you’re not quite sure.

You can feel Spencer’s eyes on you in the silence, flicking toward you every now and then. The concern in his attention does nothing to soothe you. If anything, it only fans the flames of your irritation. When the car finally rolls to a stop outside your building, you hand the driver a $20 bill, wave off the change, and stride toward your door without another word. You’re out before Spencer can even pull his door open.

Inside, you drop your things on the couch resignedly and kick off your shoes without so much as a care. They land in a scattered heap that you don’t bother to fix. Spencer lingers behind you, ever patient.

“What do you want for dinner?” His voice is soft, tentative, as he bends down to pick up your discarded shoes, lining them neatly by the door. “We could order something. Chinese, maybe?”

Spencer knows you well—knows how your mood sours when you’re running on fumes. Particularly on days like this, when your only sustenance has been cups of crappy coffee and a few stale crackers he’d coaxed you into eating earlier just before you left, bribing you with a quick kiss on the cheek—After checking that nobody else was in the break room, of course.

Sullen as you are, you can recognise the offer for what it is. It’s sweet. A thoughtful acknowledgement of how well he knows you, how much he cares. He’s offering you a lifeline, a quiet invitation to let the storm pass without forcing you to name it, something you’re evidently trying not to do.

But tonight, it feels almost patronising. It’s a spotlight on the hurt you can’t quite temper, like he’s trying to fix something you’re not yet ready to admit needs fixing.

“I can run down to the—”

“I’m not hungry.”

You walk straight into your bedroom without another word, leaving him standing there in the doorway. You hear him exhale quietly, not quite a sigh but close. Probably one of resignation. Another tally mark falls on the scale.

“Sweetheart,” he starts. You know he’s testing the waters, trying to find an opening. But you don’t look at him, don’t give him anything to work with. “Can we talk?” he asks, his fingers brushing yours as he takes a seat at the edge of your bed.

“Talk about what?” You’ve always been good at feigning ignorance, but the way you pull your hand away from his is anything but subtle. Spencer sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closes his eyes briefly. He’s clearly exhausted. This is exhausting. You’re clearly exhausting. You can’t help but wonder why you always do this.

“Was it Elle? Morgan?” he ventures cautiously. “The teasing?”

“They always tease me,” you say with a shrug, your voice dismissive. “I don’t care.”

It’s a half-truth, and you both know it.

Spencer nods slowly as he tries to piece this together. He knows you’re not usually one to let things fester. You’re never angry for long, and even when you are, you laugh it off, always quick to join in on the joke. He knows better than to profile you—it's an unspoken rule within the team and, more importantly, within your relationship. But Spencer’s anything if not desperate to understand.

He watches you slip into the bathroom with a sigh, shoulders dipping. The light flickers on, but you don’t meet your own gaze in the mirror. You’re not angry. That would be easier. There’s something quieter in your eyes. Defeat, maybe.

“I missed you,” he offers, stepping into the doorway. His tone is softer now, pleading.

“Did you?” It’s almost sarcastic, but not quite. Irritable but undercut by something raw, as though you don’t really believe he did.

Spencer swallows. “You don’t think I missed you?”

“A little hard to tell between the fawning over Lonnie Athens,” you say, wiping mascara from under your lashes. “Or was it the in-depth analysis of sandwich platters?”

It’s a snap, all sharp edges and fire, and for a second, he forgets the minefield he’s meant to be tiptoeing through. Has to bite back a smile. You’ve always been this way—more flame than moth, more lightning than thunder. It’s one of the things he loves most about you.

“Is that what this is about?” The words slip out before he can stop them, and the second they do, he knows. Rookie mistake. Your spine straightens, your jaw sets, and he wants to take it back, rewind, try again.

“This,” you echo, turning to face him. “What exactly do you mean by this?”

Spencer reminds himself that fire is never snuffed out with ice. You douse a flame gently, carefully. So, he steps forward, quieter now, fingers grazing yours before he takes your hand in his, guiding you toward the bed. He doesn’t pull, doesn’t rush, just leads you toward the bed with the same patience he knows you need when you’re fragile and burning.

Regardless, you try to resist, to hold yourself upright. You’re fighting the urge to sink into it—His touch, the bed, all of it.

“Sweetheart,” Spencer murmurs, taking a seat beside you. “I know you’re not angry. You’re sad. And I’d really like to know why. Tell me, please?”

Deep inside, you know you’re just clinging on to the last embers of your frustration. But it’s hard—impossible, really, when you’re a fire with no kindle left to burn, and Spencer is all soft whispers and gentle hands, featherlight and soothing.

You hesitate, twisting the fabric of the duvet between your fingers. “I just—I—You were being mean.”

Spencer lets out a slow, quiet breath. Relief, almost. Not because he agrees—He knows himself well enough to be sure that ‘mean’ isn’t the right word. But he knows you well enough to understand what it means when you say it.

Mean is what you say when you’ve been hurt and don’t know how else to put it.

So he follows your lead. Doesn’t fight it.

“M’sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles stroking your hand with his thumb. His touch is warm as it is gentle.

Because it’s not about whether he was mean or not. Spencer knows that. Knows you. Knows that kindness has never been a given for you, knows that you wouldn’t recognise patience if it came knocking. And he knows you well enough to know that you think in some twisted way, that you’ve brought this hurt upon yourself, that you deserve it.

What matters is that you were hurt. And that’s the one thing he never, ever wants to do.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Can you tell me how I did?”

“You just kept going on and on about the stupid conference. You didn’t even hug me or—And then you—”

You don’t continue. You can’t. You feel ridiculous. Stupid, even. Mopey and small over something that shouldn’t matter this much. Over the realisation that he doesn’t need you. And why should he? It’s not Spencer’s fault. Not at all.

His indifference is what it is and what it was. Indifference. It sits like a weight on your bones—Cold, sharp-edged, piercing. He can go 5 days without you. You can’t. The tally marks accumulate, unbidden.

“And then I…?” Spencer prompts gently, prying your fingers from the duvet and replacing the tension with his thumb, tracing slow, soothing circles into your palm instead.

“You ignored me, and I just—” Your voice wavers, frustration bubbling over. "I just felt so—so ignored!"

Wonderful vocabulary. Of course, your words would fail you now.

“And the teasing—I know, I know, I can be impossible sometimes, but I just—I just really missed you! And I get it okay? I’m clingy and you’re not and god forbid anybody else is but it’s because I love you!” You inhale sharply, your hands slipping from his to curl into fists in your lap. “And you didn’t react at all, you didn’t even care! You made me feel like—I thought that you—”

You cut yourself off before the flurry of tears take over and drown you out.

Spencer waits a beat, choosing his next words carefully.

“You thought… that I don’t love you?” His voice isn’t laced with sarcasm, nor does it carry incredulity. It’s a genuine question, as though he’s retracing the moments between you, trying to understand how you could possibly come to such a conclusion.

“No, it’s not that—” you’re quick to say, desperate to correct him. You know Spencer loves you. Of course, you know that. How could you not? It’s Spencer. He loves you like it’s his life mission to show you just how much he loves you. “I know you love—I know that. I just—”

You bury your face in your hands, fingers pressing into the hollows beneath your eyes—A feeble attempt at hiding.

Because it’s utterly, bone-deep terrifying. To look into the eyes of the person you love most in the world and feel the weight of a possibility that you might love them more than they love you.

To want to shout: Love me. Please love me, and please feel it with every fibre of your being as I do with mine. The kind of love that makes you want to scream from rooftops, to etch it into the sky, to burn the world down just to prove its enormity.

Because then the question comes: Which would be worse?

To shout into the vast, open air and hear nothing in response? No echo of the same intensity. Or to stand amidst the smouldering ashes only to look into their eyes and find they don’t recognise you anymore? To see confusion or pity where love used to live.

You blink your watery eyes open, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. Instead, you settle on the knobs of your knees, tracing their shape with your gaze.

Anything but Spencer. Not right now.

You take a sharp breath, steadying yourself before continuing.

“Sometimes, I feel like you don’t need me as much as I need you and that scares me. And I know it’s stupid, even I feel stupid thinking about it. I don’t even want to be codependent or whatever but I—I just can’t help but think that sometimes—”

Your breath shudders out of you, long and uneven, “I love you more than you love me.”

To say Spencer feels his heart break would be an understatement. It’s not a clean break, not a single, shattering moment—it’s a slow, relentless unraveling. It’s a gut punch, pain and duress packed tight, failure laced in every syllable. His heart shatters, splintering into pieces so sharp they lodge in his throat, in his lungs, in every part of him that has ever loved you.

Silently, he’s always known the teasing would hit a breaking point. You’ve worn that insecurity for as long as he’s known you—too young, too green, too desperate to prove yourself. He just didn’t think it would carve its way between you the two of you like this. He’s watched you lean into it, let the jokes land, let them chip away at you. Newbie. Rookie. Lover girl. As if laughing along might soften the edges of it all.

You flop onto your back on the bed, boneless, the confession stealing the last of your fight. There’s a splotch of blue paint on the ceiling from last month, when you both tried to repaint the room and got distracted halfway through. It doesn’t make you smile, not even a little.

“That’s not true.” The mattress dips under Spencer’s weight as he settles beside you, thumb tracing your hairline. His arm moves, coaxing you to toward him, gentle in the way only he knows how to be with you.

“You’re not impossible, sweetheart, you never are. And I know they tease,” he murmurs, fingers of his other hand grazing over your knuckles, “but I also know for a fact that you don’t fall apart without me when I’m gone. That would be co-dependency. And I know that’s not you. You passed your requalifications with flying colors while I was away,” he says. “Garcia sent me the records. You know you even beat Morgan’s old score?”

You sniffle, startled. That had been your surprise. You’d wanted to tell him yourself.

“She told you?”

He shakes his head. “I asked. I always ask for updates on you when I can’t be there.”

A small “Oh,” is all you can get out.

With every other guy you dated, you’d attempted to play it cool, dialling down your enthusiasm, biting back your texts, and pretending to care less than you did. But every relationship seemed to end the same way: you were “a lot” and they weren’t equipped to handle it. It never quite stuck though, and thank god for that.

Because then you met Spencer.

Sweet, steady Spencer, who didn’t just tolerate your spark but cherished it. Spencer, who had let you cling to his hand during every takeoff and landing on the jet the first week on the job. He never flinched, never teased—Even when everyone else casted him sympathetic looks, the kind that silently acknowledged how your grip was probably cutting off his circulation. Spencer who has kept every scrawled doodle and note you’ve ever given for him, even the ones scribbled haphazardly on napkins or receipts. He knows carbon prints fade within months so he stores them in a shoebox tucked away in his cupboard—Just so they can last that much longer.

Spencer didn’t just accept the parts of you others found overwhelming. He singlehandedly brought them back to life. Every bit of your spark that had been dimmed or snuffed out by someone else had found new light in his presence.

Spencer’s fingers tighten around yours, a quiet kind of reassurance that draws you back to the present.

“Being clingy is not the same as being codependent. I know you know that. There’s a clear psychological difference in brain chemistry.” His lips twitch, the smallest hint of a smile slipping through. “You’re clingy, yes. But I love that about you. I love coming home with you. I love coming home to you. I love how hard you love me, how proudly you love me. I know I haven’t been the best at reciprocating that around the team, and I’m sorry. I hate that I made you feel like I didn’t love you, or miss you.”

He shifts closer, eyes searching yours, open and earnest. “Because I did miss you. So much. I nearly blew a month’s paycheck in the gift shop. Spent half of it stocking up on those jelly crackers you told me about.” He shakes his head, like he can’t believe himself. “Morgan said I was whipped when I paid thirty bucks for a pair of souvenir socks.”

With a raise of your eyebrow you ask tearily, “and exactly how many pairs did you buy?”

“Got you three pairs.” A sheepish little laugh escapes him as he ducks his head.

