summary: when sylus thinks you forget his birthday he broods, stomping around all angsty until he gets the surprise of his life..
warnings: none!
wc: 2.4k
yapyap: i love sylus and this is aprilus!! this got very romantic at the end but he brings it out of me.. part 1 of aprilus! also thank u for 300 followers omg!!!
sylus felt like he was going insane. a bit dramatic for the leader of onychinus but that was how he felt when matters related to you.
for the past week you and the twins had been secretive. whispering to each other, conversations quieting when he walked into a room with hushed promises of "we'll continue this later", every single one of you had been lingering around him when he sat to do his daily shopping scroll.
sylus wasn't stupid. he knew why you had been doing it but it didn't stop him from feeling slightly frustrated. your attention was elsewhere and he was having withdraws.
he had to hand it to you, he had no idea what you were planning for his birthday. he had no bank statement coming in telling him money had been withdrawn—something he'll have strong words with you about.
there was no physical evidence that you had even gotten him anything. he never once saw either of you hauling decorations or hiding gifts away in closets.
he never even saw anything on mephisto, though that just confirms his belief that the bird was working for you.
while sylus wasn't one to celebrate his birthday, he really only let the twins do what they wanted because it amused him and warmed his heart. he had many silent and blood-ridden birthdays, what was some more to the list?
with a heavy sigh he removed his helmet, lightly shaking his head to combat any helmet hair. today was his birthday and he heard nothing.
the twins didn't immediately explode confetti canons when he walked out of his room, he didn't have mephisto cawing in his face with happy birthday music blaring through his speakers as he struggled to open his eyes.
and he definitely didn't get anything from you. when he opened his eyes this morning he had expected you to attack his face in kisses, whisper in his ear "happy birthday sylie" as you held him close, keep him in bed for some fun.
but he didn't get any of that. all he got was a soft "g'morning baby" and a kiss on the cheek. the cheek. you had sprung out of bed talking about how your friends wanted to go to this newly opened mall as an uncomfortable feeling settled deep in his chest.
he watched as you got ready, chest tightening as you flitted about the massive room. his jaw unclenched when you placed a knee on the bed, leaning over him and he thought this was it. you'd tell him you were actually heading out to get a gift or that you had the whole day planned for him or something.
but none of that came. you placed a soft kiss on his sleep puffed lips and cupped his face, thumb smoothing over his cheekbone as you gazed at him with such love in your eyes.
"forgetting something kitten?"
your eyebrows furrowed at his question before you smiled widely and he thought, really thought, he would get what he wanted. but you just got off the bed and clipped your necklace with the gleaming red gem on. "thanks for reminding me baby! would have felt off if i didn't have that on."
sylus barely managed to kiss you back before you were bounding out of the double doors, singing your way down the hallway while his teeth worked his bottom lip.
shutting the garage door with a little more force than necessary he made his way through the base. the dark walls only added to his frustration, not a hint of streamers or glitter staining them. his fingers clenched tightly around the helmet in his hand, leather gloves crinkling at the force.
he shouldn't care. he shouldn't feel a heaviness nestled deep inside of his chest just because no one had wished him a happy birthday. he was sylus qin for crying out loud, the feared leader of onychinus who made a name for himself young, quickly rising to the top of the n109 zone.
people split paths for him when he was walking down the street, whispered warnings to each other as he passed, bodies pressing as far as they could go to get away. he has a nine billion dollar bounty on his head that people frequently try to claim.
so why does he care right now? why has his chest felt tight all day?
the hair on the back of his neck stands, evol activating as he mutedly steps inside of the living room. the whole room was dark, the moonlight from the window barely illuminating the ground.
red mist swirled around his body, ready to attack, when the lights turned on, so bright it would have made a normal person squint.
"SURPRISE!!"
confetti shot out of canons in multiple rounds, multi-colored paper dancing around the room. sylus took in the sight before him. luke and kieran jumping in place and clapping their hands, chanting "happy birthday bossman!"
mephisto was cawing in sync with them, wings flapping as he flew circles around the small group. sylus took everything in, confetti still floating around, red and black streamers spread across every wall he could see, it kind of looked like halloween threw up.
tinsel and lace draped from the ceiling, he was a little surprised at that considering the ceilings were so tall. a huge banner with the writing "Happy Birthday Sy!" (with the Y being squished in) hung across the entrance to the dining room.
movement brought sylus back, looking to where you were walking up to him. when mephisto dropped something in your hands, a tiara, he realized everyone was sporting a birthday cone on their head. even mephisto had a little one.
"lean down for me?" sylus felt his heart race even faster as he did what you asked, bending forward so you could secure the tiara in his hair. he had to hold back a purr as your fingers ran through his hair, adjusting the silky strands so they sat just right.
"all of this for little old me?" he spoke finally, setting his helmet down onto the coffee table as his free hand wrapped around your waist.
"you didn't think we'd forget right bossman?"
"yeah, we spent years saying it to you every day for the whole month! maybe we made you greedy."
the twins laughed at the joke and made work of grabbing their presents. while they were busy you urged sylus to sit down, planting yourself next to him. "surprised?" you asked softly as sylus shrugged off his leather jacket, tossing it onto a chair.
a wry smile curved on his lips as he leaned back, hand resting on your thigh. "something like that. i knew the twins wouldn't have forgotten, they love my birthday more than i do." his fingers absentmindedly traced little shapes against the fabric on your leg.
you knew he wasn't telling the truth. you had felt how disappointed he was when you left him in the morning, remembered the way his lips had pursed into a cute little pout he didn't know he did.
your heart hurt to leave him without acknowledging it but that was part of the plan. if you acknowledged it he would have wrapped you up and kept you in bed and you had a time restraint.
no matter how well he hid it, he couldn't fool you. you saw the way his jaw was clenched when the lights turned on, the tenseness in his muscles as he stood rigid, eyes busy with the thoughts that swirled in his mind.
"did you think i forgot?"
the simple question made his fingers pause slightly before the began again. sylus knew better than to lie to you. the way you asked it so softly, with no judgment if he thought so, with love. he hummed quietly, not saying out loud what he thought, not confirming or denying.
"done!"
the twins stood proud next to the mountain of wrapped presents, smiles pulled wide as he took in every single one. it was definitely more than ten gifts, each one stacked on top of the other, you're pretty sure the pile started leaning.
"since i'm the oldest i think you should open mine first." luke grabbed a red wrapped present and tossed it lightly in his hands. this made kieran scoff and grab his own.
"that's stupid, it's his birthday he should get to decide."
luke stuck his tongue out. "you're just jealous 'cause he'll like mine more." he teased. kieran rolled his eyes so hard you were worried he'd strain them.
"as if! you pick presents that you would like, not what he would." luke gasped dramatically, hand coming to his chest as he stared at his twin incredulously.
"take that back!"
as they start to bicker you see sylus smile softly, eyes fond as he watches them go at it. since you knew he wouldn't stop them, you decide to say something. "how about you play rock, paper, scissors for who goes first. best two out of three? and no cheating."
the twins gasp like you just revealed something sacred and their fists meet their palms as they perform the most intense rock, paper, scissor battle you've ever seen in your life.
kieran reigns victorious in the end and happily presents sylus with his gifts. two whole hours pass before he's done going through both of the twins piles. wrapping paper is scattered everywhere, all of his new trinkets and gadgets (and weapons) lay around the couch and floor.
luke is finishing up tying a phone charm to sylus' phone —one suspiciously similar to the one him and his twin bear— when you walk in, flames dancing in the candles of his cake.
sylus sits up as you near, hands coming to hold your hips. you lower the cake toward his face as you and the twins begin to sing the classic birthday song, mephisto cawing along from his perched position on your shoulder.
when the song is done he closes his eyes and makes a wish, softly blowing out the candles. they reopen as the twins cheer and snatch the cake from your hands. you take a seat in his lap and press a warm kiss to his cheek, "happy birthday sylie."
sylus captures your lips in a soft kiss, nibbling your bottom lip before nuzzling your cheeks together. "there better be a slice left for me and y/n when i look up." sylus pipes up, gaze still on you.
you laugh softly as you hear the twins choke, patting at each others backs as they speak through full mouths.
looking up, you watch as sylus pulls up his boxers before making his way to bed. he easily maneuvers his way under the covers, big hands already grasping your hips as he pulls you into his lap.
he stares up at you in pure adoration, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your skin. "hi." his nose comes to brush against yours just to hear you giggle.
doing just that, your arms come to wrap around his neck. "hi yourself." you smile at him. sylus looked so soft in this moment. hair slightly damp and skin heated from his shower, eyelids low as he relaxes against the headboard, pupils dilated as he gazes at you.
your stomach flips, which could possibly be from the amount of cake you've eaten tonight. sylus doesn't say a word, just simply watches you like this was all he needed, all he ever wanted.
"i got you something."
sylus quirks an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. pulse racing slightly your hand reaches into the pocket of your sleep shorts. your fingers curve around warmed metal, thumb rubbing over the band you've become familiar with.
holding your hand out, you gently drop the ring into sylus' awaiting hand. if you were anyone else you would have missed the expressions on his face. surprise filled his eyes as he held the ring up to inspect it.
it was simple, something with a red gem in the middle and engraved wording on the inside. it sparkled in the low light, captivating the dragon that rested inside of him.
chewing on your bottom lip, you watched him carefully, waiting for him to say anything. "it's something like a promise ring." you inform, fingers playing with the hair at his nape. "it's okay if you don't like it, i know it's a little more simple than what you're used to but-!"
the breath leaves your lungs when sylus squishes you to his chest, lips crashing onto yours in a heated and passionate kiss. your hand comes to cup his face as you match his pace, thumb brushing against his warm skin.
sylus poured all of his love into that kiss, keeping you firmly rooted to him as he moaned softly. patting his chest, you pulled away, a thin line of spit following your retreat. a deep purr rumbled through sylus' chest as he planted kisses across your face.
"don't say that. it's perfect, beloved."
the ring looked so small in his hand as he held it back out to you. brows furrowed you grabbed the ring and watched as he held his left hand out.
"what is it you're promising?"
grabbing his hand, you rubbed his ring finger. "that i will never leave your side. to always complain when you crush me beneath your body for a nap, to always let you steal half of my meals because you secretly think my junk food is delicious. to always annoy you and make you worry about me." you slid the ring onto his finger.
"that even when we part from this world we will always find a way, we will be together until the end of time. that our story is never done. that i'll always love you. that i'll never forget you."
looking up at sylus you see a thin line of tears in his eyes. placing a kiss against his finger, you do the same to his lips. "i love you sylus. you are my soul, what keeps me going when things are tough, what keeps me grounded when the world is carrying me away."
feeling a drop on your hand, you kiss along the thin tear tracks on his cheeks. sylus holds you close, like you were the oxygen he needed. his big hands firm against your back, lips capturing yours. "i'll hold you to your promise beloved."
smiling, you moved around so you were the one laying down. you pulled sylus in, letting him rest his head against your chest, heart steady as it beat just for him. a hand rubbed his back and the other ran through his hair as you placed a kiss on his head.
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you didn't know what was worse, being at a party you didn't want to be at or not being able to stop staring at logan from across the room.
it hurt you to see him so... normal.
you had broke up months ago, but you still felt the absence that hurt in your chest.
there wasn't a day that went by that you didn't think about him. sometimes you'd text him without realizing it, but you'd delete the message before sending it and stay as far away from your phone as possible. you no longer woke up in his arms in the mornings; he wasn't there to melt you with his warm eyes, breakfast in bed was no longer a regular occurrence, and sometimes you'd wake up in the middle of the night with an urgent need to call him and sort things out.
the fight you had had been intense, and both of you said horrible things to each other that you didn't mean, but the anger of the moment made you say them.
his presence still caused reactions in you.
even from across the room, he could make your hands tremble and send a tingle down your spine.
You looked away, refusing to continue torturing yourself in that way.
you tried to observe other things: the tables full of soft drinks of all colors and flavors, the dim lights and some colored ones, the laughter, the footsteps; you even focused on your breathing.
the group of friends you were with didn't seem to notice your silence. one of them moved slightly, blocking logan from your view.
you should've felt relieved, but you immediately took a small step to the side.
the uncertainty was killing you. you knew you missed him. a lot. but you didn't know if he felt the same way.
to clear your mind a little, you went to the kitchen to make yourself another drink. it clearly didn't work at all because you kept thinking things like: "in a room full of people, you were looking for him, would he avoid you or would he look for you too?"
someone else entered the almost empty kitchen, if not for you.
"vodka with sprite?" asked a guy you didn't know.
you nodded and raised your glass vaguely.
"my favorite," you said.
"i was expecting something more interesting." he said, leaning against the counter.
you raised an eyebrow.
"and what would be interesting?"
"i don't know, something that makes me think 'wow this girl is a mystery'".
"and how do you know she's not a mystery?"
logan said as he entered the kitchen.
you did everything you could to avoid looking at him.
"i don't think anyone called you, john".
you were the only one who called him by his name.
