✧༺ 𝓔𝓵𝓪𝓻𝓪 ༻✧

𐙚 𝑰𝒏 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆 𐙚

[cinemalune]

𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓻𝓪 ♡

18 | 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 & 𝔀𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮𝓻

𝜗𝜚 lana del rey • p!nk

────୨ৎ────

✧ 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎𝒔 𝒊 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 ✧

♡ 𝐃𝐂

♡ 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐥

♡ 𝐀𝐓𝐋𝐀

♡ 𝐎𝐟𝐟 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐮𝐬

♡ 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚 𝟏

♡ 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧

♡ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

♡ 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧

♡ 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬

♡ 𝐀 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐬

♡ 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

♡ 𝐀𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐞

────୨ৎ────

[cinemalune]

𝑪𝑨𝑺𝑼𝑨𝑳 – Garrett Graham

༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺

Summary: You and Garrett Graham are basically together without the label. He calls it casual. You pretend that doesn’t hurt. Until a party makes everything collapse and forces the truth to surface too late.

༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺

The truth about Garrett Graham was that he had never meant to become someone you loved this deeply, not because he didn’t want connection, but because he had always been careful with it, always kept things light, always kept himself just far enough away from anything that could turn into something real, and somehow, without either of you fully naming it, you had slipped right past every boundary he didn’t even realize he had built, until there you were, woven into his life so completely that pretending you weren’t mattered became impossible even when he insisted on doing exactly that.

He called it casual the first time without thinking much of it, like it was just an easy answer to an easy question, something light to protect him from expectations he didn’t want to name, but you had felt it immediately, the weight of that word pressing somewhere under your ribs because nothing about the way he treated you felt casual, not the way he showed up for you, not the way he texted you first thing in the morning, not the way his hand always found yours without hesitation, not the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, like you were something he was slowly, quietly becoming dependent on.

And still, he said it.

Casual.

Like it meant nothing.

Like you were nothing more than a habit he could set down whenever he wanted.

Except he never did set you down.

That was the part that made it worse, because Garrett didn’t act like someone who was casual about you, he acted like someone who already belonged to you in every way that mattered except the one that required him to admit it out loud, and so you stayed in that in between space with him, where nothing was defined but everything was felt, where hope became something dangerous but impossible to let go of, because every time you thought maybe this was it, maybe he was finally going to say it, he would do something so gentle, so careful, so heartbreakingly boyfriend like that it convinced you to keep waiting just a little longer.

And Garrett, for all his confidence, for all his charm, for all the ways he could read a room in seconds, was completely unaware of how much damage he was doing just by refusing to name what you already were.

Or maybe he wasn’t unaware.

Maybe he was just scared of what it meant to admit it.

Because somewhere along the way, you had stopped being temporary in his mind, and that realization didn’t sit comfortably in him, it never did when it came to feelings that mattered, because feelings that mattered meant vulnerability, and vulnerability meant losing control, and Garrett Graham did not lose control, not ever, except with you, and even then, he convinced himself he was still fine as long as he didn’t say anything too real out loud.

So when people asked, when it mattered, when it was easier to simplify things, he said it.

We’re casual.

And every time he did, something in your expression shifted just slightly, something soft and hopeful trying not to crack completely.

But he never noticed how close it was getting to breaking.

Until the night everything changed.

It started like every other night between you and him, easy at first, familiar in a way that had become dangerous because familiarity made it feel like stability even when nothing about it actually was, and you were on his couch like you had every right to be there, curled into his hoodie, your presence so natural in his space that he didn’t even think about it anymore, didn’t think about how strange it was that someone could become so essential without ever being officially anything.

He walked in talking before he even saw you properly, something light, something teasing, because that was what he always defaulted to when he wasn’t sure what version of himself to be, but the moment he saw you, really saw you, something in him shifted, because you weren’t looking at him the way you usually did, not immediately, not warmly, and that alone should have warned him that something was already wrong before either of you said a word.

He sat beside you anyway, shoulder brushing yours like muscle memory, like instinct, like something he couldn’t stop even if he tried, and when he asked what was wrong and you said nothing, he didn’t believe you, he never did with you, because you had never been good at hiding your feelings from him even when you tried, so he pushed, gently at first, then more firmly, until your phone ended up in his hand and he saw the messages, saw the name of your ex and the way he was suddenly back in your life like he still had access to you, like you were something that could be reopened and reclaimed, and something in Garrett tightened immediately at the idea of anyone else thinking they still had that kind of space in your life.

He handed the phone back too quickly, jaw tight, irritation slipping through before he could filter it, because the idea of someone else bothering you didn’t sit right with him even if he refused to name why, and when you mentioned not being available, when you said there was someone else, the air between you shifted in a way that neither of you acknowledged out loud, because Garrett already knew what he assumed you meant, and yet he still asked, still needed to hear it, still needed to confirm what he both wanted and feared at the same time.

“Do you ever think about us?” he asked before he could stop himself, and the moment the words left him, something in his chest tightened because he already knew the answer mattered more than he was prepared for.

“All the time.”

And that should have been the moment everything became clear.

Because the realization hit him so hard it almost knocked the breath from his lungs, he loved her, not in the easy, uncomplicated way he’d cared about girls before, not in the temporary, fun way he’d always preferred, he loved her in the terrifying kind of way that made his chest ache whenever she looked even slightly unsure, the kind of way that made every other girl in the room fade into something irrelevant, the kind of way that made him realize too late that everything he had been doing, every distance he had kept, every time he had chosen the word casual instead of the truth, had been pushing her further away from the only thing he actually wanted.