And just like that, you’re smiling too. Albeit a small one, but that’s progress nonetheless. “And I don’t think you quite understand how much I love you when you say you love me more.” He leans in, his voice dropping, teasing. “I don’t know if you know this about me, but I’m very competitive.”

“Oh, so I’ve heard Doctor Reid,” you quip, eyes rolling. Spencer’s lips curve, just slightly. You don’t even notice the way you press closer to him, but Spencer does. He takes the opportunity to go on.

“In a way, you’re right. I don’t need you,” Spencer says. Whiplash doesn’t even begin to describe the way your head snaps toward him. Flame and lighting, no doubt.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says quickly, his expression already twisting in regret. “I shouldn’t have phrased it like that.”

“I don’t see what other way you could possibly phrase something like that,” you snap pettily, already pushing yourself up to stand.

“Hey, hey.” His hand reaches out, not quite grabbing yours but close enough to make you pause. “Lie back down, honey. Please.”

Against your better judgment, you relent, sinking back into the bed. “What I meant to say was, I don’t need you,” he repeats, slower this time, deliberate.

You scoff, a bitter laugh slipping through your lips as you swipe harshly at your damp lashes. “I get it, Spencer. Clearly you don’t.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” he says, his voice unwavering. “Biologically speaking, I wouldn’t cease to exist without you. My heart would continue to beat, my lungs would continue to expand and contract, my brain would maintain its synaptic functions. I would survive.” He pauses then, eyes searching yours, “And can I tell you something?”

You don’t answer, but you don’t pull away either. He takes that as permission to go on. “You don’t need me either.”

Your lips part, the beginnings of a protest forming, but he cuts you off gently.

“I know you said you do, but your autonomic nervous system would still regulate your breathing, your neurons would still fire, your body would persist.” He swallows, voice dipping lower. “But that’s not the point, is it? Love isn’t about biological necessity. It’s not about survival. It’s about choice.”

The word “choice” feels almost ironic when it comes from Spencer Reid. You knew that the moment you met him. It was never really a choice, not for you. It was him, or nothing. Desperately, you'd like to think it was the same for him, too.

Your answer comes in the form of his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. He’s patient, always, even when you aren’t. Kind in a way that sinks deep—Like you deserve it. You’re all sharp edges, brittle and worn, and he’s five days off a lumpy hotel mattress, yet the only thing he cares about is brushing away the tears from your skin.

“Sweetheart, I don’t love you because I need you. I don’t think that would be love at all. That’s survival. I love you because I choose to,” he continues. “Because you are the strongest person I know. Because you are kind, even when the world hasn’t been kind to you. Because you give so much of yourself without hesitation, without ever expecting anything in return.”

Spencer smiles, shaking his head. “Because you’re the only person I know who will spend thirty minutes on a call recounting every little thing everyone did in the office that you think I’d like to hear about—before you even think to tell me about your own day.”

“It was funny! Since when has Hotch ever tripped on the stairs?”

It’s unfair really, how easily his laugh breathes life back into you. Your heart stumbles over itself as his hand brushes tenderly along your jaw.

“I’ve spent every day in awe of you since the moment I met you. And I fall more and more in love with you with each one. Even on the days I’m not with you. Even on the days I’m miles away. Even then.” Spencer presses his lips against the back of your hand as he adds, “Especially then.”

“Really?”

You can’t help it, the quiet little thing in you that wants to hear it again.

Your tears have dried, but their traces still shimmer faintly on your skin. Spencer presses a kiss to your forehead, his fingers tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He’d say it again. A hundred times. He’d make that speech a thousand times over, if you needed him to. If it meant you’d never doubt it again.

“Really, my love.”

And just like that, a million tally marks fall at your feet.

A million for the way he presses another kiss to your lips, unrushed. A million more for the way his nose bumps against yours, lingering, breathing you in. Another million for the spark that creeps back into your eyes.

It’s infinite, unbound, unquantifiable—The way he loves you, the sheer depth of it. You feel foolish for ever having questioned it. You thank your lucky stars—all of them—for Spencer Reid. For the way he’s looking at you like you strung the constellations together yourself. For the way he chooses you, again and again, even when you don’t choose him, when you shut down, when you go quiet.

Because love to Spencer isn’t desperation, isn’t need—it’s choice. The deliberate, unwavering act of reaching out, of staying, and of saying over and over: I choose you.

Not because he has to, but because he wants to. To be the one to put you back together again when you’re all embers and ash, to cradle you back onto earth when stare past him into the ceiling, to remind you that there’s still warmth in you left to hold.

To breathe the spark back into your eyes—It’s a choice he made the very moment he met you. It’s a spark Spencer swears he’d spend his whole life keeping alight.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: daylight by taylor swift intrapersonal by turnover

664 notes · View notes

sabxynsweet · 3 days ago

Note

sweetheart!reader giving mattheo a handmade gift (like one of those cute d.i.y. ones) and shes all nervous to give it to him but its like the nicest thing anyone has ever gotten him :3

sweetheart!reader gives mattheo a gift

you're all so super telepathic because i have "mattheo gives sweetheart!reader a gift" in my drafts, thank you for the request angel <3

You knock on his door, shifting your weight between both your feet as you hold your hands behind your back.

Mattheo opens the door, already expecting you.

“Sweetheart.” He smirks, like it's a greeting.

“Hi.” You smile, tilting your head up to look at his eyes.

He doesn’t say anything beyond that - he doesn’t have to. He simply opens the door wider to let you in.

“How was your day?" He mumbles, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you in.

"That's what I usually ask." You laugh, feeling floaty already from his presence.

"Sue me for copying you." He says, "You are a very inspiring conversationalist."

"It is one of my many qualities." You play along before you squeal when you remember why your hands are still behind your back.

“I made you something.” You say with a smile, he looks at you with a tilt of his head.

“Yeah?” He grins.

You hum, rolling your sleeves up to reveal four bracelets - a pearl bracelet you always wore, a silver bangle, a pink beaded bracelet with red hearts and a black one, which you slip off your wrist.

You hold it out to him and he furrows his eyebrows in confusion, not moving to take it.

“I made this for you.” You say cheerfully, he slowly moves to take it from you, eyeing it suspiciously.

“Have you never received a gift before?” You joke before your smile falls when he simply looks down at you with eyes that say 'more or less.'

It wasn't that he had never received a gift before, Theo - who was the only one who knew his birthday - always gave him a little something, whether it was book or a vintage lighter or a cologne. Technically his wand was a gift from his parents.

But this is different, he examines the bracelet, there’s an array of beads - silver, green and black - his favourite colours (though you’ve argued with him that black is not a colour) and a few pearls mixed it that match your own pearl bracelet.

It’s very unlike you but it is so him.

He can't remember the last time he's truly cried but as he thinks about you threading the beads together - carefully curating them to match him - he applauds himself internally for being so brave holding it together.

He doesn’t say anything, he can’t say anything, you take his silence for distaste.

“You don’t have to wear it!” You rush to say, “I was just in Hogsmeade the other day and I saw these in the bead store and I thought they were perfect, I know it’s not really your thing-”

He cuts you off with a kiss, one that you melt into very quickly.

“I really like it.” He says earnestly when he pulls away, he thinks about how much he really likes you.

Mattheo slips on the bracelet without another word.

You smile, your cheeks hurting with how wide your smile was.

“I never thought I’d see the day Mattheo Riddle wears a friendship bracelet.” You tease.

“Friendship bracelet,” He raises his eyebrows, “Is that what we are?”

He pulls your body flush against his, gazing down at you with his full focus.

You look up at him with wide eyes, your head spinning a little, he smirks at your reaction.

"I'm messing with you," he murmurs, his mouth inches away from yours before he leans in to kiss you.

You never expected him to like your present enough to wear it and you can't help but feel proud of yourself.

"I'm happy you like it." You mumble along his lips.

"I really do." He promises when he pulls away fully.

There's a pause of silence.

"How was your day?" You murmur, he laughs before kissing you again.

He wore his bracelet for the rest of the night and the day after that, then the entire week and if he never took it off after that, well, everyone was too scared to comment on it, anyway.

taglist: @fallingwallsh @espressqe @theodoresvalentine @fanfictiononly4 @genuinelyfloatingsouls @fayezasstuff @glittervame @wxnterwidow333 @thalibaby @cminoko @blainea98 @randomfanpage

#mattheo riddle x sweetheart!reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle fanfiction #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle soft #mattheo riddle x fem!reader

329 notes · View notes

daryltwdixon · 5 months ago

Note

hiii, would it be okay if you made a daryl x reader fic where daryl finds out you used to have a crush on him? like someone accidentally reveals it to him and he comes to find you as soon as he finds out just to confirm it?! i just think the concept is so adorable 🥹

Daryl Dixon x Reader Dibs

hehehe this is so cute! It's been sitting in my drafts for a few days, just needed to make the banner!! Thank you bb! enjoy your fluffy daryl drabble

The woman had been lingering too close for most of the run, and Daryl had noticed. It started when they stepped through the shattered doors of the abandoned corner store, picking their way through stripped shelves and broken glass. She wasn’t searching for supplies like the rest of them, wasn’t even watching for trouble—just watching him.

"You’re pretty quiet," she finally said, stepping a little closer.

Daryl shifted, adjusting the strap of his crossbow, eyes scanning the dimly lit aisles. "Guess so."

She let out a soft laugh, twirling a loose thread from her jacket between her fingers. "I think that’s kinda hot. The whole broody, mysterious thing."

From a few feet away, Glenn made a noise—half-choked cough, half-laugh—and Daryl instantly shot him a glare. He wasn’t in the mood for this. He barely acknowledged the woman as he stepped past her, brushing her off without a word. "Sorry I uh...I gotta check back here. Ain’t got time."

He heard Glenn snicker as he caught up with him by the registers, rummaging through drawers for anything useful. "That was painful to watch," Glenn said, smirking as he tossed aside a handful of expired coupons.

"Shut up," Daryl muttered, yanking open another drawer a little harder than necessary.

"You better get used to it," Glenn teased. "Now that we’ve got all these new people from Woodbury, you’re the guy everyone’s whispering about."

Daryl frowned. "The hell’s that mean?"

Glenn shrugged, looking far too amused. "Just saying, a lot of them think you’re some kind of survivalist badass. The strong, silent type." He smirked. "Which I guess is hot, apparently."

Daryl rolled his eyes, grabbing a pack of matches and shoving them into his bag. "That’s stupid."

"Well, Maggie thinks it’s hilarious."

Daryl gave him a wary look. "How’s that?"

Still grinning, Glenn leaned against the counter. "Because Y/N had dibs first."

Daryl froze, his grip tightening on his crossbow. "The hell does that mean?"

Glenn snorted. "She’s had a crush on you for the longest time."

Daryl felt something tighten in his chest, but his face stayed impassive. "Bullshit."

"Nah, man. She did," Glenn continued, totally casual, as if he wasn’t throwing Daryl’s entire world off balance. "Way before all these new people started fawning over you. Maggie says Y/N was into you for ages, she just never said anything. Thought you’d never be interested."

The words settled in his stomach, heavy and unexpected. He clenched his jaw, shifting uncomfortably. "Used to," he said after a pause.

Glenn glanced up, brow raised. "What?"

"You said ‘had’—past tense," Daryl muttered, voice gruff. "Means she don’t feel that way no more."

Glenn just looked at him, a knowing glint in his eye. "I mean… you could always ask."

Daryl didn’t answer. Instead, he adjusted his crossbow and walked out, ignoring the way his heart was pounding.

🪻🌷🌻🪻🌷🌻🪻🌷🌻🪻🌷🌻🪻🌷🌻🪻🌷🌻🪻

You were curled up in your bunk when you heard boots stop just outside your cell door. Looking up, you found Daryl standing there, shifting from foot to foot like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

"Hey," you said, surprised. "Everything okay?"

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he held something out to you. A small bundle of wildflowers.

You blinked. "Uh… what’s this?"

He shoved them closer, looking anywhere but at you. "They’re flowers. What’s it look like?"