"relax, i just came for a drink". he said as he put his glass on the counter. "pretend i'm not here".
"and who are you?" the boy asked.
"nobody important," logan excused himself.
if only he knew how important he is to you.
he was. he is. you don't really know.
suddenly, the kitchen felt much smaller.
despite logan saying you had to ignore him, he spoke again.
"because to say someone isn’t a mystery," he continued, "you’d have to know them pretty well."
"some people are easy to read."
"not her."
the reply came too fast and too firmly. and for a second there was silence. because the guy understood something. and so did you. your ex still knew you too well. maybe better than anyone.
"well," the guy finally said, "looks like someone already did the research before i did."
"you could say that."
you felt your heart pound against your ribs. because logan's gaze never left yours. not for a second. as if the conversation had never been about mysteries. as if he’d walked into that kitchen for one reason only. and that reason were you.
"you had no right to do that," you said as the boy left the kitchen.
"do what?"
you wanted to wipe that poorly hidden smile off his face with a punch.
or maybe a kiss.
"don't play dumb with me, you scared the guy away, why?"
"his flirting attempts were weak, is that what you look for in a man?"
"it shouldn't matter what i'm looking for or not, john, so leave me alone."
for several minutes afterward, you wondered what logan meant while he was talking to that guy.
"not her."
"you could say that."
"earth calling," your friend gestured in front of your face, pulling you from your thoughts. "did you hear what i said?"
"sorry, i was in another world, what did you say?"
"will you come with me to the bathroom? so many drinks need to be thrown away."
"right.".
you and your friend passed through the crowd until you reached the stairs.
the party was starting to feel too loud. too many people. too many conversations.
too many chances of running into him again.
bad luck.
because when you looked up, he was there. coming down the stairs. straight toward you.
your heart stopped for a second. and then it started beating too fast. there was enough room to pass. but neither of you moved right away.
logan saw you. you saw him.
and suddenly, the rest of the party disappeared. there were only the two of you.
you swallowed.
logan had one hand resting on the banister. the same relaxed posture as always. the same one that still managed to make you nervous even now. after all this time.
"sorry," you finally murmured.
it took him a second to react. as if he'd forgotten how to move too. then he stepped aside.
you started going up and he started going down. when you were at the same height, neither of you looked at the other. or at least you tried not to. because you recognized his perfume instantly. and you hated that it still smelled so familiar. and logan caught a glimpse of the small necklace resting around your neck. the same one he had given to you a few years ago. the one you had promised never to take off. the one you were apparently still wearing.
neither of you said anything. neither of you stopped. but when you reached opposite ends of the staircase, you both looked back at the same time. only to discover that the other was already looking. and immediately look away. like two complete idiots.
you continued climbing.
logan continued descending.
"okay, now, that was weird,” your friends said when she reached the top of the stairs.
“what?”
“that whole 'i'm your ex but i still love you' situation?”
“you're talking nonsense.”
“i felt the tension between you two and it gave me goosebumps.”
“you can't feel tension when there isn't any.”
“i could've cut it with scissors, it was so tense.”
“shut up and go to the bathroom before i decide to leave you alone.”
the third time you saw each other that night was the worst.
you had just come back from upstairs when you found logan by the beer pong table. there were people everywhere. the music was too loud, so the girl next to logan had to hang onto his shoulder to reach his ear and say something. the air around you felt heavier. you felt overwhelmed, as if you had been there for hours.
for a moment, you were aware of everything: the pain in your feet, the air you were holding in your lungs that was starting to burn you from the inside out.
he was there.
with a blonde girl.
pretty.
perfect smile.
long eyelashes.
you didn't know what the girl was saying. you didn't know if she was flirting with him, but from the mischievous look on her face, you could tell.
it didn't matter anyway because jealousy is rarely rational.
you felt an unpleasant pressure in your chest before you even realized what was happening. the girl tightened her grip on logan's arm as she laughed. and that was enough.
you looked away immediately. ridiculous. it was over, and he could do whatever he wanted. be with whomever he wanted. and you couldn't interfere. you had no right over him. just like you'd told him earlier in the kitchen. and yet there you were. your stomach churning. hurt. annoyed. months of acceptance thrown away.
you let out a breath and reached for your glass.
empty. perfect.
you turned on your heel and walked toward the back door of the house. you needed fresh air, any excuse to get out of there before you did something you'd regret. you pushed open the door and stepped out onto the garden.
the change in temperature hit you immediately. the air was cool and damp. gray clouds and rain hung in the night sky, each drop falling like needles over you.
you didn't care in the slightest.
"you always do the same thing."
of course he followed you.
slowly, you turned around. rain dampened his dark hair, and his hands were shoved into the pockets of his jacket.
“do what?”
“you disappear whenever something bothers you”
a disbelieving laugh escaped from you.
“are you serious right now?” you asked. “you think you know everything, don’t you?”
a muscle moved in his jaw.
“no."
“could’ve fooled me”.
he looked down briefly before meeting your gaze again.
“no. i just know you”
the words landed harder than they should have and you hated that.
because they caused a reaction in you.
“and i know that you love the rain and to feel it on your skin”. he slowly continued. “but i know that if you don’t follow me inside and let me take you to your house you’ll catch a cold”
part of you wanted to argue.
and another part knew he was right.
your throat tightened so you looked away.
“i can’t believe you, really”. you said as you shook your head and looked at him once more.
“what did i do know?”
“you show up after months, spend the whole night avoiding me, despite the part were you scared the shit out of that guy who was talking to me, because who knows what, you follow me outside and then act like nothing happened”.
his expression faded.
“i never act like nothing happened”.
“oh, really?” you said bitterly.
“no."
and for the first time all night, he wasn’t hiding behind sarcasm or teasing remarks.
he just looked tired. just as tired as you. because neither of you wanted to be without the other. logan wanted to stop pretending, and so did you.
“you hurt me,” you admitted quietly.
the words were almost swallowed by the rain.
his shoulders dropped slightly.
“i know,” he nodded.
“and I'm aware that i hurted you too. and i didn’t mean anything i said”
in that moment you broke, the tears you didn’t know you were holding started to run over your face.
you closed your eyes.
the cold disappeared when two warm arms wrapped around your body.
logan was there. as always.
“i’m sorry, love” he said. his chin on your head. “i’m so fucking sorry that it took me so long to realize how wrong i was”
“i was trying so hard to get over you," you whispered. face hidden on his chest.
"i know," said logan, and smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"what do you mean?" you said after lifting your head and looking him straight in the eyes. his gaze was soft and made you forget the cold from being soaked by the rain.
"because i was trying to do the same."
you fell silent.
until neither of them could contain their laughter and burst out.
"this is so ridiculous," you said with a grin from ear to ear.
logan pulled you closer to his body, if that was even possible, and with one hand tucked the strands of hair behind your ear.
"seeing you with that guy awakened something i thought was dead inside me. although deep down i knew it was a lie. because i never stopped loving you, and i truly regret the things we said that day. i was blind by the fury of the moment, and i acted rashly as soon as the words left my mouth, but i was a coward, and i let you go. and i don't intend to do that again. not after today. not after not being able to take my eyes off you all night and knowing what i let slip away".
you didn't know what to say because he had already said it all. and it filled you with joy to know that the feelings were mutual.
"i missed you," he continued, and his gaze drifted down to your lips before returning to your eyes. "these last few months felt like torture."
"it didn't seem like torture when you were talking to that blonde girl," you raised your eyebrows.
"well, you don't have anything to worry about because that 'blonde girl' is dean's cousin and she's a lesbian."
you opened your mouth but closed it immediately.
"oh."
"sure, 'oh', is that all?"
he smiled.
"so i can be with her?"
just as the smile reached his eyes, it immediately faded, and you burst out laughing again.
“i'm just joking, silly.”
“you better be.”
“oh, really? and why is that?”
"because now that i have you back, i'm not going to let you go.”
"and now that you have me, i can say with certainty that i love you".
logan leaned in slightly toward you. one of his hands on your waist and the other on the side of your jaw. his fingers touched you delicately, as if you were the most fragile glass in the world. you closed your eyes and let yourself go when his lips finally met yours after so long. you both recognized each other immediately. his lips warm, yours cold but soft. fireworks exploded inside both of you, the joy of being with each other enveloped you.
you separated and he rested his forehead on yours. both with your eyes still closed.
summary: you and spencer reid have been going out for a few weeks. he's taking things very slow, and you find his pace comforting and his awkwardness endearing. as your relationship grows more heated, you come to find that he was completely inexperienced before meeting you. you feel honored to be his first, to be the one he learns love from.
pairing: spencer reid x reader (no pronouns but reader has female anatomy)
word count: 9,05k
content warnings: fluff x smut, virgin!spencer, oral sex (reader receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, aftercare.
author's note: i tried to portray spencer's inexperience in a way that's more realistic—despite him reading a lot and knowing everything about most things—and that followed his character's personality but that was still enjoyable to read. i hope you love reading this as much as i loved writing it! let me know what you think :)
You and Spencer had been going out for a few weeks. After reaching for the same book at a bookstore, the two of you started talking—and it didn’t take very long before you planned a date. He chose a nice restaurant, picked you up, brought you flowers, and did every other gentleman attitude in the book. By the end of it, you were sure he was going to make a move—kiss you, touch you, maybe even try to get you to go home with him—but he did none of that. As he dropped you off at your place at a reasonable hour, he gave you a gentle, respectful hug, and thanked you for an amazing time with the promise of calling you back again soon. And unlike most other guys, he kept it.
You thought he was the sweetest guy you’d ever met.
It was only by your third date that he tried to kiss you. The routine remained—picking you up, taking you to a nice place (this time it had been a museum, where he risked to hold your hand—and you let him), and then, finally, driving you home.
When you reached your doorstep, it was a little later than usual because both of you wanted to stay for a short lecture they were having at the museum. His eyes glimmered under the dim lighting of your porch, and in a quiet moment that followed after a string of warm laughter about the night’s events, he asked if he could kiss you.
You’d never had anyone ask you that before. Guys would usually just take the hint and lean in all at once. But for some reason, the care in his eyes, the way he rubbed his hands ever so slightly against his slacks—as if trying to dry off a thin layer of nervous sweat without you noticing—endeared you deeply. Your heart warmed at the way his eyes stared at you. His pupils wide, taking you in and eagerly waiting for an answer.
“Please?”
The word sounded more like a whimper coming from his lips. You were so deep in your thoughts about how adorable he looked when asking you that question, that you forgot to actually agree to it. You didn’t just want to kiss him. You wanted to scream, jump in his arms, kiss him all over, invite him inside, and give yourself completely to this charming man. But you didn’t.
It was clear by how nervous he seemed that he had planned every second of every date he had taken you on—including this very moment—and you wanted to let him do it. You wanted to play along, to let him win the little game he had in his mind. You knew he had probably rehearsed that line a thousand times before actually saying it to you. “May I kiss you?” You could almost picture him saying it to the mirror. So, you allowed him to set the pace.
“Yes,” you smiled softly, taking a small step closer.
The kiss that followed wasn’t exactly what you were expecting, but in a way, it couldn’t have been better. His breath hitched, and you could see the exact moment his brain short-circuited after hearing your breathy one-worded answer. He took another step in your direction, closing the distance between you but not quite letting your bodies touch just yet. He took a deep breath, and very slowly, pressed a brush of a kiss against your lips.
It barely lasted more than three seconds, but to you, it was an eternity. You never thought such a chaste peck could make that many fireworks go off inside your head.
You didn’t know it then, but the fireworks in his head were much brighter than yours; for that had been his first kiss ever.
After that, he simply pulled back with the biggest, silliest smile you’d ever seen. He looked like a child that had just been given a puppy. Or even the puppy itself.
His flushed cheeks said everything he couldn’t, and after exchanging goodnights, he went back to his car, leaving you just as flustered and happy as him.
What had he done to you? You felt like a teenager in love for the first time. But whatever it was, you couldn’t help but crave more of it.
For the next couple of dates, he followed that same script—but now, with a goodnight kiss at the end of it. You kept letting him set the pace, enjoying how adorable he looked whenever the time to kiss you came. Even his behavior in the moments leading up to it would change. He’d get more talkative on the drive back to your place, and you could swear you even saw him unconsciously skipping after closing the car door for you before taking you home one time. You loved his silly smiles, and they brought up a bunch of your own.
But as the dates kept going, his kisses evolved.
The first time he changed it, was after he had taken you to an amusement park. You were both exhilarated after the adrenalin-fueled evening when you reached your doorstep, and as if on instinct, he pulled you in with his hands cradling your face as he kissed you for a lot longer than three seconds.
He hadn’t done that yet, and he seemed just as surprised as you by his own, unexpected action. The way his fingers naturally threaded through your hair to bring you closer, how his lips pressed more purposefully against yours—your heart nearly stopped.
He pulled back slowly, his hands slipping shyly from your cheeks, and he looked like the floor could swallow him whole with embarrassment.
“I-I’m sorry…” He stammered, but you could tell that, deep down, he really wasn’t.
“Don’t apologize,” you smiled and couldn’t help yourself, tentatively stealing another peck. You didn’t even try to hide how much you’d loved the fact that he had lost himself in the kiss.
His blush deepened at your stolen peck, but you didn’t press him further than that.
“So… we’re okay?” He asked timidly.
“Yeah… we’re okay,” you replied, your grin widening.
After that night, his kisses only grew deeper.
On the following date, he allowed his lips to move ever so slightly against yours, making your entire body shiver.
By the next one, he flicked his tongue over your lower lip, hesitantly begging for entry—which you granted him in a heartbeat.
His movements were shy and almost experimental at first, but not long after, the routine chaste goodnight kisses were replaced by his hands on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as your tongues danced together. You didn’t realize it then, but you were teaching him how to kiss.
You were starting to wonder when he’d want more. Your make out sessions were becoming more heated with each date; to the point that, one night, he even pressed you lightly against the wall. The desire between you was growing undeniably evident—both figuratively and literally.
You’d been waiting for the night when he’d ask to come inside—find an excuse to actually cross the front door limit you’d been teetering over, go into your house, and take things further. But he didn’t.
You were patient, though. You could tell he was very careful with everything you did together, and not only did you respect that, but you were thankful for it. You thought you might actually benefit from having someone be a little more controlled than you in a relationship for once. Ever so used to guys jumping to conclusions and skipping important steps, Spencer’s pace was a comforting change of scenery.
But then it finally came.
You were leaving the restaurant, his hand hovering over your lower back as he guided you back to his car like he always did. Everything was going exactly the same, following the usual script perfectly. The next steps were clear: he’d drive you home, you’d make out by your doorstep, then he’d say goodnight and leave you a blushing, butterfly-filled mess.
Until things took a different turn.
“You know,” he broke the comfortable silence, sliding his hand against yours and interlocking your fingers as you walked. You could feel how warm his hand was, and the slight dampness on it indicated he was a little nervous. “I finished setting up that new shelf I was telling you about,” he mentioned, seemingly casually.
“Oh, did you? You actually figured out where all the nails went?” You teased him lightly.
He let out a soft chuckle, “Yeah, I did. And now I’ve finally organized my books. This time I arranged them by author and theme,” he added, his tone proud.
“It must look beautiful,” you said in all honesty, not realizing the actual weight of your words until he let out:
“Do you wanna see it?” His voice trembled slightly and you could see right through him. That wasn’t an innocent invitation.
Your heart skipped a beat. He wanted you to see it? Like, actually see it, in person, alone with him in his apartment?
You raised your eyebrows, your face a mix of shock and ecstasy. The time had finally come.
“Y-you mean…?” You stuttered, not wanting to jump to conclusions despite the sheer obviousness in his gaze.
“We could go to my place—I mean, stop at my place, before I drop you home,” his nerves were evident by the way he stumbled over his words, trying to play it cool. “Would you like that?” He asked, sounding eager for your answer.
Of course you’d like that. You’d been waiting for that moment for weeks. But still, given how slow he’d been taking things, you needed to make sure that was what he wanted.
“Yes, yes I would, but… Are you sure?” You asked as the two of you stopped by his car, his hand pausing on the passenger’s seat door handle.
His gaze met yours, deep and meaningful. “I wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t sure.”
“Okay,” you nodded, the air between you thick with tension and understanding. “I’d love to see your new shelf, Spence.”
He smiled, a soft and genuine curve of his lips, as he opened the car door for you.
The drive to his apartment was quieter than your usual drives. It was like the both of you felt the weight of what was about to happen.
As he pulled over and guided you up to his place, you could tell he was nervous by how he constantly asked if you were feeling uncomfortable, cold, or tired. He was adorable like that, the true concern for your well-being evident in his actions.
“Make yourself at home,” he said as the two of you stepped inside. His apartment wasn’t too big, the perfect balance between having enough room and being cozy. It was warm and welcoming, the faint smell of books and coffee filling your nostrils.
“Thank you,” you replied. You watched as he carefully slipped off his shoes, so you did the same. “You have a really nice place, it’s very… you.”
“Thanks… Everybody says that,” he blushed. “Here, let me take this,” his hands gently slid over your coat, helping you remove it and hung it by the door. You gave him a soft smile, the thick atmosphere slowly fading into something more comfortable. You loved this about him, how he always felt safe, like home.
“So where’s this famous shelf?” You teased, his lips curling into a knowing smile.
“Follow me,” he said, offering you his hand—which you took without hesitation.
Spencer gently guided you further inside the apartment, showing you to the living room. The warm lighting casted soft shadows on the walls, giving the apartment a homey feel. There was a shelf filled to the brim on one side, but you could tell those weren’t all of his books, though. There were a few piled up next to the couch, which was large and comfy with pillows scattered all over it, and some more on the coffee table.
“Is this it?” You asked, pointing at the shelf as you stepped closer to it.
“The one and only,” he grinned, standing next to you with his arms crossed loosely over his chest.
“You did a really good job putting this up, it seems very… sturdy,” you said, running your hands gently on the shelf, as if studying it closely.
He smiled proudly. “Yeah, it took me a while. Hey, look through whatever you want, okay? I’m just gonna go grab a glass of water, do you want some?” He offered. As you turned to face him directly, you noticed his flushed cheeks and awkward demeanor. He was clearly nervous about having you here, like he was afraid of disappointing you, desperate to impress you.
You gave him a soft, reassuring smile, before politely declining, “I’m good, thanks. I’ll be right here checking out your beautiful collection,” you said, watching him leave while wiping his hands on his slacks like he always did when he was nervous.
You let out a soft chuckle, biting your lip as you thought about how lucky you were to be the one causing those adorable reactions on that man. Ever the methodic genius, Spencer kept surprising you every time you met by how comfortable he was growing around you. Still, watching him get flustered over the smallest details warmed your heart and filled your stomach with butterflies.
Running your fingers carefully over the spines of his books, you studied the titles but could barely register any of them. Your heart stammered against your chest, the idea of being there with him, alone in his apartment, was both exhilarating and terrifying. Despite the nerves, you didn't feel too bad, because you knew he was just as nervous as you. You could almost picture him pacing the kitchen, taking deep breaths and trying to calm his racing mind. And that mere thought had you smiling like a teenager in love.
You liked Spencer—you really liked him. And you didn’t want to mess any of it up. It had been long since you’d last felt anything remotely similar to what you felt for Spencer. Despite the two of you having not yet discussed the details of your relationship, you already considered him your boyfriend, and you desperately wanted to keep him around long enough to find out if he considered himself your boyfriend as well. And tonight was going to be a big step for the both of you.
Suddenly, you felt his hands sliding across your arms, gently encircling you with his own. Your entire body shivered, your skin feeling like it was on fire.
“You’re back,” you muttered, your voice strained with the surge of desire that coursed through you.
“Mhm. Did you miss me?” He hummed and whispered against the shell of your ear, pulling you back against his chest, your soft curves fitting perfectly against him. It was an unexpected move, but not at all unwelcome. His arms trembled slightly over you, as if he was terrified of your reactions, as if his heart was doing cartwheels in his chest—just like yours.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you joked, resting back against him with a smile playing on your lips. His closeness was both intoxicating and calming, and it took every bit of your strength to keep yourself in check. “But I did. Just a little bit, though,” you whispered.
“Just a little bit, huh?” He teased softly, his breath warm against your neck, making a shiver run down your spine with each of his words. “Well, good to know, because I missed you too.” He admitted sweetly, the words going straight to your core. Even though you were both only joking, only teasing each other for fun, the idea of him thinking about you made your skin tingle.
“Just a little bit?” You asked quietly, continuing the back and forth banter as your fingers intertwined with his.
“Mhm, no, I missed you a whole lot,” he muttered, his lips pressing a trail of soft kisses on your shoulder, going all the way up to your neck. Those words alone almost had you undone. You could feel his cheeks burning as he pressed them against your skin, the mere shift in temperature enough to make you wish you could see the shade of pink coloring over them.
“You’re blushing, aren’t you?”
“No…” He lied, his cheeks feeling even warmer against you.
With a swift motion, you turned around to face him, a surge of confidence taking over you. You wanted him, and you knew he wanted you too. His arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders. “Liar!” You teased with a giggle, finding the redness on his cheeks absolutely endearing.
“Shut up,” he muttered, looking away with a shy smile as he pulled you closer.
“Look at me, pretty boy,” you tilted his chin with your finger so he was facing you. His eyes timidly met yours, his pupils dilating immediately at the sight. “You’re cute,” you teased, and his blush deepened.
“You’re beautiful,” he muttered, one of his hands sliding up from your waist to cup your cheek, his thumb lightly tracing patterns on your skin.
You tilted your head to the side, completely surrendered to the man before you; a soft, lovesick smile on your lips. When you noticed his eyes flickering down to your mouth, then back to your eyes, you already knew what was coming.
“M-may I kiss you?” He whispered. Even after everything, even after all the times you two made out passionately at your doorstep, he still made sure you gave permission. There was something about the tone in his voice when he asked that, the pleading shine in his eyes that betrayed the true desire in his chest. Everything about him charmed you.
“You really think I'd say no to that?” You smiled, leaning a little closer, your lips just a breath away from his.
He smiled shyly, as if he were unable to contain his own reactions. “Just checking in. I can barely believe you even let me have you like this,” he admitted, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
“Well, now you know,” you added. “I always want to kiss you.”
He pulled back slowly, his eyes widened with excitement meeting your gaze before he gently brought his lips to yours. The kiss was slow at first, tentative and hesitant. Like you both knew what it was forecasting.
His hands slowly cupped your face, as if he was holding the most precious thing in the world. As the kiss deepened, one of his hands slid to the back of your neck, threading through your hair to pull your mouth closer to his. Meanwhile, his free hand sneaked down your side, resting on your hip to bring you flush against him.
Your tongue slipped past his lips, tangling with his in a dance that grew hotter by the second. You could feel your heartbeat racing pressed against his chest, the rhythm mixing with his own. Your hands went from his neck to his lower back, dragging down his shirt until your fingers reached the hem, sneaking underneath the fabric to meet the warmth of his skin.
He let out a soft gasp into your mouth as your fingers trailed along the skin of his lower back, a shiver running down his spine. You smiled against his lips, enjoying how easily you could elicit reactions from him. Feeling your smile, Spencer tugged you even closer, kissing you even harder.
You turned to putty in his arms. The heat of the moment urged you on, making you slowly back him toward the couch until the back of his knees hit the soft material. Your hands went to his shoulders, gently guiding him down, your lips not leaving each other’s not even for a second. As he sat on the couch, you didn’t waste any time before climbing right on his lap.
His hands immediately met your waist, pulling your body closer until you were sitting directly on top of him. Desire shot up your body like electric shocks when you felt the evidence of his arousal nudging insistently against your clothed core. You pressed down gently, causing a spark of friction that nearly drew both of you insane.
Spencer groaned into your mouth, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours as he caught his breath. “We’ve never been this far,” he muttered, your breaths mingling in the small space between your faces.
“Do you want to stop?” You asked, trailing kisses on his jawline, all the way down to his neck. Your lips attached to the sensitive skin below his ear, unable to resist the need to suck and bite him softly.
“God, no,” he let out in a heartbeat, the earnestness in his voice enough to urge you further. You sucked a little harder on his neck, your tongue soothing the skin right after, making a soft moan escape his lips—the sound going straight to your core. “Damnit, that feels so good,” he muttered, making you smile against his skin.
You continued kissing down his neck to his collarbone, your mouth eager to find new spots that made him gasp. His hands slid down your hips to your backside, gently kneading the soft skin, the motion making you gasp and freeze on his neck for a second. You could feel your underwear grow damper, as well as his pants twitching underneath you.
“I-I’m sorry, should I have not? I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked first…” He muttered as you froze, his hands shaking as they hesitantly left your ass.
“No, no, that’s not it,” you quickly replied, guiding his hands back to where they were. “I liked it, I really did,” you smiled down at him, enjoying the sight of his slightly tousled hair and flushed skin. “You can touch wherever you want,”
“W-wherever I want?” He stammered, barely believing your words. His cheeks turned bright red. “A-are you sure?”
“Wherever you want, baby,” you whispered against his ear, drawing a satisfied sigh from him.
“E-even here?” He asked, the sound of you calling him ‘baby’ going straight to his groin as he gently spread your ass cheeks apart, kneading the flesh. Your head fell to his shoulder, your hips rolling against his as your body grew warmer with pleasure.
“Even there,” you gasped, your hands running down his chest reverently.
“What about here?” He asked, his hands sneaking up to your ribcage, his thumbs tracing the underside of your breasts.
“T-there too, baby,” you muttered as his palms slid further up until he was cupping your bosoms. His hands gently squeezed them, thumbs brushing against your hardened nipples over the thin fabric of your shirt and bra.
“I like that,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss your neck as he played with your breasts.