You stared at them, then at him. "Yeah, but—why?"

Daryl shifted, ears burning red. "Glenn said somethin’."

Your stomach dropped. "Oh god."

"'Bout you," Daryl muttered, clearing his throat. "Said you—you used to—" He hesitated, almost like he wanted to take it back, then forced the words out. "Had a thing for me."

Your breath caught.

Your mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. You wanted to kill Glenn.

Daryl watched you struggle, something tense in his expression. "That true?"

You swallowed, debating whether you could somehow dodge the question. But this was Daryl. You couldn’t lie to him.

"…Maybe," you admitted, feeling your face heat.

His blue eyes flickered down to the flowers in your lap, then back to you. His voice was quieter when he asked, "Still?"

Your chest tightened.

Your fingers curled around the stems of the flowers, slightly crushed from how tightly he must’ve been holding them. That alone made your heart clench. He’d picked them for you.

Slowly, you nodded.

Daryl exhaled, shoulders dropping just slightly, like that was the answer he’d been hoping for but wasn’t sure he’d get. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to do something—maybe reach out—but wasn’t sure how.

Instead, he just stepped closer. "Okay," he muttered.

You bit your lip, hiding a smile. "Okay?"

"Y-yeah, good. I'm...That's good."

The two of you just sat there for a beat, the air thick with something neither of you had the words for. Then, before he could overthink it, Daryl leaned in, pressing a rough, hesitant kiss to your cheek. It was brief, just long enough to send your heart racing, but it lingered in a way that felt intentional.

When he pulled back, both of your faces burning, and your fingers tightened around the flowers.

He cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. "G’night."

And then he was gone, disappearing down the hall before you could even respond.

You touched your cheek, grinning like an idiot as you pressed your nose to the flowers.

#the walking dead #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #daryl twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl one shot #daryl dixion imagine #ask daryltwdixon #requests

554 notes · View notes

gohyemi · 1 month ago

Text

At your Service! C.SC

pairing: seungcheol x reader

warnings: none

a/n: In my draft a long time ago, might as well make it into a new series ---------------------------------

“Come on, Mochi, let’s get that melon bread I’ve been craving,” Y/N said cheerfully as she slipped on her tennis shoes. She wore a yellow sundress that fell just above her knees, its soft fabric swaying gently with her movements.

Grabbing Mochi’s leash from the hook by the door, she clipped it onto his collar and headed out of the apartment, the afternoon sun casting a warm glow on the quiet street. The bakery was just a few blocks away, but her excitement made her walk a little faster than usual.

Mochi, her loyal golden retriever, trotted beside her, occasionally glancing up with concerned eyes. He adjusted his pace to stay in step with her, aware of her condition and careful not to let her overexert herself. Y/N didn’t seem to notice — or maybe she was just too thrilled at the thought of biting into the soft, sweet bread she’d been dreaming of all week.

With every step, her dress danced in the breeze, and the world felt a little lighter — just a girl, her dog, and a shared craving for a simple joy.

As the store came into view, Y/N’s excitement bubbled over. She skipped a step, her thoughts already drifting to the smell of freshly baked melon bread. But she didn’t notice the small stone in her path. Her foot caught on it, and she slipped forward — right into someone.

She stumbled into a man walking from the opposite direction. In a split second, he reached out and steadied her, but not before the hot coffee he was holding spilled, splashing onto his hand as he fell slightly to the side.

Y/N gasped in shock. The man hissed in pain, clutching his hand. Mochi barked, startled by the sudden chaos.

“Aishh, miss, are you—” he began, his tone sharp, ready to scold the clumsy stranger. But the moment his eyes met hers, he froze. His brows relaxed, words suddenly catching in his throat.

Y/N’s face flushed with guilt and embarrassment. “I’m so, so sorry, sir,” she said quickly, bowing her head slightly.

She reached into her bag for tissues, panic setting in. “Your hand—are you okay? Did it burn badly? I didn’t mean to—”

The man blinked, still a little stunned. “It’s... fine. Just hot,” he muttered, trying to brush it off even though the sting was clearly bothering him.

Mochi stepped between them, protective and curious, sniffing the stranger cautiously.

“It’s turning red though!” Y/N exclaimed, her voice laced with panic as she noticed the skin on his hand starting to flush. Without thinking twice, she quickly pulled some tissues from her bag and gently wiped the coffee stain from his hand.

The man looked a little taken aback by her sudden concern, but didn’t stop her.

“Come with me — let’s put some ice on it, sir,” she urged, already reaching for his arm as if to guide him. Her eyes were wide with worry, and despite the awkwardness of the situation, her genuine concern was obvious.

Mochi let out a small whine and nudged her leg. The man looked at her — this clumsy girl in a sunny yellow dress with a flustered face and an overly concerned golden retriever — and let out a quiet sigh.

“…Alright,” he said at last, his tone softening. “Lead the way.”

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

The truth is the coffee does not hurt anymore; the lie is that he is still in pain. He wasn’t sure why he kept playing along — maybe it was her worried expression, or maybe it was just… interesting.

Even Mochi, trotting beside them, seemed to narrow his eyes suspiciously. The golden retriever gave the man a quick side glance, as if to say, Really?

When they finally reached the small café Y/N had been heading toward, she led him inside without hesitation. The scent of fresh pastries and roasted coffee filled the air.

She walked straight to the counter. “Vernon-ssi, can I get some ice for this gentleman?” she asked politely, gesturing to the man beside her.

The barista, Vernon, looked up and blinked — first at Y/N, then at the man standing next to her. His eyes widened slightly. “Oh—Hyung? Wh—” Vernon started, clearly recognising him.

Before he could say more, the man suddenly hissed again, clutching his hand dramatically. “Ah—it’s still hot,” he said, eyes widening in mock pain as if on cue.

Vernon raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. Y/N, however, was too focused on helping to notice.

“Just a moment!” Vernon said, ducking behind the counter to get some ice, though he shot the man a look that said Really, Hyung?

Mochi sat by the door, letting out a soft woof, clearly unimpressed with the performance.

They both took a seat at the small table near the door, where the soft sunlight filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow over the wooden floor.

Vernon returned with a small bundle of ice wrapped neatly in a clean towel. As he handed it over to Y/N, he gave his hyung a knowing look — part amusement, part warning — before quietly heading back behind the counter, shaking his head with a faint smile.

Y/N took the towel and gently dabbed it against the man’s hand, her brows furrowed with guilt.

“I’m so sorry I slipped and knocked down your coffee,” she said, her voice soft as she focused on the red patch of skin.

The man looked at her for a moment — the way her eyes held genuine concern, the careful way her hands moved.

“Seungcheol,” he said suddenly.

Y/N blinked. “Huh?”

“My name,” he clarified with a small smile. “It’s Seungcheol.”

She looked up at him, finally meeting his gaze. “Oh… I’m Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N,” Seungcheol said with a small, amused smile, “were you just out walking your dog?”

“Oh no, actually,” she replied, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “I was heading to this café to get some bread — melon bread, to be exact. I’ve been craving it all morning.”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. “You seem to know the staff pretty well.”

As if on cue, Vernon approached their table with a tray in hand. He placed a neatly wrapped piece of melon bread and a cup of iced chocolate in front of Y/N with practiced ease.

“She’s a regular,” Vernon said, then added with a casual grin, “and she was my classmate back in our college days, actually.”

“Hey there, buddy,” Vernon reaching down to gently pet Mochi. In response, Mochi let out a friendly bark, his tail wagging enthusiastically.

Y/N smiled and nodded. “We were in a few literature classes together.”

Before Seungcheol could ask more, the soft chime of the counter bell rang out, signaling another customer waiting to order.

“Duty calls,” Vernon said, offering a brief nod to Seungcheol before heading back behind the counter.

Seungcheol looked down at the bread and drink, then back at Y/N. “You’ve got a regular order and a connection to the barista. That’s impressive.”

Y/N let out a small laugh, breaking off a piece of melon bread and handing it to Seungcheol. “Perks of loyalty,” she said playfully. “Want to try some? Consider it my official apology for the coffee incident.”

He accepted the piece with a chuckle. “I guess this makes up for it... a little.”

------------------- taglist: @ateez-atiny380 @dreamingofpcy @lilydaisylily part 2>>

Should I make it into a new series, tho? 🧐

#svt x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #svt imagines #choi seungcheol #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fluff #seungcheol smut #svt fluff #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #jeonghan #scoups #scoups x reader #seungcheol angst #seventeen angst #svt angst

256 notes · View notes

hannie-bees · 28 days ago

Text

Pieces of you || c.hs

Pairing: Vernon x Reader

Genre: Fluff, domestic, romantic, comfort

WC: 1.9K

Theme: Its your 2nd anniversary and you gift your bf a jar of 100 reasons why you love him.

Song Recommendation: 10000 Hours

Two years.

You’d been with Vernon for two whole years.

And yet, somehow, when your anniversary rolled around, your brain decided to take a vacation. The “what to get him” panic had set in early—weeks of browsing, scrolling through Pinterest boards titled “Anniversary Gift Ideas for Your Lowkey Emotional Musician Boyfriend", and endless Etsy deep-dives later, you caved and bought him a Rolex.

Now…

You were this close to a breakdown.

It was two nights before your second anniversary with Vernon, and you were dramatically sprawled across the living room carpet, surrounded by Google tabs, half-finished card drafts, and a fancy black velvet box from the Rolex boutique that now made you want to scream.

“Why did I do this?” You groaned, dragging a pillow over your face. “It’s so low-effort boyfriend-gift-core.”

To be fair, you’d panicked. Vernon had mentioned once in passing that he admired classic timepieces, and your brain short-circuited into: oh my god, fancy anniversary = man + watch = love. But the more you stared at the sleek, expensive thing, the more you hated it.

Because Vernon wasn’t a Rolex kind of boyfriend.

He was the boyfriend who saved the last bite of every snack for you even if he was starving. The boyfriend who left you post-it notes with doodled hearts on mornings he had early schedules. The boyfriend who wordlessly held you until your anxiety stopped clawing at your throat. Who remembered you liked your toast golden brown and your strawberry milk with extra ice cubes.

A watch didn’t cover all that. He deserved more.

And that's how you found yourself in your sweats, surrounded by crumpled sticky notes and a half-eaten box of cookies, trying to figure out how to tell him what he meant to you.

That’s when it clicked.

Words. Words were always the answer.

He’d once told you that you had a way of making ordinary things feel important, and maybe—just maybe—writing them down would remind him how much of your life he lit up.

You counted out a hundred sticky notes. Soft pastels in a mix of pinks, blues, and greens. And you began writing.

Your gummy smile. The first thing I fell for. It’s unfair. You smile, and I forget how to function.

The way you think. You process the world so gently and deeply—it makes me fall in love every day.

The way you love. Not loud, not flashy. Just right. Just… you. You don’t say it often, but you show it, always.

You understand me—even when I don’t make sense. Especially when I don’t.

You’re patient. With my bad days. My weird moods. You never make me feel wrong for needing time. You just… get me. You listen between the words.

You never make me feel stupid. Not when I forget things. Not when I panic. You just hold space.

You’re weird. The good kind. The dancing-in-the-kitchen, talking-to-cats, doing-a-fake-British-accent kind. The I’m-gonna-marry-you kind.

You send me memes when I’m upset. Usually cursed ones. It works.

You’re honest. Always. Even when it’s awkward or hard.

You give me the aux cord without even asking.

You laugh at my bad jokes like they deserve Oscars.

You kiss my forehead when I overthink.

You listen. Like, really listen. Like, “remembers things I said 4 months ago while half-asleep” listen.

You let me take the first bite of your food even when you’re starving.

You say, “Text me when you get home,” even if I’m just going to the convenience store.

You kept going, hour after hour. You wrote them curled up on the couch, with lo-fi playing and your legs tangled in a blanket you stole from his side of the bed. You wrote them the next morning, stirring pancake batter with one hand and scribbling thoughts with the other.