“What, touching me?” You asked, completely focused on the feel of his hands on you, his body pressed underneath yours, and his lips on your skin.
“Well, that too,” he said, squeezing your breasts a little tighter. “But I meant you calling me ‘baby’.”
“Mhm, did you now, baby?” You teased, whispering in his ear.
The soft sound that escaped his lips was almost like a whimper. “Y-yeah, yeah I like that.”
“Good,” you murmured, your tone sultry against the shell of his ear. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you further down on him. Slowly, you began grinding your hips on his, unable to ignore the hardness that pressed against you. You could notice the hitch in his breath as the friction between your bodies took over your minds.
“Is this okay?” You asked as you continued rolling your hips.
“I-It’s more than okay,” he stuttered, his eyes wide as he stared up at you, his grip tightening on your hips as he guided your deliberate movements.
You grinned, leaning in to kiss him again. He complied in a heartbeat, his lips parting to allow your tongue inside.
The heat between you grew exponentially. It was happening, it was really happening. You were grinding down, basically dry humping Spencer Reid as he kissed you like a man starved. It felt like a dream come true.
The desire between you was getting harder to ignore. It was obvious what this was leading to, the tent in his pants and how you rubbed against it were nothing near innocent. But you didn’t want to be the one to take the first step. You didn’t want to seem too eager or to make him feel like you were pushing something on him—but god only knew how badly you needed him.
Then he pulled away, gasping for air, his skin flush.
“I want you,” he admitted. “I want to take you to my bedroom.”
You could tell he was nervous, that admitting this to you was probably one of the hardest things he ever had to say. You smiled, wanting him to know it was okay and he could trust you. You wanted him to know that you wanted him too.
“I’d like that,” you said, kissing his cheek. “I’d like that a lot, actually.”
“Really?” His face brightened, his hand coming to cup your cheek.
“Yes, really,” you smiled. “Only if you’re sure about it, though.” You brought your hand to his face as well, losing yourself in the sight of him asking you this.
“Oh, I’m sure,” he nodded quickly, almost desperately. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”
“Really?” You blushed.
He nodded, blushing as well. “Yeah, I've… I've actually been picturing tonight from the very beginning.”
Your entire body shivered. “Me too,” you admitted quietly.
“Really?” He asked, his eyes wide with disbelief and something warmer—desire, admiration, love…?
“Yes, really,” you chuckled softly. “I actually thought it would happen sooner,”
“Oh,” he let out. “Did you want it to have happened sooner?” You could almost feel the insecurity in his tone.
“No, no, that’s not it,” you quickly added. “It’s just… Most guys would’ve tried to do this earlier, you know? But… I’m glad you didn’t,” you smiled softly, reaching up to caress his hair.
He melted into your touch, his face relaxing at your words. “I didn’t want to rush things with you. You mean a lot to me,” he smiled, his eyes wide staring up at you.
“You mean a lot to me too,” you replied, leaning down to kiss him.
His lips met yours softly, the both of you drowning in the sensations. The heat between you was still very present, so it didn’t take long before he was helping you off his lap and guiding you to his bedroom, the kiss not breaking for a second.
He kicked the door shut behind you carefully, gently backing you toward his bed. As the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, he slowly pushed you down onto it, crawling on top of you.
His body hovered above yours as you made out, hands exploring each other’s bodies with reverence. You could tell he wasn’t very used to this, his limbs trembled slightly against you as if he was overthinking his every action.
His knees gently spread your legs apart so he could fit his body between them, which you easily allowed. His hips pressed down against yours, your arms enveloping him and dragging him closer to you. His kisses grew even more heated, lips trailing down your jawline to your neck as he ground down against you.
The way you gasped, the soft moans that spilled from your throat, everything overwhelmed him in the best way possible. He loved how responsive you were, how you showed him with every breath you let out how badly you needed him, just like he needed you.
His face left the crook of your neck to stare down at you, hands paused by the hem of your shirt. Silently asking for permission, his gaze met yours to find your desires mirrored in each other. No words were needed, his fingers gently tugging your shirt upwards until it was tossed across the room. His own shirt followed soon after.
Your chests pressed together snuggly as Spencer found his way back to your neck, his lips sucking gently on the sensitive skin below your ear. His hands sneaked down your back, fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra.
“Need any help?” You chuckled quietly, not in a mocking tone, but rather raw endearment for his gentle ministrations.
“Yes, please,” he blushed softly. You reached behind your back undoing your bra with practiced ease. The straps fell loosely off your shoulders, the cups still covering your breasts.
“May I?” Spencer asked, his fingers stilling on the straps. You nodded, helping him as he slid off the garment.
His eyes widened noticeably at the sight of your bare chest as he tossed your bra away. “You’re breathtaking,” he muttered in complete awe of you, his fingers kneading the soft flesh with worshipping care.
Before you could respond, his face bent down to latch on one of your nipples, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as he sucked it into his mouth, a satisfied sigh escaping his throat as he felt it harden between his lips. You let out a low moan, your hands trailing down his back, tracing slow patterns that made his skin tingle.
His free hand played with your other breast, making sure he was lavishing attention to both mounds as he switched between sucking and squeezing each side. He was lost in the taste of you, nursing as if he’d been hungry for you for months.
Your chest rose and fell with your ragged breaths, pleasure overtaking you. His hips didn’t falter their grinding, the evidence of his desire causing a mindblowing friction between you.
Your hands shyly sneaked down his back, hooking on the waistband of his pants. As your fingers trailed lightly under the fabric of his boxers, he hitched against your chest, letting go of your nipples to look up at you.
“May I take these off?” You asked quietly.
He nodded eagerly, his hands reaching down to help you as he unzipped his pants with a clumsiness that neared desperation. His pants were on the floor in no time, the thin grey fabric of his boxers doing little to conceal the hard line of his arousal.
The sight nearly drove you mad, your hands reaching down to your own pants, hips lifting off the bed to pull it off.
Spencer’s hands met your waistband in no time, helping you remove your pants. Each inch of your bare skin being revealed made his heartbeat rise a little more, the weight of the moment pounding against his chest. He needed you like he never needed anything else before in his life.
You gently pulled him back up, your lips catching his in a searing kiss. Your bare chests pressed together, the warmth of his skin seeping through yours as your kisses deepened. Spencer continued grinding against you, the only barrier left between your sexes being the thin fabric of both of your underwear.
Your sight was blinded by a haze of desire. You wanted him, you needed him to take you, you needed to feel him deep inside you. Not able to contain yourself, you reached down to hook your fingers on the waistband of his boxers—being careful not to overwhelm him, but also not wanting to wait any longer.
He let out a soft gasp into your mouth, pulling back from the kiss to rest his forehead against yours as he caught his breath.
“Sorry, too much?” You whispered, your fingers stilling around his hips.
“No, no, it’s not that, it’s just… I should probably tell you something,” he muttered, a blush creeping up his already flushed neck.
“What is it? You know you can tell me anything,” you murmured softly, your tone sweet and understanding, but laced with a tinge of concern.
“I… I haven’t exactly… I mean, I haven’t really… this is kind of my…” he stammered, struggling to put his thoughts into words, but you understood what he meant immediately.
“...Your first time?” You finished for him. He nodded shyly, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “This is your first time, Spence?” You confirmed, your hands sliding up his back, your touch filled with affection.
“Yes… I’ve never… done this with anyone before. I actually hadn’t done anything with anyone before you,” he admitted quietly.
“Wait, you mean… nothing at all?” You asked, a little bit in disbelief. He nodded, making your heartbeat quicken. “Spencer, was I… was I your first kiss?” You asked, your eyes searching his, your expression unreadable.
“Yes… you were my first kiss, my first… everything,” he whispered. “Do you think I’m pathetic? It’s okay, you can be honest, I’ll understand…”
“No,” you interrupted. “I could never think that.”
His eyes lit up, finally running back up to meet yours. “Really?” He murmured, unsure if he wanted to hear your real answer or a made up lie to avoid hurting his feelings.
“Yes, really. I think you're so sweet, Spence, I could never think anything less of you. And the fact that I was your first kiss, your first… everything, is so special to me. I couldn’t be happier that you let me be the person who showed you this side of life,” you smiled warmly, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. “The only thing I wish had gone differently is that you’d have told me earlier. If I had known, I would’ve been gentler, kinder, more understanding…”
“But you were all of those things,” he muttered, his eyes soft staring down at you. “You were the best person I could think of to do all of this. You’re the first person who’s ever made me feel like this, like… I could take all the love you can give me and still crave more.”
Your gaze softened, your chest warm at his admission. “I’m so glad you trust me. You make me feel that way too,”
He leaned down, pressing a kiss on your lips. It was chaste, but meaningful. When he pulled back, his eyes met yours with renewed desire, but this time, they were filled with something warmer, something more understanding than pure lust. None of you dared to name it then, but that single look you two exchanged was the first seed of love starting to bloom between you.
“I want you,” he muttered.
“I want you too,” you replied.
Your lips crashed together again, hungrier this time. Your tongues tangled in a sensual dance, the fire between you heating up once more as your fingers found their way back to the waistband of his boxers. But this time, he helped you tug them off.
As soon as the garment was tossed across the room, his hands reached down for your panties, fingers hooking on their sides as you lifted your hips to help him slide them off your legs. Once you were both bare, his body settled between your legs, the skin-on-skin contact bringing your connection to a whole new level of intimacy and pleasure.
Your senses were heightened by each brush of his skin on yours, the warmth between your legs growing wetter with each movement. His hands kneaded your skin—the moans that escaped both of your throats filled the room as his fingers worked on finding your sensitive spots while grinding down against you, his bare length sliding between your folds and bringing both of you to the brink of giving into the fire burning between you.
You wanted his first time to be perfect. You wanted to give him the best experience possible, to be there for him all the way—much unlike most people’s first times. You noticed how sloppy and unthought through were his actions, you could tell he was moving on pure instinct and response observation. He seemed acutely aware of each of your actions, each of the sounds you made; following the path that led to them like he was tethered to your gasps and the arching of your back.
“I want to taste you,” he whispered, pulling you from your thoughts.
“Are you sure?” You blinked up at him as he rolled his hips slowly, his erection sliding lazily against your thigh.
“I’m sure,” he nodded. “I’ve read a lot about it online—about all of this, really. I think I have a pretty good idea of how things are supposed to go,” he explained proudly.
“Well, that’s great baby, but practice is very different from theory,” you said softly, caressing the back of his neck.
“Oh trust me, I know. None of this is like anything I expected, but… I want to learn… If you’ll let me…?” He trailed off, his gaze flicking down to your core then back to your eyes.
“Of course I’ll let you,” you smiled. “I’ll guide you through it if you need me to. But please, don’t do anything you don’t want just to please me, okay? I’m here for you, I want tonight to be a good memory,” you said, your tone dropping an octave and becoming more serious.
“I know,” he nodded, nuzzling his nose on your cheek. “Trust me, I want this very much. Maybe even more than you, probably even more than you,” he admitted, making you blush.
“Suit yourself, then,” you smiled, your body already thrumming with the thought of having him between your legs.
Slowly, he began trailing hot, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down your body. He lavished attention to your breasts, ribs, stomach, then finally began moving up your inner thighs. His hands gently scooped them up, placing them over his shoulders as his lips trailed dangerously closer to where you needed them.
His fingers spread your wet folds, revealing the flush, wet skin underneath. His breath hitched, and almost as if worshipping you, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your most sensitive spot.
He hummed against you, enjoying the taste and feel of your intimacy like nothing he’d ever felt. His lips closed around the sensitive bud, sucking it into his mouth as his tongue darted out to taste you. You moaned softly, your hands threading through his hair as your thighs threatened to close around his head. His hands carefully pried your legs apart, holding you open for him to feast on you with abandon.
You could tell the rational side of him was slowly fading away, like he was giving into the moment without overthinking things he might've read online. He carefully tried to insert his middle finger in you, missing the spot a couple times before he finally managed to slide it in. You smiled, looking down at him.
The sight of him between your legs, hair tousled between your fingers, eyes shut as he lost himself in the act of pleasuring you—all of it drew you closer to the edge. He moved his fingers sloppily, and you let him explore. Something about his eagerness to learn and the way he seemed overwhelmed by his pleasure heightened your own.
Then he slid another finger in you, making a come hither motion until he felt a rougher patch. The way your hips bucked when he rubbed it told him everything he needed to know.
He continued thrusting his fingers, trying to hit that spot every time as his tongue lapped hungrily over your clit, following the direction your hand guided his head to.
“Fuck, that's it, Spencer… that's it, please don't stop…” You whimpered, your legs trembling on his shoulders as you felt your release building.
He looked up at you through hooded eyes, your words urging him on. He continued eating you out, groaning against you as he found pleasure in the act of pleasuring you. As if on pure instinct, his hips began thrusting against the bed, grinding his erection on the mattress, seeking some sort of friction to relieve the pleasure he felt. It was all overwhelming to him, he never expected to feel this much pleasure by going down on someone else.
He could feel you clenching down on his fingers, your walls beginning to flutter around him. He moaned, the sound vibrating against your core, heightening the pleasure you felt.
He had to force himself to stop grinding on the mattress, or else he'd be finishing too soon. Determined to bring you over the edge, he kept going, his eyes fixed on you as he ate you out.
“Are you close?” He asked, taking a break to breathe, though his fingers didn't falter.
“Yeah… please don't stop…” You moaned, already bringing his face back down onto you, trying to hold onto the feeling for as long as possible.
He understood what you needed, bending down to continue lapping at you, set on prolonging your release as much as possible. Overtaken by the pleasure, he sped up, trying to get you there faster.
“No, no, Spence, don't speed up!” You begged, your vision blurring with the impending orgasm.
“Sorry, I'm sorry,” he muttered, going back to the former pace until he felt you shaking in his arms.
It was official: Spencer Reid had made someone come.
You moaned his name, legs spasming around his face as he lapped down your release. His fingers gently withdrew from you, his lips kissing your thighs as you came down from your high.
“Did you… did you really just…?” He asked still in disbelief, looking up at you starry eyed.
“Yeah… I did,” you breathed out, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks of your release.
“I… I made you come?” He smiled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he slowly crawled back up your body.
“You sure did,” you grinned, wrapping your arms around him. “Thank you, that was… amazing,” you said, kissing his cheek.
“Was it really? I've never felt anything remotely similar to this in my entire life, it was… beautiful. I've never seen anything more beautiful than you letting go like that,” he admitted, his pupils wide and his lips tugging on a silly, lovesick grin.
“You did a really good job, baby,” you held him close, your body starting to recover from the aftermath.
“Are you sure? What about in the end when I sped up?” He asked, his tone dripping with insecurity but also curiosity to learn.
“Oh, don't worry about it, you're a fast learner,” you giggled softly. “It's just that, when I'm getting closer to release, it means you're doing something really right—so don't change it unless I ask you to,” you explained, your fingers tracing patterns on his back.
“Duly noted,” he smiled. “I'll remember that.”
Then he leaned down to kiss you, his forearms caging around your head as your lips met. You could taste yourself faintly in his mouth, and as his body lowered closer to yours, you felt a droplet of something wet fall on your stomach.
Looking down, you realized what it was, a blush creeping up your cheeks. He followed your gaze, noticing what was happening as well, his face hiding in the crook of your neck. You could see how his length throbbed, standing proudly and dripping on your stomach.
“Uhm… I'm sorry about that, it's just that I…” he stammered, struggling to find less embarrassing words than ‘I'm so hard for you I could come from a single touch of yours.’
“It's fine,” you reassured him, cupping his cheek. “If you want to, I could return the favor or… or we could try something new…” You whispered.
His entire body shivered at your words, his eyes shutting as he tried to control his body's reactions. “As much as I'd love for you to return the favor, I don't think I can… last much longer if you do,” he blushed. “But trust me, if you let me, I'll hold you to that offer.”
You chuckled softly, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “Your call, baby. We can try whatever you want, whenever you want it,” you added, peppering light kisses down his neck.
A smile creeped up his lips as you kissed him. “I want… you. I want to take you now, if you'll let me,” he swallowed hard, nervousness battling with excitement in his chest.
“I'm all yours, sweetheart,” you murmured against the shell of his ear, making his entire body shiver.
“O-okay, then I should… I should grab a c—uhm, protection, I mean…” He stumbled over his words, quickly standing from the bed and looking through his nightstand’s drawer.
You chuckled softly from the bed, watching him nervously looking for the tiny box and pulling a wrapper from inside. “Got it,” he said, claiming his find with a satisfied smile.
“You know… We could go without it if we wanted to,” your eyes glimmered with mischief.
“A-are you serious?” He stuttered, unsure, but not appalled as he sat back on the edge of the bed.
“I mean… We're both clean, aren't we? And I'm on birth control… But it's up to you,” you blushed as the words left your lips, but you couldn't help yourself.
“Y-you’d let me? For real?” He blinked, still in disbelief.
“Yeah,” you smiled.”Would you like that?”
“Yes,” he nodded eagerly, not missing a second. He tossed the condom back in the drawer and climbed back on the bed, his body caging yours against the mattress. “Are you completely sure, though?” He asked again, his body trembling with excitement, his hands running up and down your sides.
“I'm sure, baby,” you smiled, leaning in to kiss him.
He kissed you fiercely, his tongue delving deep into your mouth as his lips moved hungrily against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling his hips down against yours.
You moaned at the feeling of his hardness pressing down on you, your hips bucking up to meet his. The movement from your hips elicited a guttural groan from him, his length grinding desperately between your glistening folds.
“I think… I think I'm ready,” he muttered, your breaths mingling as he pulled back from the kiss.
“Do you need help, baby? I can take over,” you suggested, noticing how nervous he was.
“No, no, that's fine I… I wanna try. But I'm glad to know you're willing,” he smiled, his hand moving down to grip his base.
“Of course,” you smiled back, your eyes rolling back as he rubbed the tip of his erection across your slit.
“Fuck, that feels so good,” he shivered, letting out a curse.
You chuckled softly. “Language,” you teased.
“Sorry,” his cheeks turned pink as he began trying to nudge himself inside you.
You let him explore a little, noticing he was trying to fit it in, but struggled. You wanted to let him try, to let him have the feeling that he had some sort of control over this situation, so you didn't interfere.
“Shit, sorry, I'm just… it's just slippery…” He mumbled more to himself as he continued pushing, unsure whether he should use more of his hand or his hips.
“It's okay, baby, may I help?” You asked softly, not wanting to embarrass him.
“Yes, please,” he blushed, letting his hand fall to the side.
You reached between you bodies, grabbing him and positioning him right at your entrance, nudging the tip in slightly.
“There you go,” you muttered. “Now you just thrust forward,” you explained. “It might slip again, but it's normal, okay?” You told him softly.
“Yeah, okay, thanks,” he nodded, overwhelmed by the sensation of your grip on his tip. “Are you ready?”
You nodded, letting him know it was time. He leaned back down, slowly easing himself inside you with a roll of his hips, until he was entirely sheathed within your heat.
He let his forehead rest against yours, your ragged breaths mingling together as the two of you adjusted to the sensation.
“How do you feel?” You asked quietly, looking up at him.
“So… so good…” He muttered, his hips shifting slightly. “It's so tight and… warm… I love it,” he admitted, slowly beginning to move.
You watched his face closely, admiring how his features changed with each of his thrusts, betraying the pleasure he felt. His rhythm was messy, his legs struggling to find the right ways to support his body as his hips surged forward again and again.
He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his arms supporting his body above yours as he continued moving. He groaned against your ear, the sounds mixed with low moans and soft whimpers as he made love to you.
“Am I doing this right? Does this feel good to you?” He mumbled, trying to angle his moves but accidentally slipping out, quickly sliding in again. “Sorry about that,” he whispered, one of his hands coming up to fondle your breasts.
“It feels so good, baby, don't worry…” you moaned softly, your legs wrapping around his back to bring him closer. “Keep going, just like that, fuck… You're doing so good…”
Your words urged him on, his hips moving faster against you. You gasped, the feeling of having him inside you almost too much. You loved watching him learn, how his uneven thrusts slowly became a little less messy, how he whispered ‘sorry’ whenever he accidentally slipped out… Everything about it endeared you.
You'd never had sex like this. So messy, and yet it was perfect. You felt the emotion with every thrust, every moan, every sloppy kiss he left on your neck.
You noticed how his thrusts became even sloppier, how his grunts grew deeper and how his body tensed.
“Baby, I'm… fuck…” He groaned, his hips faltering for a moment before they continued thrusting forward. “...I'm close. Like, very close.”
“That’s it… Don't stop, keep going…” You whispered, your hands caressing his back as you leaned in to kiss his neck. “You can let go, let yourself feel good,” you whispered to him.
No further words were needed. With a deep, guttural groan, he pushed himself as deeply as he possibly could inside you, letting the pleasure take over him as he filled you up with his release.
“Spencer!” You moaned aloud, wrapping yourself around him as your second orgasm rippled through you. Your legs trembled around his waist, his body crashing down on top of you.
“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I didn't pull out, I made a mess…” he mumbled against the skin of your neck.
“No, no, baby, it's okay… I don't mind it in the slightest,” you muttered to him, your hand caressing his back. “How do you feel?”
“Amazing. Beyond words can express,” he replied, rolling off you so he was on his back next to you. You turned to face him, laying on your side.
“I'm so happy to have been your first,” you whisper, snuggling against his side.
“Me too… You were perfect, absolutely… Wow…” he gasped, catching his breath as he wrapped his arm around your waist to keep you close. “Hey, did you…?” He asked, frowning slightly as he looked down at you, still soft with the aftermath.
“What? Finish?”
He nodded, a blush creeping up his cheeks. You hummed in agreement, nodding eagerly with a smile.
“Really?” He asked again, his eyes widening slightly at your response. “Again?”
“Yeah, again,” you blushed.
“Oh my—you’re amazing,” he muttered, wrapping his arms tightly around you and leaning down to kiss your forehead.
You giggled softly, burying your face on his chest. “We should probably get cleaned up,” you said, feeling his release coating your inner thighs.
“Right—yes, sorry, aftercare,” He said, quickly hopping off the bed to grab a warm washcloth in the bathroom.
He came back, sitting at the edge of the bed as he cleaned you up reverently. You watched in complete awe of him, enchanted by the earnest care he poured in his every touch.
“There you go,” he whispered, tossing the washcloth as he climbed back on the bed to cuddle you.
“Thank you,” you said, letting yourself be enveloped by his arms.
“That was the bare minimum,” he muttered against your hair, breathing in your scent. “You know, we should do this again sometime,” he let out quietly.
You chuckled softly, the sound vibrating in your chests that were pressed together. “Of course we're doing it again, that's what boyfriends do to their—” you stopped yourself after realizing what you'd said.
“Wait, wait. What did you call me?” He froze, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“B-boyfriend…?” You hesitated, unsure about how he'd take it.
“So I'm really your boyfriend?” His smile widened.
“Well, I know we haven't talked directly about this before, but I've kinda been thinking about it, and—”
“Of course I'm your boyfriend! Oh thank god, I was starting to worry I was reading into things…” He sighed, relieved.
“Really? Oh good, I was so afraid too, you were being so careful with everything,” you sighed as well.
“You had nothing to be afraid of, did you really think I'd ask to have sex with you if I wasn't in love?” He let out as if it were obvious, barely realizing what he'd just said before you interrupted:
“You're in love with me?”
“Oh my—I mean, well, it's not that I'm…” He stammered, unable to cover up his slipup.
“Spencer, shut up,” you said, silencing him with a searing kiss. Startled, he kissed you back, his hands finding the back of your neck to pull you closer. “I'm in love with you too,” you whispered as you broke the kiss.
The silly smile that spread across his face almost had you undone again. “Should I take that as a yes?” He murmured.
“A yes to what?”
“A yes to us doing this again?” He nudged you playfully.
You let out a warm chuckle, “Yes, Spencer. We're definitely doing this again.”
“Yes!” He celebrated, pulling you in even closer as he buried his face in your hair, your bare bodies tangled together impossibly under the covers. “I love being in love with you,” he whispered softly.
“I love being in love with you too,” you whispered back.
author's note 2: thank you for reading this all the way!! let me know what you think of this, and tell me if you'd like a part 2!! i may have ideas 👀
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cw: suggestive, putting fingers in his mouth but nothing more
wc: 518
speaks: enjin my beloved
once you had started dating enjin made the decision to stop smoking, or lessen how much he smoked in general. you had told him he didn't have to but he insisted, words final like a promise.
"jin you really don't have to, we've literally been friends for years." you argued, watching as he laid out all of his cigarette packs on the dresser.
"i know that but figured you shouldn't smell like a chimney just cuz you're datin me."
you had rolled your eyes then. his words didn't make sense but you weren't going to push the matter, if he wanted to quit then you were going to be there to support him. enjin wasn't stupid, he wasn't going to quit cold turkey, that would end badly for everyone.
he smoked less in a day, every few weeks he'd drop a significant amount and you were there to witness all of the ups and downs. at first he was cranky, snapping at anyone who happened to walk past him, golden eyes piercing through them.
you urged him to try and replace the feeling of a cigarette between his lips which is how you ended up with chewed up pens and pencils, little teeth indents all around them like a dog got ahold of it. he didn't seem to mind it though, your suggestion had his mouth occupied by almost anything and everything.
he loved gnawing on those little straws at the club, rolling a sweet sucker between his teeth when he could find one, you've heard the loud crunching of ice cubes under his teeth. one thing you noticed was his painted fingers tapping at his lips, never quite breaching the barrier but always feeling around.
you had an idea, one that would benefit you both. enjin was sat between your legs, back against your stomach as he filled out paperwork against his bent legs. once again, a black pen was being gnawed between his teeth, soft little clicks of the plastic reaching your ears.