Each note was like a breadcrumb trail back through your relationship. The quiet mornings. The messy fights. The making up. The comfort.

The you-and-him-ness of it all.

27. You let me warm my hands on your stomach in winter, even though you hate it.

39. You rap under your breath when you’re concentrating. I pretend not to notice. You pretend not to see me smiling.

41. You never let go first during hugs.

57. You carry my bags without making a show of it.

69. You tell me “I love you” like it’s a fact, not a performance.

72. You say “I got you” instead of “it’s okay.” And somehow it feels like both.

88. You’re just… you. And that’s more than enough.

99. You remembered I always wanted to be seen. You saw me. Even when I couldn’t see myself.

100. You’re my safe place. My home. My favorite person.

You folded each sticky note carefully into a tiny square, dropping them into a clear jar one by one until it was full—your love made tangible, note by note, word by word.

___

Anniversary Morning

You woke before Vernon did, still tangled up in the shared comforter. His hand was loosely curled on your waist, chest rising and falling in that steady, sleepy rhythm that always grounded you.

You turned slightly to look at him.

His features were soft with sleep, lips parted just barely, hair tousled and flopping into his eyes. Your eyes trailed down to the tiny mole near his cheek—the one he always forgot he had until you kissed it and your heart squeezed.

Happy anniversary, you whispered in your mind. To the boy who doesn’t need to say much to make you feel everything.

___

You gave him the Rolex first.

He blinked at the box, then at you. “...Babe.”

“What?” you said with a grin. “You love watches.”

He opened it slowly, then whistled. “Okay, I do. But this is—this is a lot.”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “You deserve nice things.”

He leaned in, kissing your cheek with a quiet, “Thank you, really,” but you could tell from the way he pulled you into his side that he knew something was up.

___

Later that Evening

The sun was setting, casting honey-colored light through the apartment windows. You stood awkwardly in the living room, the jar tucked behind your back, your stomach flipping.

He was lounging on the couch in a hoodie and sweats, the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, a bowl of cereal in his lap even though it was almost dinner time. He looked up when you stepped in.

“Everything okay?”

You nodded quickly.

Then, without a word, you walked over and placed the jar on the coffee table in front of him, before diving onto the couch, grabbing a throw pillow, and hiding behind it like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner.

He stared at the jar. Then at you. Then back at the jar decorated with little cloud stickers and a label that simply read: 100 Reasons I Love You (and Counting)…

His brow furrowed slightly as he set his cereal aside and picked it up. “What’s this?”

Your voice was muffled behind the pillow. “Read it.”

He opened the lid and pulled out one of the tiny folded notes, unfolding it carefully.

1. Your gummy smile.

The reason I fell for you. It makes everything else feel softer.

You peeked out from behind the pillow.

He blinked. Then pulled out another.

2. The way you think.

You have such a beautiful way with words; I could listen to you talk for hours and never get bored.

And another.

3. The way you love.

Not loud, not performative. But steady, gentle. I always feel it. You don’t need to say a thing.

By the time he’d reached the fifth one—

5. Your patience.

You’ve never made me feel stupid for not knowing something. You make me feel safe enough to ask.

—His hand had slowed.

He looked over at you, eyes glassy.

“YN… What is this?”

You hugged the pillow tighter to your chest. “I felt like a Rolex wasn’t enough, too boring. So I made this too. It’s a hundred reasons why I love you.”

Vernon stared at the jar in his hands like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever touched.

Then he laughed softly, almost breathless, shaking his head in disbelief. “You wrote me a hundred love notes.”

“Every single one?”

“Every single one.”

You mumbled from behind the pillow, “It was either that or a custom rap verse about how hot your hands are. I figured this was less embarrassing.”

He laughed, soft and disbelieving, and then took another.

12. You send me random memes in the middle of the day, and somehow they’re always exactly what I needed.

Like, you just know.

18. You never force me to talk when I’m not ready. You just sit next to me. That’s more comforting than anything.

29. The way you rub your thumb over the back of my hand when we’re holding hands. You probably don’t even notice you do it.

He swallowed, and his voice came out a little choked. “You remembered all these things?”

“Of course I did,” you whispered. “They’re pieces of you. How could I forget? ”

38. You tell me you’re proud of me—even when I haven’t done much.

43. Your hoodie always smells like you, and I secretly steal it when you leave for the studio.

52. You once offered to watch a horror movie just because I wanted to, and you ended up hiding behind my pillow. Adorable.

68. You once said, “You’re my favorite place to be.” I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

He pulled another one out, smiling through teary eyes.

Then he got to one that made him pause.

73. That night you thought I’d leave you… I wish I’d told you then how wrong you were.

I’m not going anywhere. I’m always here.

He paused at number 73. His hands stopped moving. For a moment, the room was quiet except for the sound of his breath.

He looked at you then, completely undone, the kind of emotion that Vernon rarely let the world see.

Gently setting the jar aside, he leaned over and tugged the pillow away from your face.

“Babe,” he whispered. “Come here.”

You climbed into his lap with a shy smile, arms looping around his neck.

His hands cradled your waist. “You’re insane. You know that, right?”

You tucked your face into his neck, grinning. “Only when it comes to you.”

He laughed, pulling you in tighter. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten. Like, ever.”

You pulled back slightly, brushing his hair out of his face. “I just needed you to know. In case I don’t say it enough. I love you. A lot.”

His eyes searched for yours, warm and shining. “You show it in a hundred ways every day. I just have proof now.”

He kissed your forehead.

Then your cheek.

Then, finally, your lips—slow and steady, like he had all the time in the world.

___

Bonus:

He started carrying one note in his wallet every day like a lucky charm.

Whenever he traveled, you’d get a photo—your jar of pastel notes sitting right on his nightstand.

And six months later, you opened your laptop to find a document named Reasons I Love You: Draft Version 1. He never let you read it. Not then.

But a year later, he printed it out. Bound it like a book. Gave it to you on your third anniversary.

The title?

Chapter 1 of Forever.

🌸 Masterlist 🌸

#seventeen imagines #svt imagines #Seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #svt x you #svt fanfic #hansol vernon chwe #vernon #vernon imagines #vernon fluff #vernon x reader #vernon fic #svt vernon #vernon x you #chwe hansol imagines #chwe hansol x reader #svt fluff

235 notes · View notes

jeonginsleftcheek · 1 year ago

Text

Dating Bang Chan

pairing: bang chan x afab!reader

genre: fluff, suggestive

warning/s: mdni, mentions of insecurities

a/n: i had a stressful week and this was just sitting in my drafts. this is just a collection of random thoughts i had bcs i'm soft for chan♡

(i'll probably do this for every member eventually)

Chan is such a sweetheart. Expect to be hugged and pulled into his lap all the freaking time. He needs to have his hands on you somehow no matter where you are or what you're doing. Chan will give you a back hug and then pull you into him, burying his face in your hair. He loves skinship like that especially with people who bring him comfort like you do.

Chan is the type of boyfriend who will always ask if you're hungry, thirsty or cold and if you need anything at all he will stop what he was doing and get it for you. He always wants you to feel comfortable.

He is also very playful and will tease you all the time. I also feel like he is that type of boyfriend that will swoop you up and put you over his shoulders all the damn time especially while you're doing something just to get a rise out of you. He will laugh cutely as you trash around and yell at him to 'put you down or else' but you both know you're laughing too.

You become so close to his mother and sister, and you and Hannah team up to tease him together. Berry also adores you and always runs to you whenever you visit. Chan will playfully pout and sulk, saying that 'his family replaced him' but he is actually so thrilled that you get along.

He daydreams a lot about your future together, imagines you two getting married and starting a family and it makes him all giddy and giggly. Some things he's too shy to say to you directly so he puts them in songs that he writes for you.

Chan will watch every movie and listen to every song you recommend him. He wants to know what you like and why you like it so send him cute songs and tell him that they made you think of him.

Late night adventures. Driving around aimlessly as you listen to music, getting something to eat from a convenience store or a gas station. He pulls up somewhere secluded where you have the perfect view of the city. You eat, talk and look at the stars together. Kisses are shared, hands are roaming and pretty soon you end up in the backseat of the car.

Chan will take you out to dinner, bring you flowers, take you out to the arcade, to an ice cream date, to the beach, everywhere and anywhere, he just wants you to have fun together. But he will also enjoy a quiet night at home, while he works on his laptop and you're cuddled up to him reading a book.

He always puts you first, your needs above his so you have to scold him when he tells you he forgot to eat dinner. You bring him food to the studio and he's happy to see you but sad that he made you upset. You tell him you'll forgive him if he eats everything you brought him and he happily will.

Arguments with Chan would probably mostly happen when he's sleep deprived because he gets snappy then. His voice raises a little (not on purpose) but as soon as he sees tears forming in your eyes he will start apologizing. You tell him you need a few moments and obviously he does too, so he leaves to another room to cool off a little. When he comes back out, you two sit down and talk it out. You never want to go to bed angry or without resolving a fight.

No matter if you live together or you're sleeping over at each other's places you can forget about personal space. When you go to bed at night, Chan will cling onto you, he will pull you into him and hold you tight. Good luck on trying to move until the morning. Showers together because why wouldn't you wanna save water?

Absolute gentleman. Will open doors for you, move your chair, help you put your jacket on, you'll never have to carry anything heavy. He knows you can do it but he just wants to treat you like the queen you are and you better indulge him or he will sulk.

Sometimes, Chan feels insecure and nothing can make him feel better than your arms around him, his head on your chest as you gently tell him about everything you love and admire about him. He's used to always being alert and taking care of others so he'd love for you to take care of him sometimes like that, baby him a little, it lights his heart up.

Little moments when he's concentrated on something or lost in his own little world always make you gush at him and your camera is full of his cute moments, when he realizes you're filming him, he gets shy and you capture his sweet smile and cute giggles.

This man will also never give you room to doubt yourself. He will remind you every single day how much he loves you and respects you. How beautiful you are to him, every single part of you, every scar, stretchmark, anything you're insecure about he'll give extra kisses and caresses to that part of you just so you start loving yourself more.

Back hugs. Back hugs. BACK HUGS. FOREHEAD KISSES. HAND HOLDING. THIGH SQUEEZING.

Make him sleep please! He needs to rest and often pulls all-nighters but if you offer him cuddles he can't say no, he has to join you in bed.

You wear matching bracelets!🥺 And they're ones that you make by yourselves with cute colorful beads and maybe your initials and it's just so adorable!

Random cuteness agression moments where Chan can't contain all the love he has for you so he attacks you with kisses all over your face. You squeal and you both end up giggling and play-fighting. Will also tickle you every chance he gets. You're never safe from Chan the tickle monster. (He just loves touching you and loves seeing you laugh, deal with it.)

Okay but your mom will love him so much. He's the type of boyfriend that will treat your mom like his own. Anything she needs help with, he will help no questions asked. She's already calling him her son-in-law.

You need help fixing something around the house? Chan is your man. Just imagine those arms of his as he's working on something, wearing just a tanktop. (😩)

You can talk to him about anything really, he loves to listen to you ramble about your friends or work, sometimes he starts teasing you in the middle of your rambling, repeating what you're saying or reacting dramatically. You smack his thigh or arm and whine that he's not taking it seriously. He just laughs at you and promises to listen seriously with a goofy face.

But when it comes to actual serious issues, you can really rely on Chan. He will hold your hand and caress you as you tell him your worries. He'll listen without interrupting, letting you vent to him. When you're done he will do everything he can to comfort you, motivate you, make you feel better, help you get through whatever you're struggling with.

Talks about you all the time, he's so proud to be yours and he's just infatuated with you. Giggles to himself when he thinks about you. He just adores you so much.