"i think i have something better for you jin."
enjin turned, pen held between his teeth as his eyebrows furrowed. "what you mean baby?"
your head nodded toward the poor plastic. he pulled it from his mouth, eyeing the teeth marks before capping it and dropping it onto the bed. "yeah? lay it on me gorgeous."
with a smile you brought your hand up, tapping your fingers against his lips much like he does. he looked like he wanted to protest before locking eyes with you, huffing when you teasingly said "open up baby~"
his lips parted imperceptibly, breath brushing against your fingers. you eased two into his mouth — the pointer and middle— and felt him tense slightly before the weight of your fingers settled on his tongue.
"good boy."
he swallowed, tongue rubbing the underside of your fingers before he slowly relaxed, body going limp against you and papers falling off the bed. you watched with adoration as his eyes fluttered shut, mouth every so often suckling onto your digits.
maybe all he needed was something more than just a smoking replacement.
synopsis. you've known him your whole life, your quiet next-door neighbor. Everyone else know him differently. They call him manipulative, a heartbreaker. You don't believe that, but you can't help wondering why they talk about him like that..
♯ new oneshot yayy!! i don't even know what is this lol i burned out 😔, i didn't proofread it too. enjoy reading!! art by @/chuucho95 !
The cafeteria hums low at first, before it swells into a steady roar. Voices overlap, rises, collide until nothing is quite clear.
The air felt crowded too. something sweet, something salty, fried food, the smell probably clings to your clothes by now.
You and your friends sit packed around a table, trays nudged to the side as the conversation jumps from one thing to another one. You just nod through the conversation until one of your friends pipes up.
". . . you're seriously friends with him?"
You stop mid-chew when your friend suddenly ask you that. You raise a brow as you think about who she meant.
"Who?"
Your friend rolls her eyes. "Suguru, duh."
"Oh," you finally swallow the food in your mouth. "Yeah, why?"
"Girl," your friend says, exasperated. "Have you not heard the rumors? He's a heartbreaker, a damn manipulative one too."
"He'll just use you," your other friend adds.
You just nod, humming absentmindedly as you continue eating. You've heard that waaaay too many times. Suguru this, suguru that, like they know everything about him.
Well ... it's not like you know everything about him. Maybe there are things you haven't seen, but as his neighbor since you were kids, he's only ever been a sweetheart.
He's not even that bad.
"What?" Your friend gasps, turning to you so fast you're scared that her neck might snap.
Oh, you said that out loud.
A few heads at the table turn toward you, curiosity sparking immediately.
"Seriously?" another one asks, brows raised.
You shift slightly on your seat, suddenly aware of the attention.
"I mean—" you start. "He's my neighbor. I've known him since we were kids."
That doesn't help. If anything, it makes it worse.
"Exactly," your friends says. "That's how he get you."
"That's not—"
"You're soooo biased," another cuts in, rolling her eyes. "Of course you'd think he's nice."
You scoff, brows suddenly pulling together. why are they suddenly cornering you?
"I'm not biased," you say, a little louder than you meant to. "I'm sayin' he's nice because that's what i see."
Your friend sighs, leaning forward. "Look, we're trying to look out for you."
You look at her, and you know she means it. "I know," you admit.
Your finger loosens around your fork, the tension in your shoulders easing a little bit.
The table goes quiet again, until your friend speaks up. "Just be careful, okay?" she says after a moment, softer this time.
You nod. "Yeah," you murmur. "Of course."
The rest of lunch passes in a blur. Conversations move on, but the words linger at the back of your mind. You don't bring it up again, and neither do they.
By the time you get home, The sun is already dipping lower, casting everything in that soft, golden light.
The familiar creak of your gate greets you as you push it open. Just like always, you immediately drift toward the back.
It's quiet there. The kind of of quiet you've gotten used to.
You tiptoe to look over the fence in your backyard. The wood presses lightly under your palm as you peek over.
And there he is.
Sitting on the grass with his back against the fence, busy reading a book in his lap. He looks... peaceful.
"Suguru," you call out, resting your chin against the top of the fence. "You're reading that again?"
He jolt slightly at the sound of your voice, the book shifting in his lap as he looks up.
"Don't do that," he mutters, brows knitting slightly.
You laugh at the sight. "Sorry," you flash him a grin. "You look so focused."
He exhales, the tension easing out of his shoulders as he adjust the book in his lap.
"You're home early," he says.
"Huh? I'm always home early, though?" you ask, frowning a little.
"Our 'early' is different," he sighs. "You usually stay out with your friends till night."
You roll your eyes, but there's no bite to it.
Suddenly, you grab the top of the fence, pulling yourself up that it makes the fence shake.
"I'm coming over!"
"Don't—"
Your foot slips a little on the way down, landing harder than you meant to.
You wince, and Suguru's already on his feet. "You're an idiot," he mutters, stepping closer.
His hand closes lightly around your wrist, turning it enough just to check.
"Are you hurt somewhere?" he asks.
You blink, caught off guard. "I'm fine," you mumble, trying to pull your hand back. But he doesn't let go right away, his grip firm enough to keep you there.
"Use the gate next time." he says, letting go of your wrist.
You rub your wrist absentmindedly, then look at him.
He's still watching you. His eyes rake over you, searching for any sign you might be hurt. It's quick, but thorough, like he's checking without making it obvious.
You shift under his gaze, suddenly very aware of it.
"Suguru, i said i'm fine," you repeat, a little quieter this time.
He studies you for another second then exhales softly, the tension in his shoulder easing just a bit.
He sits back down, setting the book in his lap. He pats the spot beside him, a silent order for you to sit down.
You hesitate for a second. Then you move, dropping down beside him with a soft ruffle of grass. You glance at him, contemplating whether you should tell him about the conversation with your friends.
"They were talking about you," you say after a moment, voice low.
He hums, almost absentmindedly. "Figured."
You frown a little at that. "You're not even curious?" you ask.
"It's always the same," he says as he leans back on the fence.
"I've always wanted to ask this," you start. "What did you do that made people start those rumors about you?"
He looks down at the book in his lap, thumb brushing along the edge of the page.
"Nothing worth talking about."
You frown immediately.
"That's not an answer."
"It is."
"Tell me the truth, Suguru."
That final word from you did it. He stills.
Suddenly, he huffs, something between a sigh and a laugh.
"You don't usually say my name so seriously like that," he says, smirking a little bit.
"Don't change the subject," you grunt.
His smirk falls slightly at that, then he looks away. His fingers tap once against the page of the book.
"It's not a big deal," he says, quieter now. "I didn't do anything."
You can't help but frown slightly. "Then why do people talk like that?"
"Because i wasn't very clear with people," he admits.
You shift slightly so you're now actually facing him. "What does that mean?" you ask.
"I joke around, say things that i don't always mean, and i don't really think about how it sounds."
You stay quiet, letting him continue.
"Some people thought i liked them," he adds, voice dipping just slightly.
"Did you?"
"I didn't. Not like that."
He runs his fingers through his hair, exhaling softly like he's trying to shake something off.
"I don't know, i thought i was just being nice," he says, gaze drifting to meet yours. "But i guess it doesn't always come out like that."
"So they misunderstood you," you mutter gently.
His hand drags down his face for a moment, like he's tired of his own thoughts.
"I didn't handle it well," he huffs. "Now it just sticks."
You lean back slightly on your hands, watching him carefully.
"Sticks how?" you press.
"Like no matter what i do," he says, hesitating a little bit. "People already decided what i am."
You reach out to tap his arm with your fingertips. "You didn't try to explain?"
He glances down at where you touched him, then back at you.
"I did," he says quietly. "But it's not enough, i guess. People still talk about me like that."
The words hang there, like he regrets letting them out. You go still, then you shift closer to him, closing the space between you without hesitation.
"Suguru," you start softly. "You're thinking too much."
"Easy for you to say," he lets out a sound that's halfway between a sigh and a groan.
"You're the biggest sweetheart that i know, Suguru."
He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn't expect you to say that in this conversation.
"You don't know everything," he says finally, but there's no edge in it.
"Yeah," you say. "I don't."
He glances at you briefly, like he's preparing for what comes next. You let out a small breath like you're choosing your words more carefully now.
"You know," you start. "You're always the one who notices when someone's left out, you're always helping people without expecting anything in return, and you don't play around with people's feelings on purpose."
He goes quiet at that, trying to process it properly.
"That's normal."
"Well, yeah," you chuckle. "But they don't see that in you, right?"
He goes quiet, eyes lowering to the grass. "..no," he admits.
You grin, nodding like it's settled. "Then they're wrong," you say simply, leaning back on your hands.
He looks at you like he's trying to figure you out. Then he cracks a small smile, his shoulders slumping as the tension leaves him.
You catch it immediately. "There it is," you murmur, a little pleased.
You bump your shoulder against his again, lighter this time. He doesn't move away—if anything, he leans into it.
He shifts his hand on the grass, resting it closer to yours. Not quite touching, just there. For a second, you don't move either. Then your fingers inch forward, brushing his.
He looks down to your hand, his fingers turn slightly until they're resting against you properly.
"You really are something," he murmurs.
You smile, looking ahead instead of him.
Minutes pass, you finally turn to him. "You're not gonna read the book?" you ask.
He galnces down at it like he forgot it exist.
"Not when i have you here," he says.
You blink, caught off guard. "Wow," you murmur, a smile tugging at your lips. "Since when did you get smooth?"
He laughs quietly. "Wasn't trying to be."
"Sure you weren't," you nudge his arm slightly, laughing along with him.
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The first day home from the hospital with baby Katelyn shows just how good of a dad joe already is.
dad!joe x actress!reader
cw: sickening fluff :)
The drive home is slower than the drive there.
Joe takes every turn like the car is made of glass. Like the roads are new. Like he has never in his life operated a vehicle and is only now understanding the stakes involved.
You watch him check the rearview mirror for the sixth time in four minutes and don’t say anything, because honestly, you’re doing the same thing.
Your twisting in the passenger seat every thirty seconds to look at Katelyn in her car seat, who is asleep, who is completely fine, who does not know that her parents are running on three hours of combined sleep and approximately forty percent of their usual cognitive function.
“She good?” Joe asks.
“She’s good.”
Thirty seconds.
“She good?”
“Joe.”
“Yep, okay.”
He checks the mirror again.
The apartment smells like the candle your best friend must have lit and then extinguished before leaving. It’s a welcome-home instinct, a good one. Someone has put flowers on the kitchen counter, tulips, pale pink, with a card that you don’t read yet because you are focused entirely on the task of getting inside.
Joe sets the car seat down on the living room rug and crouches in front of it and just looks at her for a second.
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay,” you echo.
Neither of you moves.
“So she’s here now,” he says.
“She’s here now.”
“In our house.”
“In our house.”
He looks up at you. There’s something on his face that isn’t quite fear and isn’t quite awe. It’s the specific expression of a person standing at the edge of something enormous, squinting into it, trying to take the measure of it.
Then he reaches out and unbuckles Katelyn from the seat with the focused care of someone defusing something, lifts her against his chest, and stands up.
“Cool,” he says. “Cool.. Great. We’re fine. This is fine.”
Katelyn sleeps through all of it.
The first feeding is 11 p.m.
You hear her before the monitor even catches up . It’s some new frequency your body has apparently tuned itself to without asking, some biological thing.
You’re already sitting up when Joe stirs beside you.
“I’ve got her,” you say.
“I’m up,” he says, which is either a lie or an aspiration; his eyes are still closed.
“Joe, go back to sleep.”
“I’m up,” he says again, and this time he actually opens his eyes, and pushes himself to sitting with the slow determination of a man operating on will alone.
His hair is going in four directions. He looks like he lost a fight with the pillow. He gets up anyway.
You nurse Katelyn in the chair in the corner of her room. The pale pink room, the one that still smells faintly of paint under the lavender of the plug-in diffuser.
Joe sits on the floor with his back against the wall, knees pulled up, watching.
“You don’t have to sit here,” you tell him.
“I know.”
“You could sleep.”
“I’m aware of that option, yeah.”
He pulls his knees up a little more and tips his head back against the wall. In the soft glow of the nightlight he looks young and rumpled and very awake.
“How is she?” he asks.
“Eating.”
“Good. Good, that’s— yeah.” He nods like this is useful information he will file away. Then: “How are you?”
The question lands differently than you expected.
Not “are you okay” which you’d have deflected without thinking, but “how are you,” which opens a door you’re not sure you’re ready to walk through— Especially at 11pm in a lavender-scented room with your daughter attached to your chest and your body feeling like a stranger’s.
“Tired,” you say, which is true but not the whole truth.
Joe looks at you.
“Yeah? What else, baby?” he asks, quiet.
You look down at Katelyn. Her eyes are closed. Her fist is curled against your skin.
“I don’t know yet,” you say honestly. “I think I need a few days to figure out what’s me being tired and what’s something else.”