#skz x reader #skz fluff #skz soft hours #skz soft thoughts #bang chan x reader #bang chan fluff #skz bang chan #skz headcanons #bang chan headcanons #skz scenarios #bangchan scenarios

918 notes · View notes

hrefna-the-raven · 10 months ago

Text

Home

Horror masterlist - Masterlist - Misc. masterlist

RZ Michael Myers x female nurse reader

Part 1 - 2

Words: 1476

Warnings: smut (18+)

Summary: Michael has escaped Smith Grove's Sanitarium...

Reader: short female reader, female genitals in smut scenes

The voice echoing in his mind persisted, urging him to go to Haddonfield but the back door he was sliding open was miles away from it, for today he listened to another power rising from deep within. Stepping inside, he found himself standing in the kitchen, his eyes drawn to the assortment of sweets and candies neatly arranged on the countertop. A faint smile curled at the edges of his mouth, knowing that you had purchased each one of them according to the list. Right next to it, neatly folded, was a black witch costume with a small hat resting atop of it.

You were sitting on the couch, engrossed in the movie "Bates Motel" when a continued cold draft caught finally caught your attention. With a grunt, you switched off the TV and lifted your body from the comfort of the couch, making your way towards the kitchen. Your fingers fumbled in search of the light switch, and as it clicked on, your gaze shot up, landing on the tall masked man standing at the counter, his fingers gliding over the tiny hat from your costume. You immediately recognised deep blue striped pants and the torn dirty gray bathrobe that seemed tiny hanging on his imposing figure.

"Michael!", you shouted in shock and total disbelief.

Your body froze for a moment. It was something else seeing this mountain of man standing in your kitchen, close to midnight, all alone and far away from the security that Smith's Grove provided. How could he even be here? Did he escape? Just as you wondered why nobody had informed you about the escape of the patient you mainly took care of, the sharp ringing of the wall-mounted phone next to you startled both you and Michael. Without diverting your gaze from him, you reached out and grabbed the phone, placing it against your ear and waiting a moment before speaking.

"Hello?"

"Oh nurse, heavens! I'm glad I was able to reach you. Michael has escaped, he killed several on his way out."

There was a pause on the other side as Loomis waited for your reply. Any sane person would have freaked out while being trapped alone in their home with the sanitarium's most infamous patient. The doctor on the other end of the line was you're only chance to call for help and as the thoughts of what any sane person would have done in that moment flashed before your inner vision, your body had its own surprise in store for you. Your hand gestured for Michael to close the door behind him while you shot a warm smile at him before focusing back on the phone call.

"Oh my god, that's terrible! Did someone alarm the police? Do you know where he's headed?"

Michael blinked in disbelief as you faked a shocked tone while the traces of your smile still lingered on your lips. His eyes never left your figure, his hand fumbling behind him to close the door. The enigma that was you continued to surprise him, eluding the expectations formed by the cruel world around him, only to grace him with the kindness he not only thought lost after his mother stopped visiting him. No, you continued to surpass it and as he stood within your kitchen, he almost felt a sense of home, carrying his thoughts to the one he had back then as he briefly wondered where his little sister could be now.

"No I haven't seen him. Why would he come here? Have you checked in Haddonfield where his sister lives now?"

You winked at him, feeling freed from your confidential oath as he was technically, officially, not near you to overhear such information. Michael felt stunned at your response. Back in the sanitarium he had wondered more than once if you'd be able to peak into his mind as you always seemed to understand him so well and now you had answered the very question that had been lingering in his mind. A strange sensation burned underneath his skin as if he wanted to...wanted to kiss you. His breaths grew heavier and his hands pressed tightly against his sides, trying to hide the trembles.

"I'll keep a look out but I'm sure he won't waste any time coming here. You too. Goodnight Dr Loomis."

You hung up the phone and turned back to Michael, taking a few hesitant steps into his direction.

"So...uhm...what brought you here? You could also have tried to find your sister."

A small shivering breath came from behind the mask before Michael slowly pulled it off his face and pointed at you. Your brows furrowed for a moment and you contemplated on the possibilities before answering cautiously.

"Me? You came here because of me? To see me?"

He nodded, placing his mask on the counter beside your costume and sank to his knees, arms outstretched, waiting for you to approach him. He was aware that you probably knew the circumstances that led to his escape, Loomis would have surely informed you how much blood stained his hands tonight. And yet, you chose to send the doctor straight to Haddonfield all the while wearing a smile on your face. You had a choice tonight and you chose him. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes when you wrapped your arms around him, exhaling relieved at the shared closeness. It had been a long time since anyone had chosen him, and now here you were, gently cradling his face, your gaze filled with nothing but affection. His heart ached beautifully as the feeling of home nestled within. He leaned in closer, his lips pressing on yours in a, first, tender kiss that quickly morphed into burning passion he couldn't control any longer. Strong hands slid beneath your butt and you gasped when you were lifted onto the counter. Long fingers wrapped around your shorts and panties, tearing them off with such force that they were flying off to the corner of the kitchen.

"Michael!", you shrieked in surprise but your legs parting on their own betrayed your desire.

Michael groaned at the sight of your wet folds before him. Not only had you chosen him, but you were also willing to surrender yourself to him, to be his. He silently vowed to worship you as the angelic being that you were, grant you the pleasures of the heavens you descended from. Gently, he positioned your legs over his shoulders and leaned forward, his face coming tantalisingly close to your cunt and you could feel his breath fanning over your wetness. A deep, sinful moan escaped your lips as his tongue pressed flat against your swollen clit. His fingers dug deeper into your flesh as your sweet taste began to fill his mouth, igniting a feral hunger within him. His sloppy licks grew faster, sucking at your clit in between before shoving three fingers into your dripping entrance. You cried out in pleasure as he kept thrusting into you, pushing you fast towards the edge of your release. The man between your legs had nothing in common with the shy calm patient from the observation room, the one standing between your legs ate you out like a starved man, worshipping you for the loyalty you showed him. Your fingers entwined in his hair, urging him closer as you bucked your hips and cried out his name, panting and finally coming undone while pure bliss washed over you. Michael mumbled something against your folds before rising and using his sleeve to wipe away your juices from his face. You still breathed heavily, chuckling as you hopped off the countertop, searching for your pants in the kitchen corner.

"That was....wow....I-I should return the favour", you spoke softly, pulling up your pants.

As you glanced up, a short gasp escaped your lips as you discovered Michael already standing beside you, his arms sneaking around your waist as he placed a tender kiss on your forehead.

"Later", he murmured, his voice coarse and deep, "let's sleep."

Those little words, so simple and yet the desire that gave birth to them ran so deep. Michael never truly had someone, his dark thoughts being the only company he ever knew until, one day, you stepped through those doors in the Sanitarium. He had always wondered it how would to be to lie down in bed with someone, not a single worry in his world as only happiness seeped through his body and the warmth of your touch lulling him into slumber. You led him upstairs and cuddled up to him on your bed, slowly sinking into a blissful sleep in the arms of Haddonfield's most feared man. Michael caressed your arm, eyelids growing heavy as he drifted off, one final thought lingering before surrendering to the irresistible lure of slumber. Home...

Feel free to reblog if you enjoyed the story 😊

610 notes · View notes

workingbynyx · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you'd be interested in writing headcanons of Jason Todd as the reader's boyfriend? Probably like the general dynamic of the relationship, love language, etc. Whatever you think goes best! :)

of course! i can finally use my hcs of boyfie jason to good use oml i have so much in store for you loves 😚

(this has been sitting in my drafts for so long and now that its almost v-day i think its pretty fitting to post this <3 also pls remember that these are my personal hcs so some may be entirely ooc but this is how i imagine him to be okay 😭)

Very affectionate behind closed doors

Jason wasn't a very clingy person to begin with. in fact the first time you held hands you swore you saw drops of sweat drip down the side of his face, it's hilarious. it took him a while to get around giving physical affection but once he did, hugs and kisses are non-stop. he'll either give you quick or aggressive but gentle kisses or would simply ask you to climb onto him on your shared bed and lay your head on his chest as he sleeps. he'd search for your hand and give it a squeeze when the both of you are in a big crowd (ex; galas, parties) or just rest his hand on the small of your back— as intimidating he might seem, he's just a big baby in your hands.

A pretty decent cook, to say the least

Could be an unpopular opinion but i'd say Jason isn't all too bad in the kitchen, he can pretty much fix up a simple meal if he wants to. The man could either fuck up the microwave or invent a whole new recipe just to fit your cravings, there's no in between. He doesn't want to admit it but he has a secret folder in his phone of all the recipes to your favourite dishes from lunch meals to deserts; so now on every occassion, you can expect waking up to the fresh scent of your favourite food set on the table <3

Midnight joyrides are the best

Do y'all know those tiktok accs that own a motorbike and just drive around with their partners sitting behind them? That's exactly how i imagine what it would be like to be Jason's partner 👊👊 literally like; "bubs put on your helmet" "are we going out? at this time?" "what, you don't want to?" "well, yeah i do..." "good, i'll have the bike out front then" then you guys just drive around on his bigass bike zooming through the city. He'd also have his hands run down your leg that's straddling him from behind at every stoplight possible wkehwjhejwhd

Getting out of bed is almost impossible

The first time you two moved in together was really exciting, waking up finding yourself beside the love of your life sleeping peacefully to eating breakfast and dinner with them too. But as time went by, it became almost your mission everyday to get out of bed without being held back by Jason pulling you back under the sheets. You'd have to be sneaky to move his arm that's wrapped around your waist before his reflexes react soon enough; "mmh, going somewhere?" "jay, i gotta get to work" "10 more minutes love, i promise. I'll just drive you there it's much faster" "you said that 5 minutes ago— i'll be late again!" "are you saying you'd rather leave me alone?" "jace i–" "mhm exactly, so stay a'ight? you could just tell them you caught that flu" "i already did...two days ago..."

Absolutely adores your eyes, hands and waist

I'm a firm believer that Jason is a certified waist-grabber !!! you can expect the rough tips of his gloves glide over from your back all the way to your waist once he comes home from work. He also looooves looking into your eyes and see his reflection in them, the same eyes that showed nothing but pure love and kindness to him. And he also likes your hands; the size difference when you compare them, how they wrapped around his own, and how they cling onto him every chance you get. He thinks it's such a cute mannerism (if you have them too)

He asks for fashion advice, sometimes

Jason'll probably throw on a shirt, jacket, pants and boots then call it day before he met you— but he's even conscious of how colors looked on him now. You were his stylist, often picking out clothes and giving him new looks that you think looks best on him just because he once saw a photo of him and thought the shirt and pants he had didn't match at all. Jason always thought clothes only consists of hoodies, sweatpants, shirts, but now even knows what 'preppy' clothing is after you explained it to him.

His love language is words of affirmation and physical touch

This may vary to some people but i do hc Jason's love language to be words of affirmation and physical touch. Words of affirmation; only because he absolutely loves it when he tells you what he genuinely thinks of you at the moment. "You look great in red", "i'm proud of what you did there", "i love you, y'know that right?", "you look so gorgeous, i'm lucky to have you" and physical touch; because he's totally convinced he can't live without you by his side. Jason would want to be next or near you at any given chance, he'll have you scooted beside him while he reads a book or gently rub his hand against your thigh when he's focused on a movie. Your presence alone gives him the comfort he's always longing for in nights that he's away from home, and you'd glady give it to him.

Very protective over you

It's probably a known fact that Jason is a protective person but when it comes to you he can be over the top in making sure you're okay (especially when you're also a vigilante/hero working with him.) You'll always have to assure him that you're fine and not bleeding to death with a papercut or when you accidentlly stub your toe against the bed. But when you're also a crime-fighter like him, best believe he'll always have you stay and guarded behind him. You had to explain so many times that you could also take care of yourself like he can, though it's understandable why he acts that way most of the time.

Acts all tough, but melts when you're around

Around the times when Jason still had a lil crush on you, he'd never let his guard down and likes to appear cold or tough. But once you were dating he's an absolute shy babe even with the smallest gestures or compliments you give him. He'd only crack a smile at the side comments you make but is mentally falling apart. Or when he can't keep up the act he simply dips his head in the corner of your neck and stay there til he stops blushing like a teen getting his first kiss.