He doesn’t push. He doesn’t offer a solution or talk you out of the feeling or make it smaller.
He just nods, slow, and says: “Okay. Tell me when you know. Or when you don’t know. Either way.”
“Okay,” you say smiling faintly.
Katelyn makes a small sound. A rearrangement of herself. Something that communicates, in the universal language of newborns: I’m still here. Pay attention.
“Yeah, yeah,” Joe tells her from the floor. “We see you.”
2 a.m. is his.
You hear them through the monitor, a small mercy, he’s taken her to the living room so you can sleep. You lie in bed for a few minutes in the dark just listening.
“Okay,” Joe is saying. “Okay, I hear you. I hear you. I don’t know what you want me to do about it, but I want you to know that I’m listening.”
Katelyn, undeterred, continues.
“Is it the swaddle? I feel like it’s the swaddle.” A pause. “I redid the swaddle. That was.. okay, that’s not it.” Another pause, longer. “What if I—here. Here, how’s that.” The volume dips. “There you go. See? See? We figured it out.”
A few seconds of quiet.
“Don’t look at me like that. I have no idea why that worked either.”
You smile at the ceiling. You’re asleep within four minutes.
4 a.m. you’re up again before he can get to her, and this time something is different. You can’t name it exactly it’s a thickness behind your eyes, a weight that isn’t just physical.
You sit in the chair with Katelyn and the tears come without warning, without narrative, without any cause you can identify. They just arrive. Quiet and steady.
You’re not scared. You’d read about this. You’d been told. But knowing a thing is coming and having it arrive are different things. You sit in the pale pink room at 4 a.m. and cry without entirely knowing why, with Katelyn in your arms, both of you in her nightlight’s glow.
Joe appears in the doorway at some point. You don’t know how long he’s been there.
He comes in and doesn’t say anything immediately, just crouches in front of you, elbows on his knees, and looks at your face.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.” Your voice comes out wrecked. “Sorry. I don’t.. I’m not sad, I think. I don’t know what this is.”
“You don’t have to know what it is.”
“I feel stupid.”
“Don’t.” He says it simply, without force, and reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You just had a baby. You can cry.”
“I cried in the shower earlier too.”
“I know. I heard.”
“Why didn’t you—”
“Because you didn’t ask me to come in.” He says this matter-of-factly, no edge to it. “But I stayed outside the door.”
You look at him.
“The whole time?” you ask.
“Yeah.”
You breathe. It goes a little ragged in the middle and smooths out at the end.
“I feel like my body isn’t mine right now,” you say, slowly, testing the words as they come out. “Like I’m borrowing it from someone and I don’t know the terms of the lease.”
He takes that in. Doesn’t try to fix it.
“That sounds really disorienting,” he says.
“It is.” You look down at Katelyn, who has fallen back asleep against you, completely unbothered.
“She has no idea. That’s wild to me. She has absolutely no idea.”
“She knows you,” Joe says. “Apparently that’s like, the first thing they figure out. Your voice. Your smell.” He pauses. “I looked it up at earlier.”
“Of course you did.”
“I’ve looked up a lot of things tonight.”
“Like what?”
He lists them on his fingers. “Why babies hate being put down. Whether it’s normal if they make that noise.. the kind of like, pterodactyl noise—”
“It’s normal.”
“I know, I found that out. Also the best swaddle technique, which I’ve now watched a video on five times, and I think I’ve cracked it. And also..”he pauses. “Whether postpartum stuff can start right away or if it takes longer.”
You go quiet.
“I wasn’t going to bring it up,” he says, “unless you did. But I wanted to know what to look for.”
You look at him for a long moment.
“Joe.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re going to be really annoying about being good at this, aren’t you.”
He huffs. Looks away. But his mouth does the thing it does when he’s trying not to smile. “I mean. I wouldn’t use the word annoying.”
Morning comes in sideways through the curtains, that specific pale gold of early spring.
Katelyn is in the bassinet, Joe had moved her because he said he “needed to watch her.” She’s actually sleeping, which she has been doing for a full forty-seven minutes, which is, as far as you are both currently concerned, an extraordinary achievement.
You are in bed. Joe has brought coffee, which you can only have a cautious amount of. He’s sitting up against the headboard with his mug, reading something on his phone.
You’re lying with your head on his leg, not sleeping but you’re not awake either. You’re in a soft middle place, the one that only exists when you feel completely safe.
The morning light is catching the side of his face. There’s a crease from the pillow still on his cheek. He’s been awake for most of the last seventy-two hours and he is smiling at a texts from his sisters about his new daughter like it’s the best thing that’s happened to him all week.
“Hey,” you say.
He looks down.
“Thank you,” you say. “For this week. For all of it.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I know. I want to.”
He sets the phone down and his hand finds your hair, easy and unhurried.
“I’m exactly where I want to be,” he says. Simply. Like it isn’t even a complex thing.
From the bassinet, Katelyn makes the pterodactyl noise.
Joe is up before you can move, crossing the room in three steps, leaning over her with his hands braced on the sides of the bassinet.
“Good morning,” you hear him say. “Look who’s awake. Look at you.”
A pause.
“You slept forty-seven minutes,” he tells her.
“That’s really good. I’m proud of you, babygirl.”
You put the pillow over your face. You are smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.
“I know, I know,” he’s saying. “You’re hungry. Okay. Here—” and then the sound of him picking her up, the familiar recalibration of his voice going softer, “here we go. I’ve got you. Let’s go get your mama.”
He comes back to the bed with her and deposits her gently into your arms, then gets back in beside you. You nurse her in the morning light with your head tipped against his shoulder and his arm around you both.
Outside the city is starting up, people are on their way to work, tabloids about Katelyn are starting to make the round, the tulips on the counter are probably past their peak by now, and none of that matters even slightly.
Katelyn eats. Joe steals a sip of your coffee because he already finished his. You let him.
“She’s got your nose,” he says, for what is probably the eighth time since she was born.
“You’ve said that.”
“It keeps being true.”
You look down at her. At the small perfect unfathomable fact of her.
“Yeah,” you say. “Okay.”
The morning holds. The three of you stay still inside it.
hi again!!! can you believe this??? there's colors and i've posted multiple times a week :0
i need to think of something to call you guys because i feel like guys is so.... guys
more sweet fluff !! can you tell i'm addicted to reality tv? def more abbot coming because ooh nelly i'm in love
word count: 2.0k enjoy pretties!! comments, reblogs, and asks are always loved and valued ♡
divider by @ saradika-graphics
“Babe, where’d you leave the big bag of tortilla chips?”
You’re in the bathroom, cleansing your face to start on your skincare. You’ve barely heard your own boyfriend calling out to you on account of the cold water gushing from the sink faucet. Rivulets of water run down and drip off your face, trickling into the sink.
Patting your face dry, you hear the soft pitter-patter of someone’s heavy feet. Your boyfriend, you think, unable to keep yourself from smiling. Your Jack. You stick your head out of the bathroom doorway just as the man who occupies all your waking thoughts rounds the corner into your line of sight.
“I’m sorry, did you call me?”
He stops right by you, bracing his left arm on the wall perpendicular to your doorway. He leans into the wall, shifting his weight to get support from the wall. His leaning hikes up the loosely-fitted navy shirt– the one he favors on his days off –away from his right hip, and you help yourself to an eyeful.
“Where are the chips?” he asks again, following your own gaze, then looking back at you. The two of you have been together long enough that staring at the other, in maybe what you could call an objectifying manner, was quite common.
“I put them by the bowl we’re gonna use for them. That woody one.” You sidle along the wall, tucking yourself under his propped-up arm so that he’s partially boxing you in. You set your hands right on his shoulders, then sliding them down over his chest. You give him a look in response to his waggling eyebrows, trying to find tells in the hazel of his irises. “Didn’t I tell you to relax? Why’d you put your leg back on? Isn’t it bothering you?”
Immediately, Jack is looking up at the ceiling. You can tell he’s trying to hold on to his good mood. “I’m not decrepit. Where’s the bowl, then? I’ve got chips to eat.”
“You’re the one calling yourself that, not me. I think you’re perfectly fit and… crepit. Just go put the dips from the fridge on the coffee table and sit down.”
“I don’t want to do that.” He looks back down at you, biting the inside of his cheek.
“Babe, it’s almost eight. Come on.” You rake your eyes over his sweet face. He’s usually so light and silly. You don’t want to be the reason that that light dims. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried. But I know you don’t want me to worry, so I’ll stop. For now.”
His shoulders and neck relax. “It’s okay, honey. I can do something else. I can make us that lemon mocktail you like with the sugar all over the rim. Come on, you’re telling me we’re sitting down for a two-hour premiere and you’re not gonna want something to sip on?” His free hand comes to gently cover your own, keeping it still over his pec. His eyes are back on yours, and he’s giving you a miniscule nod of his head to emphasise his words.
“Those do sound good, but-”
“But nothing.” His thumb moves across the back of your hand before his head dips down to kiss it. “What you just told me. Please.”
You sigh. “And then you’ll go sit down? And you’ll let yourself relax?”
“Do you always ask so many questions?” He tilts his head to the side. “Yes, fine, whatever you say. I’m doing this for us. For you.”
You give the other side of his chest a pat, nodding your concession. “Okay. Ask me for help if you need it.”
“I won’t.” He shifts away from the wall, instead reaching to cup the back of your neck. He deposits a kiss onto your forehead and quickly turns to make his way back to the kitchen. You chew on your lip, watching him. His gait is incredibly uneven; it’s clear that he’s hurting. He whistles to himself, but his leaning heavily into his left foot’s steps belies his discomfort. Avoiding having to put pressure on it as a whole, you’re sure.
You speed through the rest of your skincare, the distant clanks and clinks of what must be Jack in the kitchen mildly soothing you. He’s very, very determined, as well as very, very committed. You’d never peg him as the type to actually enjoy cooking, baking, drink-making, or anything of the sort as a whole, but he enjoys it in his own way. You don’t think he loves it because of passion for the hobby, but instead his passion for you.
His insanely intense work ethic translates into how he shows love. He’s adamant that actions speak louder than words, and still there isn’t any lack of praise or sweet nothings in your relationship. He is devoted to you, mind and soul, and he’s determined to prove it to you. Every morning, despite the fact he works the arduous night shift at the hospital, he’s doing household chores. The ones that are supposed to be shared, mind you, or so you incessantly remind him. He cleans stray dishes by hand (he claims he’s faster and better than the dishwasher), fixes up whatever needs to be fixed around the house, and regularly maintains both of your cars.
You really don’t want to be having him do all of this stuff for you, but you haven’t been able to convince him to do otherwise. He refuses to talk about it with you.. He’ll keep as much as he can taken care of, he’ll keep you taken care of, and that’s that. He’s content being with you, and you suppose that that’s his way of telling you so.
You find your way to the kitchen, plucking the bag of tortilla chips from where you’d left it. Jack has his back to you, concocting your drinks on the counter by the fridge. He has two of his charming old whiskey glasses sitting next to each other, some lemon juice, sugar, sparkling water, and simple syrup strewn about.
“I’ve perfected the recipe,” he tells you without looking back. From what you can tell, he’s trying to sugar the rim. “I’m about to knock your socks off.”
You smile at the bowl, tearing open the bag of chips and dumping them unceremoniously where they belong. “Yeah?” On your side of the kitchen, Jack had set the cheesy dip jar alongside its spiced salsa sister and a tub of sour cream. Right with them was the glass Tupperware you’d scraped some cooked ground beef into post-leftovers a day ago. He had already warmed it in the microwave, you can tell. “Dump the cheese, dip the salsa?”
“That’s how I like it.”
You hum a happy little tune as you work. It’s getting so close to 8 P.M., and you’re getting so excited you’re practically flouncing around the kitchen doing your work. You and Jack have been living together for a couple years now, together for another year before that. When you were still in the early stages of your relationship, maybe on your third or fourth date, you’d been getting dinner together at a casual restaurant– one of the ones that had TVs all over the place. You’d spent the afternoon hiking, and you’d felt so comfortable with him that when he’d insisted on driving you home and you stumbled upon the neon sign advertising Pennsylvania’s best nachos, you’d exchanged one look and you were both done for.
You’d ordered at the register up front and slid into a booth, staring up at the TV in front of it. Jack had slowly sat himself next to you, following your gaze. “What’s caught your eye?” he had asked. Setting your elbow on the table, resting your head in your hand, and glancing back at him, you’d given him a little smile.
“You don’t know Survivor?”
“Heard of it, I guess. Some of the guys I served with talked about it.”
His eyes never left yours. He has a thing for eye-contact, even now. He must have found something in there because he scooted ever-so-slightly closer. “Did they like it?”
He shrugged. “Guilty pleasure, from what I gathered. They said it doesn’t come close to the real thing,” he’d said, making a vague gesture to the TV, “but that it’s fun. Sounds like I’d like it, but I’ve never found the time to watch a season.” Your nachos finally landed on your table. You both murmured your thank-yous to the server without looking away from each other. Maybe it was the entire day as a whole, or it was the stubble on his face, but something told you that he was it for you.
In retrospect, those nachos weren’t ever that good. The two of you had returned to the restaurant later in your relationship, and every time, Jack had insisted you could make better ones at home. So, it became an event.
Before it did, when you were still sitting close-but-not-too-close in that frumpy little booth, you were both chomping away while enamored with the TV. You don’t quite remember what your excuse was, but you’d pressed into his side, and before you knew it, you’d razed through the chips together. He was leaning back into his seat, his arm draped over the back of the booth, behind you.
“I think I’m addicted,” he admitted to you, both your eyes still trained upwards, the corners of his lips lifting.
“Isn’t Jeff just so… magnetic?” you laughed.
“Maybe I’ll have to start watching at home… I’m sorry it took me away from you.” He laughed, too. “Here I was, hoping I could spend time with this gorgeous woman that’s in my head 24/7. I really blew it, didn’t I?”
You casually set your cheek on his shoulder. “Only a little bit. Who’s to say this is bad quality time?”
You remember how quiet it was for the next moments, only because you could hear Jeff screaming so clearly. You think it’s probably hindsight, but you could tell he was thinking something through. After he progressed through whatever it was, he let the side of his head rest on top of yours. “So I messed up?” he asked meekly.
You’d reached for his hand then, which he’d quickly given to you. His fingers interlocked and still interlock perfectly with yours. His grip was and is tight, yet never bruising. “If you’re feeling like you didn’t get the most out of this, you could always come by my place…”
“Hey, you, c’mon. I’m going to sit down.” Jack bumps your hip with his as he makes haste to your beloved sofa. He takes a sip from both your drinks as he goes.
You finish with the rest of your “nachos” and follow him. To your delight, he’s actually getting comfortable between the plush cushions. The drinks have been put on the table and he’s working on getting his prosthetic to fuck off. You plop yourself down next to him, restraining yourself from reaching out to help him. It’s like he can sense your ardor; as he sets his leg down a ways away from you both, he gives you a sweet smile.
Once you’ve found and started Season 50, you glue yourself to him. Jack’s crammed himself in the corner of the couch, a favorite spot of his, so that when you’re inevitably smushed up with him, squashed into his side, he strews his good leg over your lap.
He balances the bowl in his lap, his arm keeping you tight to him. One of your hands comes to pet his shin, the other gripping your drink. He was right, after all. You’ll finish the thing in ten minutes, and if you hadn’t had one to begin with, you’d be itching for one to finish in ten minutes every two seconds.
You drop your head into the crook of his neck, feeling a flutter of butterflies take flight in your chest as he leans his head against yours, the biggest smile of the day splitting his cheeks.
Hey first of all I wanted to tell you that I love your writing.
And I wanted to ask you if you’re taking request, if you can write something, fluff, angsty were wife reader get involved into a car accident and toto get to know it way later during the day because of work/ meeting… Or anything like that, you can turn it as you want. I’m sure it will be goodly written with your talent :)
Thank you Anon! The request waited two months, but here it is!
Nothing Else Matters
🐺 main masterlist
Toto Wolff x wife!reader
Summary: A normal workday turns into a nightmare when Toto finds out that you were in a car accident. By the time he reaches you at the hospital, he’s already imagined every possible outcome. You? You’re mostly fine. Him? Not even a little.
Warnings: angst, fear of losing you, hospital setting, protective!Toto, emotional vulnerability, soft comfort, strong hugs, forehead kisses, married couple dynamic, “I almost lost you” energy, fluff.
Word count: 1.7k
It’s supposed to be a normal day. Which, in your life, means slightly chaotic, mildly exhausting, and filled with messages from your husband that range from “Did you eat?” to “Don’t forget the jacket, it’s cold” to “Also I love you, in case you forgot.”
You didn’t forget. You never do.
The accident itself is… stupid. Not dramatic. Not cinematic. No slow motion, no heroic soundtrack.
Just a distracted driver, a split second too late on the brakes, and the sharp, violent jolt that snaps your body forward before the world goes still again.
For a moment, there’s silence. Then, “Ma’am? Are you okay?”
You blink. Your hands tremble slightly on the steering wheel. Your heart is racing too fast, too loud, like it’s trying to escape your chest.
“I… yeah. I think so.”
And you do. Mostly. A bit shaken. A headache blooming slowly behind your eyes. Your neck stiff. But you’re conscious, breathing, moving. And most important, alive.
By the time you’re in the hospital, it all feels… oddly distant.
You text Toto.
Hi Schatz! Had a small accident. I’m okay. Now at the hospital just to check. Don’t worry. Love you!
You hesitate before sending it. Then you press send anyway.
You know him. If he sees accident without context, he’ll lose his mind. But if he doesn’t see it at all and finds out later... he’ll lose his mind worse.
So you send it. And then, nothing. No reply.
You frown slightly, staring at your phone.
“Probably in a meeting,” you murmur to yourself.
Of course he is. Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team doesn’t exactly run itself.
Brackley | Conference room
A long table. Screens lit up with data. Engineers talking. Numbers, strategies, projections.
And at the head of the table — Toto. Focused. Sharp. Controlled.
“—we need to consider the long-run degradation, otherwise Miami—”
His phone vibrates. Once. Twice.
He ignores it. He always ignores it during meetings.
Until George glances at him. “Toto, your phone has been buzzing for a while.”
“I’ll check it later.”
Another vibration. This time… longer. Something about it feels off.
Toto exhales quietly, already slightly irritated, and reaches for his phone. Unlocks it. Reads. And everything... stops.
*
You’re sitting on the hospital bed, swinging your legs slightly, trying to ignore the dull ache in your neck.
A nurse just left. You’re waiting for the doctor.
It’s fine. Everything is fine. You repeat it in your head like a mantra.
Your phone suddenly lights up. Toto calling.
You blink. “Well, that was fast.”
You answer. “Hey—”
“Are you hurt?”
No hello. No softness. Just, that voice. Low and tight. Controlled in a way that means he’s anything but.
“I’m okay,” you say quickly. “Really, it was minor, I just—”
“Which hospital?”
“Toto—”
“Which hospital?”
You sigh softly, giving him the name.
There’s a pause. A breath. Then he says, “I’m coming, Liebling.”
The line goes dead.
*
Back in Brackley, the meeting is very much still happening. Or it was. Until Toto stands up so abruptly his chair scrapes loudly against the floor. “We’re done.”
Everyone freezes.
“Meeting’s over,” he repeats, already grabbing his jacket.
“Toto, we still need to—” Bradley starts.
“No. We don’t.”
His tone leaves no room for argument.
George watches him carefully. “Everything okay?”
Toto doesn’t even look at him. “No.”
And then he’s gone.
The drive feels like torture. Every red light is too long. Every car too slow. Every second... unbearable.
Your message replays in his head over and over. Small accident. I’m okay.
He knows you. You downplay things. You always do. And the fact that he didn’t see it immediately, that he was sitting in a meeting, talking about tire degradation while you were... His grip tightens on the steering wheel.
His jaw clenches. Stupid. You should’ve checked your phone. You should’ve known.
By the time he pulls into the hospital parking lot, his heart is hammering so hard it feels like it might crack his ribs.
*
You don’t expect him this fast. So when the door to your room opens, and there he is, you freeze. He looks, not angry. Not exactly. Worse. Pale. Tense. Eyes scanning you like he’s trying to confirm something his brain refuses to trust.
“Toto…”
You barely get his name out before he’s crossing the room. Fast. Too fast.
His hands are on your face, your shoulders, your arms — checking, searching, grounding himself in the fact that you’re actually there.
“Liebling, you’re okay?” he asks, voice low and rough.
“I told you, I’m fine—”
“Doctor.”
You blink. “What?”
“I want to speak to the doctor.”
“Toto—”
“Now.”
There’s no edge of anger in his voice. Just fear. Raw. Unfiltered. Barely contained. And suddenly you don’t argue.
*
The doctor is calm, professional and reassuring, “No serious injuries, Mr Wolff. Mild whiplash, some bruising, but nothing concerning. We’ll keep your wife for observation for a bit, but she’s going to be fine.”
Toto listens. But he doesn’t relax. Not yet.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
The doctor nods. “Yes.”
“Nothing internal?”
“No.”
“No delayed complications?”
“Very unlikely.”
A pause. Then, “Okay.”
When the doctor leaves, the room is quiet. You’re sitting on the bed. Toto is standing in front of you. Still. Too still.
You tilt your head slightly. “See? I told you—”
And then, he pulls you into his arms. Hard. Not careful, not measured. Just desperate.
Your breath catches slightly as his arms wrap around you, one hand pressing against the back of your head, holding you close against his chest. Like if he lets go, you might disappear.
“Toto—”
“I didn’t know.” His voice is muffled against your hair. “I didn’t see your message. I was in that meeting and I didn’t—”
You soften immediately, your arms slipping around his waist. “It’s okay—”
“No.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you. His eyes, God. You’ve never seen them like this.
“I was driving here thinking—” he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Every scenario. Every possible—” He stops. Can’t even say it.
Your chest tightens. “Toto…”
“I thought I lost you.”
The words are quiet, but they hit like a punch.
You reach up, cupping his cheek gently. “You didn’t.”
“I know that now.”
His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing it more firmly against his skin.
“But for those twenty minutes—” A breath. Heavy and unsteady. “I’ve never been that scared in my life.”
And this is a man who has seen crashes. Real ones. High-speed. Life-threatening. And still, this? This shook him more.
You swallow softly. “I’m really okay,” you say, quieter now. “Just a bit sore. Nothing serious.”
He studies your face like he’s memorizing it. Like he needs proof.
Then he leans down, presses his forehead against yours. Closes his eyes. Breathes.
“Don’t do that again.”
You huff a tiny laugh. “I didn’t exactly plan it—”
“I don’t care.”
His thumb brushes lightly over your cheek. “Just… don’t.”
You smile faintly, softer this time. “I’ll try my best.”
He exhales, almost a laugh, almost a sigh. “Good.”
You stay like that for a moment. Forehead to forehead. Breathing the same air.
Your fingers absentmindedly trace along his sleeve, grounding him just as much as he grounds you.
After a while, you murmur, teasing lightly, “You left your meeting, didn’t you?”
A pause.
“…yes.”
“Mid-sentence?”
“…yes.”
You grin faintly. “You, Mr. Control?”
He opens one eye, giving you a look. “You were in a hospital.”
“So?”
“So,” he says simply, “nothing else matters.”
And there it is. That soft, dangerous thing he does, where he says something that sounds casual but lands straight in your chest.
You shake your head, smiling. “Your engineers are going to be terrified.”
“They’ll survive.”
“And if they don’t?”
He leans in slightly, voice dropping just a little, “I’ll hire new ones.”
You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Of course you will.”
*
Later, when the room quiets again and the evening light starts to fade, you feel his fingers intertwine with yours. Still holding. Still there. Still not quite ready to let go.
You glance at him. “You know I’m not going anywhere, right?”
He looks at you. Then leans in, presses a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. “I know.”
His hand tightens around yours just slightly. “But I’ll still check.”
You huff softly, shaking your head a little, your thumb brushing over his knuckles.
“Of course you will,” you murmur. “Mr. Control.”
His lips twitch. “That’s not funny.”
“It is a little funny.”
“It’s not,” he repeats, but there’s no bite in it anymore, only that quiet warmth, that softness he only ever lets you see.
You shift slightly on the bed, wincing just a little, and immediately his attention snaps back to you.
“Does it hurt?” he asks, already closer.
“A bit,” you admit.
His hand is on your cheek again, gentler this time. Careful. Like you’re something fragile he refuses to break.
“Then lie down,” he says quietly. “Come here, Liebling.”
You don’t argue. You slide down onto the pillow, and a second later he’s right there, sitting close, one arm wrapping around you, pulling you carefully against his side.
Your head rests against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat. Still a little too fast.
“You’re shaking,” you whisper.
He exhales slowly, his chin resting on top of your head. “I know.”
His fingers move absentmindedly along your arm, grounding himself, grounding you.
“I don’t like this,” he adds, quieter. “Not knowing. Not being there.”
You tilt your head slightly, looking up at him. “You’re here now.”
His gaze softens instantly. “Yes,” he murmurs. “I am.”
You study him for a second, the tension still lingering in his shoulders, the way his hand hasn’t left you once. Then you smile faintly, “Hey.”
He hums softly. “Hm?”
“I’m okay.”
He looks at you. And this time, he believes it. You see it in the way his shoulders finally drop just a little. In the way his thumb brushes your cheek instead of gripping your arm.
In the way he leans down, and kisses you. Slow, soft and careful. Like he’s reminding himself you’re real.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours again, breath warm, steady now.
“I love you,” he says quietly.
You smile, eyes closing for a second. “I know.” A beat. Then you add softer, “I love you too.”
His arm tightens around you just a little more, pulling you closer, like he still needs to feel you there. And this time, he finally relaxes, holding you completely in his arms.