Is a part of the sassy man apocalypse

Sometimes, you question if this man is simply your bestfriend or your boyfriend of how many years. The amount of bickering the two of you end up having is like watching two friends fight over peanut butter vs chocolate. You'd suggest a book you've been reading that he absolutely despises and have a debate right there and then. It's almost like that one Friends scene when Joey and Rachel were giving spoilers back to back at each other LMAO. The man also has an unhealthy habit of popping a hip whenever he stands, your gallery would probably be filled with pictures of him in that stance alone.

#✎ ─ nyx fics !#jason todd x reader #jason todd x gn!reader #jason todd headcanons #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood x gn!reader #red hood headcanons #dcu #dc comics #red hood #jason todd #bf!jason todd x reader

1K notes · View notes

amirawrah · 1 month ago

Text

⭐︎Blocked Love

with JUDE BELLINGHAM⭐︎

synopsis: A heart that ran from love finally comes back, but is it too late to fix what was broken?

amirah: here is a little draft, hope yall like it!

You were never quite sure what to call it—what you and Jude had.

It wasn’t just sex, though that part came easy. It was the way he looked at you when you were mid-rant about something stupid. The way his hand always found yours. The quiet dinners. The sleepy good mornings. The comfortable silences and the teasing touches. It was something. It just wasn’t… defined.

And you didn’t ask. Maybe because deep down, you already knew the answer you didn’t want to hear.

Still, it was enough for a while. Enough to keep letting him in, emotionally and physically, while pretending your heart didn’t ache every time he left without saying, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Until one day—he didn’t come back.

No message. No call. No voice note saying he was swamped. Just nothing.

You’d stared at your screen for far too long, thumb hovering over his name, until you finally tapped to open the chat and realized… you were blocked.

Blocked.

Like you were some casual fling he needed to erase. Like you didn’t know his favorite way to fall asleep. Like he hadn’t once kissed you in the middle of a grocery store aisle for no reason.

The worst part? You never even got the dignity of a goodbye.

The silence stretched for days.

Then weeks.

Every ding of your phone made your chest tighten. Every tagged post, every blurry party video, you watched with narrowed eyes—scanning for a glimpse of him.

And then you saw it. Jude. At some lounge in Madrid. Leaning in, whispering something to a girl with slicked-back hair and a red dress that hugged her like skin.

You didn’t cry. You refused to cry. You closed the app. You curled up under

Time dragged.

People who knew asked about him. Mutual friends danced around his name like it might bite. You smiled through it all, made jokes, told them you were good.

You weren’t.

And yet, life didn’t stop. You still went on your walks. Still worked. Still listened to the playlists he made you, because torturing yourself seemed easier than deleting him entirely.

A week after seeing him on someone’s story, you woke up and couldn’t shake the urge to leave the house. It was too stuffy. Too quiet. You needed air.

You slipped on your sneakers, hoodie pulled up, ready to escape the weight of your apartment. As you opened the door—

There he was.

Jude.

Standing on your front step. Holding a bouquet, like some tragic rom-com cliché. His curls were slightly messy, eyes tired, but his smile was soft and hopeful.

“Hey.”

Your body froze. For a second, you wondered if this was some sick hallucination brought on by three hours of sleep and half a protein bar.

But it was him. Real and breathing. Looking at you like the sun rose with you and not over Madrid.

You didn’t smile back. How could you.

You didn’t say anything.

You just stared—arms crossed, heart slamming against your ribs.

“I know,” he said, dropping his gaze. “You probably wanna slam the door in my face.”

You raised your brow.

“That crossed my mind,” you murmured.

He let out a breathy laugh, but it faded quickly. “Can I come in? Please.”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to hear what he had to say—but because you weren’t sure your heart could take it.

Eventually, you stepped aside.

He stepped inside quietly, like he didn’t want to disturb the air between you, even though it was already thick with everything unsaid.

You closed the door behind him. The click echoed.

He held the flowers awkwardly, like he’d forgotten what to do with his hands. You didn’t offer a vase.

Jude looked around the room he hadn’t been in for weeks. Everything was the same. Everything was different.

You stood by the counter, arms crossed again.

“Say what you came to say,” you said, your voice soft, but not kind.

He looked down at the flowers. “These are for you.”

You didn’t move.

He swallowed hard. “I’ve been an idiot. I know. I know what it looks like—what I did, what I didn’t say.”

You tilted your head slightly. “You blocked me, Jude.”

His jaw clenched. “I know.”

“You ghosted me like I meant nothing.”

He shook his head quickly, taking a step toward you. “No. Don’t—don’t say that. You meant everything. That’s the problem.”

You blinked. “Well fucking elaborate jude.”

He ran a hand down his face. “I started falling in love with you, and it scared the hell out of me. We aren’t even together—we aren’t calling it anything, and I keet telling myself that its fine, that its just casual.”

“It wasn’t casual,” you said sharply. “At least not for me.”

“I know,” he said, pain pinching in his voice. “It wasn’t for me either. But I didn’t know how to do it. I didn’t know how to ask for more without losing what we had. So I did the stupidest thing imaginable. I tried to rip it off.”

You were quiet for a moment. “So you blocked me.”

He nodded. “Because seeing you—talking to you—was making it worse. I was already in too deep. And I thought maybe, if I created space, it’d go. That I’d forget the way you talk in your sleep, or how you make fun of me when I’m losing at Uno. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

Your heart twisted painfully.

“And then I saw you weren’t reaching out anymore,” he continued, “And I thought, maybe she’s moved on. Maybe she’s okay. So I tried to be okay too. Went on dates. Smiled in the photos.”

You clenched your jaw. “So I was just a phase you had to shake off?”

“No,” he said immediately. “You were the best thing that ever happened to me. And I ran from it like a coward.”

Silence settled between you again. He took a careful step closer.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said. “But I did. And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

You stared at him, arms still wrapped around yourself like armor.

“I waited, you know,” you whispered. “I waited for a call. A text. Anything. I checked your name every day like an idiot.”

Jude’s shoulders dropped like your words physically hit him.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he said. “I blocked you to ease the pain, but it only made it worse. I thought I could force myself to stop loving you.”

Your breath caught.

He looked you in the eye, finally stepping close enough that you could feel the warmth of him.

“But I do,” he said softly. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I never stopped.”

Your arms slowly dropped to your sides.

You didn’t say anything.

He held the flowers out again—an awkward, pleading gesture. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I needed to tell you. Even if it’s too late.”

There was a long beat. And then you exhaled the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“I hate that I still love you,” you said, voice cracking.

His eyes flickered with hope.

“But I do,” you added, blinking back emotion. “I love you. And I hated you for making me feel like I wasn’t enough.”

He stepped closer again, setting the flowers down on the table so he could gently, cautiously touch your cheek.

“You’ve always been more than enough,” he said.

Your lips trembled.

And then—finally—you let yourself fall forward. Into his chest. Into the arms you missed every night. You felt his breath stutter as he held you tight, one hand at the back of your head like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, over and over, into your hair.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, face inches from his.

“You don’t get to run again,” you said. “If we do this… we do it for real.”

His eyes were glassy. “I want that. I’ve always wanted that.”

Then he kissed you.

Not rushed. Not hungry.

Just soft. Real. Like a promise made with lips instead of words.

The kiss deepened slowly.

There was no urgency, no hunger to make up for lost time. Just warmth, like breathing after holding your breath too long. His hands cupped your face gently, and your fingertips curled into the soft cotton of his hoodie, grounding yourself in something real. Him.

When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads rested together.

You both smiled. Small. Tired. Safe.

“I missed you,” you whispered.

He kissed your cheek. “I missed us.”

You stepped back, finally picking up the forgotten flowers and walking to the kitchen to find a vase. Jude followed silently, like he didn’t want to be more than two steps away from you ever again.

As you filled the vase, you asked softly, “Are you staying tonight?”

“Do you want me to?”

You gave him a look. “Jude.”

He grinned a little. “Yeah. I want to stay. Not just tonight. Every night, if you’ll let me.”

You tried to hide the way your heart soared. “Let’s just start with one.”

The night was quiet after that. You reheated leftovers. He sat at your kitchen island watching you like he couldn’t believe he was here again, like he didn’t deserve this peace but was grateful for it anyway.

You both curled up on the couch afterward, half-watching a film neither of you really cared about. His arm wrapped around you, your legs over his, your head on his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear.

At one point, you looked up at him and whispered, “Why now?”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Why come back tonight?”

He took a breath. “Because I saw a photo of you yesterday. Just walking. Headphones on. Laughing about something on your phone. And I realized that I could spend the rest of my life going on fake dates, trying to forget you—but I’d never be happy.”

You stared at him.

“And if you’d already moved on,” he added softly, “I was ready to let you go. But if there was even the smallest chance you still loved me… I had to try.”

Your eyes welled up.

You pressed your lips to his again, this time slower, more certain. Like something sacred. He pulled you closer, your bodies flush together, not out of lust—but because there was no other way to be close enough.

One kiss turned into two.

Two into more.

His hands slid up your waist, careful, familiar, patient.

He lifted you into his lap, your mouths still moving together, it wasn’t a firestorm—it was warmth. Home.

That night, you made love like it meant something. Like it always had.

No more confusion. No more blurred lines. Just you and him, rediscovering each other with whispered apologies and soft touches. His lips murmuring your name like a prayer. Yours tracing his shoulder like you were mapping your way back to something you never truly left.

He said “I love you” again. You said it back.

And when you finally collapsed together, tangled in sheets and each other, he kissed your forehead and smiled.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

You believed him this time.

#mirahsworks🦫#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham oneshot #jude bellingham x black reader #jude bellingham x you #footballer x black reader #footballer x reader #footballer x you #footballer x y/n

185 notes · View notes

hirschkuh-traumvoll · 3 months ago

Text

Like in your fav movie

the plot is: chralie's planning a movie night for everyone to participate, but you know her films are not much for your and your friend's taste, so you find a good old film and suggest alastor watching it together

words ≈ 5.6k

warnings: alastor has a favourite kiss scene in a movie... not like he likes this movie just because of the scene, but he just finds this kiss scene beautiful because i do so; also, gifs from the silent movie would appear in the text, don't be disturbed by them

author's note: this had been in my drafts for months, like for six-seven months!! because i easily jump from one project to another, but i'm glad i've finally finished it ^^

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

You and Angel entered a video rental store in a search for a movie for tonight. The films Charlie kept came to an end, and none of you wanted to rewatch these toothroting romantic movies and children musicals. Some of you wanted something really entertaining. So Angel and you volunteered to find tapes that would please everyone and at the same time wouldn't violate the rules drawn up by Charlie. At least not all of them. It wasn't easy, but at least going on this mission you freed yourself from her trust building exercises. And this was a huge plus.

Entering the shop you decided to split up, pick out a few tapes that suited the majority's taste, and then discuss together which of these you should take.

You went to the detective section and Angel to the fantasy. Horrors, actions, thrillers and all the similar was out of your list, as it simply went against Charlie's rules, god damn them, why couldn't you even watch a good horror movie in the hotel situated in hell? Did it really interfere with redemption?

But you shook your head. She tried her best for you all, after all. And moreover the lights in the horror section suspiciously flickered now and then… Better stay away from that part of the shop.

The detective part seemed quite boring, though the bright covers with abstruse names dazzled in front of your eyes, persuading you to buy them. You took only two tapes that seemed suitable and moved to the other section when suddenly something caught your eye, making you stop abruptly. You turned your head to the shelves on your right and saw a familiar white and black face without even a hint of a smile. And this film was in the comedy section. The man in the image was holding a book in one hand and a magnifier in the other one. Fake mustache was on his pale face, and a flat hat was on the top of his head.

Your eyes widened in a growing surprise as you pronounced “no way” with a smile curving your lips, and your hand reached to the tape.

* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

Angel stood in front of you with several tapes in each of his hands, pressing them to his fluffy chest. One tape seemed to stick out right from his fur. Even in his extra section of arms he held at least five tapes in his large palms. And you stood in front of him with just a single film.

“The fuck, babe?”

“I see you've done a great job, Angel! Let's go to the cash desk!” You answered cheerfully, ignoring his frown.

“Wait, hold on!” He wanted to grab your hand, but realised it was impossible for him, so he just stepped out in front of you, bending his waist, not losing a single tape, even the one in his fur, which now was staring right at you. You took a step back, mentally preparing to defend yourself from his sarcasm. He knew what a nerd you were with your strange passion for everything old, including silent movies.

Angel tilted his head, reading the name of the tape you squeezed in your palm.

“1924..? A silent comedy?! Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?!”

“You don't understand, Angel, it's a very important film.” You said grandly, but your friend only rolled his eyes, as if he knew why exactly you chose this tape among all the modern movies and even hell made ones. “I know what you're thinking about, Angel,” He looked down grumpy at you, “but I assure you, that I came to love silent pictures long before I met Alastor. I loved them even when I was alive. Frankly, a part of me wanted to become a director, so much I loved cinematography, but, unfortunately, I died.”

Maybe not even unfortunately, you thought. In hell you met people you would die for, so partly you were glad you were dead.

Angel's eyes went from the tape in your hands to your face and back. His expression relaxed, but he was still frowned a bit,

“Eh, do you really think somebody’s gonna watch it? Cuz’ I’m out.”

You came up to the cash register, and handed the precious tape to a cashier, whilst Angel dumped all that he was holding in hands at the desk, making quite a heap of films of various genres. Your eyes quickly ran through the names on the covers and recognised most of them. Your cinematography knowledge was indeed deep and sound. You mentioned that most of the selected films actually met the princess’s requirements (though they were not so ‘harmless’ as Charlie's ones), but, not without a surprise, you observed that some pictures could literally drive Charlie mad if she'd find them.

“I fully trust your taste, Angel.” You answered, paying for the tape and taking a breath to say something that caused a little blush on your cheeks. “But this one tape is just for me and… Alastor.” You confessed with a little hesitation.

“Ohh! So it's a movie date then, huh?” Angel grinded cheeky, propping himself against the cash desk, eyeing at you.

“Don't say so.” Frowning, you tapped your fingers against the tape, imagining Alastor's face when you would suggest watching this film together. You couldn't deny you imagined his polite smile turning into a genuine one, a warmer and softer smile, how he calls you with a precious pet name ‘cher’ rolling from his tongue so sweetly as his eyelids droop slightly as every time you say something pleasant to him. And what could be more pleasurable than an offer to watch a classic comedy together? Especially when it was filmed by a director you both liked?

“Well, I hope.” You admitted. After all it wasn't a secret for Angel that you felt something for the deer man. You never really tried to hide your little crush on the Radio Demon. But you were a little scared of the thought that one day the rest of the crew and then he himself would find out what actually Alastor was to you. So you were very nervous when recently Charlie mentioned how your expression changed every time Alastor entered the room, how a smile on your face was impossible to wipe off, how your eyes never left Alastor, how you leaned closer to him when he was speaking. She was speaking with an understanding smile and even winked at you when you tried to deny.

If she noticed it, could he?

But when you decided to play a cold blooded towards him you appeared close to having your heart melted. It was fruitless to try to escape your feelings for they only grew stronger, wrapping their roots firmly around your tortured heart.

“Ha! I knew you have a crush on Tall Dark And Creepy!” Angel laughed, and, though you were slightly embarrassed, you couldn't help smile back at him — his laughter was too infectious. Even the cashier could hardly suppress a smile.

Angel put his hand on your shoulder and said with a bright smile,

“I’ll make sure Charlie picks the loooongest movie, so nobody will bother you, sugar.” He winked at you, spreading red across your cheeks. Then Angel lowered his gaze to the tape you twisted in your hands. “Hm. Tell me, babe, how long is this?”

You looked up, trying to remember,

“Hmm, about forty minutes?”

“What!?”

“What do you want? It's an old thing.” You waved the tape.

“Pff! This is not an excuse!” He crossed his arms, and you wanted to clarify to him the whole complicated process of filming a movie in the early 20s, and especially this comedy, shot on two films at once for better sales abroad, but Angel hushed you with his forefinger in front of your nose. “Don't you dare explain to me about film shooting again, toots.”

And only when he saw reconciliation in your eyes he continued, combing his white hair back with his gloved hand,

“Okay, that's not so bad. There are still a lot of hot things you can do in forty minutes, especially when you're so foxy. The longest shit I have is about three hours, so even when you, guys, finish you’ll still have about two hours in your pocket.” Angel widely smiled at you, being proud that he’d just organized you a potential date.

But you actually weren't so sure. Alastor was a busy man, it would be a great luck if he’d agree to join you tonight and wouldn’t leave right away as the movie ended.

“Angel, I-”

“No need to thank me, babe.” Angel gave the cashier banknotes, leaning forward to him and moving his hips to the side with grace blended with seduction. He turned to you again. “I'm always glad to help my friends with movies.”

You didn't know why it sounded suggestively, maybe Angel could make everything sound suggestively. You nodded and thanked him, but still thought that his conception of a movie date differed from yours. All you really wanted was to watch a movie that you and your friend/beloved enjoyed. But you really worried about the extra two hours. If Alastor was free tonight and when the others would be watching an Angel's movie, you would be left alone with Alastor… For two hours. The thought made you feel nervous because of excitement blended with fear that Alastor always made you feel: when he cast a look at you, when he placed his hand on your shoulder, when he praised your knowledge, or when he just emerged in your thoughts. And even now, when he didn't even know what you were about to offer him, just a thought of his smile and glowing eyes made your palms perspire and goosebumps ran down your spine.

* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

When you entered the hotel and looked around the lobby and the bar, Angel whistled above you,

“Hey, look who's up there!”

When you looked up you saw Alastor taking a view of the hotel's lobby from the balcony. He held his hands behind his back, gripping his microphone, and stuck his chest out. But despite the proud look his gaze seemed empty, as if his thoughts were far from this place.

You felt a gaze on you and turned to Angel, who playfully raised his brows at you, and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Go to Charlie, and I…” The shyness occupied you suddenly, making it hard for you to say aloud the name of your crush. Why did it take you so much strength to pronounce the name of your beloved, especially when he was in the same room? Your cheeks blushed brightly as your eyes landed on the man you loved — he met your eyes and flashed you a smile.

“I'm going!” You exclaimed, throwing a paper bag with the new tapes into Angel's hands, and headed for the stairs.

“Break a leg, honey!” You heard behind your back and rolled your eyes, but smiled.

Alastor was about to go but noticing you entering the lobby he remained standing at the railing. So, you came back from shopping with your friend porn star. Wonderful. Now you waved him with your hand, catching his attention, though he was following your figure with his eyes as you were coming upstairs, and he responded to you with a tilt of his head.

You came up to him, keeping one hand behind your back, your left hand tucked your hair behind your ear as you stopped in front of him.

“Hi!” You greeted him. The blush Alastor saw on your cheeks dispelled all his thoughts. Your earthy beauty — so rare in hell and because of this even more precious — was pure and natural, and he couldn't help fixing his gaze on you each time you appeared before his eyes as a dreamy apparition. Just a view of you ignited his chest with warmth. And though just two minutes ago he felt resentment and even jealousy (he hated the fact that he wasn't there when Charlie was choosing who to send shopping, and it ended up with you and Angel going together), now he forgot, or almost forgot, his umbrage. Your smile wasn't so wide, your eyes didn't sparkle so bright, and you didn't tug nervously at the edge of your shirt when you were speaking with anyone but Alastor. And it meant something.

“Good evening, my dear! How was your shopping?” The last word was pronounced sharply, perfectly matching the flash of his fangs in the thin smile, and you, somehow, had to lower your gaze to escape the embarrassment. He looked too damn handsome with his lowered crimson eyelids and this dangerous grin, even when he was obviously irritated for some reason. Although you guessed why he was angry and knew it was fruitless to dispel his emotions with words — Alastor always appreciated actions.

“Weeell,” You drawled and handed him the tape from behind your back. It wasn't taken from your hand right away as you expected, so you looked up at him, seeing him observing the film with the narrowed eyes.

“Ooh,” Alastor's eyes gleamed when he read the title, “Oh my! The Great Stone Face himself!”

His fingertips slightly brushed yours as he took the tape from your hands and looked over it from every side. Looking at the front cover, he titled his head as if remembering something. A melancholic smile spread across his face and, slightly parting your lips in anticipation, you prepared to hear another old story of his past life. You loved his stories, Alastor was a great storyteller, no wonder he chose radio his career. With his smooth voice, perfect articulation and intonation, rich vocabulary he could make any story riveting. When you were in low spirits it was enough of him to tell you an anecdote to make the tears disappear from your eyes. Or when you wanted to hear a scary story Alastor gladly dedicated you to the details of his killings, which made your blood run cold but also brought a strange thrill to your heart. But most of all you liked when he reminisced about his earth life. That melancholic glitter in his eyes, sad smile, and low voice. He didn't share these memories with many people, and there was something intimate in the way he looked in your eyes, telling you about his good old days that he, despite all his pride and vanity, missed. And Alastor liked to share his memories with you. To see this light in your eyes and this genuine smile of yours. What could be more lovely in hell?

“You know, my dear, I once met him.”

“What?!” You exclaimed in amusement.

“Well, yes, my dear!” He nodded as if confirming his words and lowered his gaze, drifting somewhere in his memories, ready to put in language hir recollection. “It happened just once but I remember this day rather clearly.

“It was an evening party at the house of an acquaintance of mine, who, however, was a goner!” Alastor chuckled darkly, but there was nothing new for you that often his acquaintance became his victims. “But he knew how to throw a party. But none of the evenings he hosted wouldn’t be as charming without the people he invited. The man simply didn’t have a talent for entertaining, luckily, he had his guests. And on that evening Keaton was the life of the party.

“You know, darling, what impressed me the most? The smile and hearty laughter of this genius of comedy. It's not a secret he had been hiding this side of him from the whole world, for his whole life, but when it was only him and people around him, and no cameras, he laughed so infectiously nobody could help joining him!” And as if remembering that laugh, Alastor quietly chuckled himself.

“And what splendid headlines were on the next morning! Of course I was famous not only for my radio broadcast, dear. My ever present and, I mention it not without pride, charming smile was a subject matter of pressmen as well as the Buster's deadpan. So the picture of us on the front page caused a sensation!”

“Unbelievable,” You pronounced without taking your eyes from his face, “How many celebrities did you know?”

“Quite a few,” He answered abruptly, “But that's not the reason you showed me this cassette, isn't it?” He arched one brow glancing down at you and handing you back the tape.

“Oh, yeah!”

Now was the most difficult part: to pretend you were suggesting a movie night together as friends, and don't let the blush spread all over your face.

“How about we watch it together? Tonight?”

Your suggestion was delightful! Alastor as a matter of fact planned to invite you someday to the only traditional cinema theatre in hell which was located in the Cannibal Town, and where only the silent pictures were running. But now you were inviting him. Well, he guessed, it might be this new modern fashion of youth when a girl invites a man, but Alastor was more than just glad to hear your invitation. But the next time he wouldn't let you take the advantage of being first. Now he couldn't help teasing you a little bit, so you wouldn’t be too proud of your bravery.

“Shouldn't we watch whatever movie Charlie chooses to watch together?” Alastor asked with a mischievous smile and a head tilt.

“Yeaahh, right, but. I think we won't like whatever she will choose, but this one,” And you shook the tape in your hand, “is for our taste. Only.”

“Hmm,” He smiled like a cat, satisfied with its trick, slyly and pleasingly, and then exclaimed, throwing his hand, “Well, as you wish, my dear!”

You were ready to jump up with joy, but stopped as Alastor continued, “But we are _not_ going to watch this masterpiece of comedy through this annoying and horrible television technology, are we?”

“I'm afraid we don't have any other choice…”

“Nonsense, darling!” He waved his hand, making everything disappear in green flashes and dark shadows.

* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

You found yourself in the darkness diluted with purple and green spots, and when you got used to the dim light you understood you appeared in a small concert hall of the hotel. Only a few scones and lights on the stage floor illuminated the room with dark red walls, which seemed to absorb their yellowish light just as the black ceiling, so there was not much use in the lighting. As you looked around you understood an oddity — you stood in the center of the concert hall and there were no seats around.

You heard such a familiar static noise becoming louder, and palm with long black fingers lay on your shoulder as though to guide you, and it traced down to link with your arm. Looking up you met the rose red gaze shining even brighter than the scones on the walls.

“Come on, darling.” Alastor led you to a loveseat, which silhouette emerged now from the darkness. The place was absolutely different without furniture and being sunk in velvet darkness. It seemed like the dusk imbibed each sound which was louder than the rustle of your clothes, but each step against the carpeted floor split it, leading you and your friend to the only seat in the room. Approaching it, you noticed that at the piano in the corner of the stage was sitting one of Alastor's ink-servants. The black-and-white imp in a little top hat kept his arms on the keys ready to start to play in any second. Looking higher you saw a huge white screen, hanging down instead of the closed curtains. No, not a screen, a sheet or another light piece of cloth.

Alastor's hand moved to your palm when you were taking a seat on a soft cloud sofa, and you looked around once again. Not only was the lack of furniture odd, the darkness seemed too deep and this silence felt actually velvet, wrapping your ears like rich fabric and comforting you.

But Alastor's solemn tone lay as a new dab on the blackness, painting it with exciting red.

“Now, isn't it a wonderful atmosphere, my dear?” All this time Alastor didn't take his eyes from you, watching your reaction, and he was satisfied, because there was genuine delight in your eyes. His microphone conjured away as he sat next to you with his legs crossed and placed one hand on his knee and another one behind you on the back of the loveseat.

“Absolutely.” You gave him a smile.

“Shall we start the performance, then?” He asked, leaning to you and seeing your nod he snapped his fingers. Right away a bright white beam of a projector pierced through the darkness, placing a black square with the greyish ghostly letters of the title and actors’ names on the white sheet, and at once the ink imp started its tapeur work with a loud, major chord.

As an old proverb, some kind of a prologue for the comedy, appeared on the screen you leaned to Alastor.

Don't try to do two things

at once and expect to do

justice to both.

Well, just as the main character of the picture you ignored the advice of ancestry, but if the young man on the screen was studying the science of being a detective whilst working as a cinema operator, you were on your mission by living through a date without giving a hint that it was a date.

But something, a chance or maybe someone, determined to destroy this facade.

When you moved to Alastor your knee accidently touched his, but even this innocent little hit was enough to make his heart flutter. Alastor knew, you made him too weak, and what was the most scandalous, you were able to do such things to him right from your first day in the hotel, since your first look at him, since your first shy smile and a greeting. It took you disgracefully a little to settle down in every corner of his mind. But never did Alastor feel sorry for this. The way you always excited and thrilled him was so pleasurable. He would be a fool to try to oppose such poisonously sweet torture. And how adorable it was to watch the same reaction from you, especially because of the fact you couldn't keep the same control of your emotions as he could, letting yourself stutter and blush so easily everytime he approached.

So to collect more of such reactions from you and to make his own heart tremble Alastor tilted his head to your side, as if ready to rest on your shoulder, and his hand found your wrist to brush it. A sigh escaped your lips, eyes were fixed to the screen too afraid to see what expression he had and to know if he captured your wrist on purpose or was it a pensive gesture without grounds. But hesitatingly your fingers embraced his, then his thumb approvingly caressed your palm, and you finally intertwined your fingers with his. Alastor gladly hummed, eyeing at you, but you were too concentrated on the movie or you pretended that you did. Anyway you were not about to look at him for Satan's sake, so he could feast his eyes on you, who became even more beautiful with your eyes narrowed in a joyful smile because of another amazing gag of the comedian. But what made you the most charming in all hell was the fact your hand was in Alastor's and you kept him as firmly as he kept you.

There was a special intimacy in watching a movie together. In a way you shared a surprise at the same scenes, how you squeezed each other's hands at the instants of tension, how you laughed at the same gags and witty intertitles. You were not enjoying just yourself or the picture on the screen, it was a delight of being together and sharing one passion for two.

But nothing lasts forever, and the most pleasurable moments feel the shortest. And you knew the film was coming to its end — the main character woke up in his projectionist's booth just to realize that all his feats for his beloved girl were merely a dream. You sighted at the view of the pale face staring at you from the small window of his booth. His sad eyes were full of shreds of his unfulfilled dreams, and he turned away from the camera in a shame of being so touched with illusions of his unrealized love. Your time alone with Alastor was running out as inexorably as the film in the projector, and now you shared the melancholy of the character, not the excitement of your unfulfilled lover who was humming a cheerful tune under his breath. But you didn't see him nervously rocking his foot side to side.

But there a love interest of the protagonist rushed into his room, you knew what was about to happen, and your heart skipped a beat as Alastor whispered closely to your ear,

“And that, my dear, despite my fussy taste, as some might say, is my favourite kiss scene in the whole cinematography.”

Your cheeks burnt when the protagonist, following the movements of the man in the film he was watching from his post, took the hands of his beloved, and felt how Alastor took your hands in his. Now The Stone Face eyed at the screen — at you! — to understand how to flirt with the girl further, and you knew Alastor cast a look at the silent actor as well, checking the timing. His palms warmed yours and you were glad he held them tightly because you had no doubt you were shaking as a leaf in the wind because of the thrill of your emotions.

And what did the protagonist of the protagonist's movie do? He kissed the hands of his beloved woman, and so did his disciple. You guessed what could follow in your movie, in your life, and you didn't know when the fear and excitement had mixed together, giving birth to a new feeling wrenching your guts to numbing, until all you felt was your frantically beating heart.

“Cher?” Alastor murmured, drawing your hands to him and leaning down. You couldn't look at him, it was better to follow the actions in the film than to believe that your dream was coming true. But you heard very well the sound of a kiss to your knuckles and then the rustle of Alastor's clothes as he leaned to your neck, tracing with his nose a light path to your ear to place a modest peck onto your flushing cheek.

But when the character cast unequivocal, intensive and long look at the girl, and carefully captured her face in his palms, and leaned in to give her a kiss as passionate one as in the movie he'd just seen, he quickly pecked her like an innocent boy kissing his first love, and let go of her right away, to peer his gaze into the screen again to have another hint. And if this character, who so shamelessly broke the fourth wall again and again, if this very character could indeed see what was happening by that side of the screen, he could witness a scene of someone overcoming their shyness and following the mute movements of their beloved.

But you didn't have a chance to see the kiss scene in the film. Alastor softly took you by your chin, gently drawing your face to him. He was already so close that you shared one sigh for two, and all you had to do was to slightly tilt your head back and let his lips meet yours.

Oh, the famous Pale Face would, for sure, turn into the Blushed Face if he would witness the tenderness of this kiss through the broken fourth wall.

Alastor's lips gently travelled over yours, pressing one feather kiss by another and another one, until you responded to him, slightly bending back and pressing your lips to his as your hands found his broad shoulders. His lips were cotton soft as he brushed them against yours in shy kisses remembering gentle little bites, which sent shivers up and down your spine and made your palms deliriously wander over his shoulders, chest and neck. You felt him smiling all the time, and you couldn't help but playfully catch his lower lip as he put another kiss on you and slightly pull him to you. He growled in low and the sound seemed to come from down of his stomach up to his throat. Hearing the groan you wanted to retract but the palm that appeared on the nape of your neck kept you in one place, whilst his fingertips drew the circles on your chin.

“Do you like this scene as I do, dear?” He whispered slightly leaning back, each word he pronounced made his lips brush against yours.

You opened your eyes and met your own reflection in his dilated pupils finged with rose-red light of his irises. His look was intensive but not lustful; he looked deeply into your eyes, and the entreaty shining through his gaze slowly changed into a command for you, and he didn't even have to use words to make you give in to him again. So you leaned in, parting your lips and sealing a stronger kiss against his smile, when suddenly your ears caught a change in the background music. It seemed the rhythm of your heart was equal to the fragile serene sound of the piano, but then Alastor tilted his head to deepen the kiss and twirled his fingers in your hair, making you flutter, and as his chest pressed to yours you realised your hearts were beating in unison. And the piano melody faded away. The velvet silence wrapped you both again, and again it was disturbed, and this time with the sound of slight moaning during kissing, crackling of static, which became louder every time your fingers touched the nape of his neck, and there was also rustling of the film now coming to the end. The black silence was broken with the sound of love, gentle and devoted.

“Mmm…” The static popped out through his low moan as your tongue brushed against his. You couldn't hide your sounds, too, and they seemed to make Alastor more heated. As your high and helpless moan fell in his mouth, he stole air from your lungs, wrapping his arms tighter around you and delving deeper, sliding the tip of his tongue against your palate, making you quiver in his embrace even more.

He parted his lips from you and cascaded kisses on your neck, and, oh dear, how sweet you were. Just as he expected, even better! So intoxicated and sweet. How long had he been dreaming of tasting this delicate, soft neck of yours? For too long. So now he was savouring each long kiss onto you with no rush, knowing you were now his favourite course he would never refuse and would never have enough. He lightly clutched your soft skin between his teeth, growling at your taste as he moved his tongue along your sensitive spot, and making you even tastier with his name rolling from your tongue.

“Al… Alastor…” You weakly whispered, stroking down his chest. The air in the room felt too hot to inhale, but you were already out of breath, and every caress of Alastor warmed you even more. You simply melted as sugar in his flame embrace, just a few more loud kisses under your ear and you would liquefy into caramel he would consume.

But luckily for you he traced higher, freeing your weak spot and placing a kiss to your temple, the corner of your eyes, several pecks down your cheek to your jaw, and then your lips again, in a final smooth and deep kiss. He heated the fire down, by now you were in very right condition — showing your love without shyness due to his incentive, and by that, influencing him to give you more, so you both could revel in sharing happiness. But the unhurried tempo he had chosen aroused within him something he didn't want to interfere with. Not now. It was too early.

So slowly his kiss became chaster, though his arms never lightened their grasp around you as a silent promise to never be satisfied. Gently your lips were parted, and you pressed your foreheads to each other. Silence was still a warm blanket over you. You dared to look up at Alastor — he was smiling, but not as usual, it was a soft, loving smile. He had a little blush on his cheeks as well, so adorable. And he admired you with the same intensity as you did.

A smile spread on your face as you slightly leaned back. What he did now was divine.

“There was no unwind in your times, right?” You asked with a playful tone, and he immediately caught your hint,

“Of course no, dear!” He answered with theatrical sadness, lowering his head just to quickly lift his gaze up back to you and say in low with half lidded eyes, casting passion at you, “But I could invent one for you.”

His hands on your waist harshly pulled you closer to him and you fell on his chest. He lifted your chin with the tip of his claw and crushed a kiss of a different nature on your lips, in a new, ardent fashion with unambiguous intention to make a whole movie now instead of just a scene.

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

taglist: @milkissesx @moonluna07 feel free to ask to be removed or added

p.s. i made these gifs myself and i had to reduce their quality over and over again because they were too heavy for tumblr and now they look... bad 🥹 but let's say it's an ✨ old silent movie esthetic✨

#gigling like a crazy girl finally combining my two obsessions and putting them in one fic #the movie is Sherlock Jr #directed by buster keaton who was also the leading actor (and the boy you see in the gif)#hirschkuh's works #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel #alastor fanfiction #alastor #alastor x you #alastor x reader #alastor fluff #hazbin hotel fluff

183 notes · View notes