You.

But Garrett didn’t say it.

Because love, for him, didn’t feel safe.

It felt like loss before it even began.

So instead of closing the distance, instead of finally stepping into the truth that had already been sitting between you for too long, he pulled back just enough to protect himself from it, and he saw it immediately in your face, the way something inside you registered the shift even before you fully understood it, the way hope didn’t die all at once but instead flickered like it was trying to survive something it already knew it was losing.

And after that, everything started to fracture.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Just slowly.

In ways only you seemed to notice at first.

Shorter texts.

Longer silences.

A distance that didn’t match the way he still looked at you when he forgot to control it.

And then came the party.

A crowded house full of noise and movement and people who didn’t know what was happening between you and him, and Garrett walked in already pretending he was fine, already defaulting to charm and familiarity and distraction because that was easier than sitting with the way things had been between you lately, because lately every time he looked at you he felt something he didn’t know how to handle.

So he avoided it.

He avoided you.

At first it was subtle, just enough to not be obvious, conversations that ended too quickly, attention that drifted elsewhere, laughter that didn’t fully reach him when you were nearby, and you noticed, because of course you did, because you always noticed him even when he pretended you didn’t.

And then he made it worse without meaning to.

Girls talked to him, and he responded out of habit, out of avoidance, out of the need to keep moving so he didn’t have to think too hard about why nothing felt right anymore when it wasn’t you, and every time he looked across the room and saw you watching him, something inside him tightened, but he still didn’t stop, because stopping would mean going to you, and going to you would mean admitting what he already knew.

That he had already chosen you.

He just hadn’t said it.

And then he saw it.

A girl beside him, closer than necessary, something said near his ear, laughter that he didn’t fully register, movement toward the stairs, and he went because it was easier than staying still, easier than facing you, easier than feeling the weight of everything he had been avoiding, but halfway up the stairs something in him snapped into clarity so sudden it almost physically stopped him, because suddenly he could see it, not the girl, not the party, but you, downstairs, watching, and the way it would look to you, the way it already did look to you.

And he stopped.

Not gradually.

Not thoughtfully.

Abruptly, like his body rejected the direction he was going in.

He didn’t even look at the girl properly when he told her it was a mistake, when he asked her to leave, because suddenly nothing about her mattered in the way it had five minutes ago, and the moment she was gone, everything came rushing back at once, everything he had been trying not to feel all night.

You.

Gone.

—

Logan didn’t even need to be told what happened, the look on his face already enough to make Garrett’s stomach drop before a single word was spoken, and when Logan finally said it, when he finally told him you had left, that you had run out crying, something inside Garrett went completely still in a way that had nothing to do with calm and everything to do with shock.

Crying.

You.

Because of him.

Because he had been too scared to say something as simple as the truth.

His phone was already in his hand before he even fully processed it, calls going unanswered one after another, each one sinking deeper than the last, because silence wasn’t neutral anymore, it was consequence, it was distance, it was the sound of you not wanting to pick up because he had given you every reason not to.

And for the first time in his life, Garrett Graham didn’t know how to fix it.

He just knew he had to try.

So he moved.

Fast.

Out the door.

Into the night.

Because if there was even a chance you were still somewhere out there, still close enough to reach, then he was going to find you, not because he was sure what he would say when he did, but because for the first time in his life, not doing anything at all was the only thing that felt unbearable.

༻✧༺

End of Part 1

Part 2 coming soon…

༻✧༺

[cinemalune]

୨ৎ 𝓞𝓯𝓯 𝓒𝓪𝓶𝓹𝓾𝓼 ୨ৎ

♡ 𝓖𝓪𝓻𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽 𝓖𝓻𝓪𝓱𝓪𝓶

♡ 𝓙𝓸𝓱𝓷 𝓛𝓸𝓰𝓪𝓷

♡ 𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓷 𝓓𝓲 𝓛𝓪𝓾𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓼

♡ 𝓙𝓸𝓱𝓷 𝓣𝓾𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓻

♡ 𝓙𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓵𝓵𝔂

♡ 𝓗𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓓𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓽

♡ 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓲𝓷 “𝓕𝓲𝓽𝔃𝔂” 𝓕𝓲𝓽𝔃𝓰𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓵𝓭

[cinemalune]

୨ৎ 𝓣𝓥𝓓 𝓜𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 ୨ৎ

♡ 𝓢𝓽𝓮𝓯𝓪𝓷 𝓢𝓪𝓵𝓿𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓮

♡ 𝓓𝓪𝓶𝓸𝓷 𝓢𝓪𝓵𝓿𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓮

♡ 𝓚𝓸𝓵 𝓜𝓲𝓴𝓪𝓮𝓵𝓼𝓸𝓷

♡ 𝓚𝓵𝓪𝓾𝓼 𝓜𝓲𝓴𝓪𝓮𝓵𝓼𝓸𝓷

♡ 𝓔𝓵𝓲𝓳𝓪𝓱 𝓜𝓲𝓴𝓪𝓮𝓵𝓼𝓸𝓷

♡ 𝓔𝓷𝔃𝓸 𝓢𝓽. 𝓙𝓸𝓱𝓷

[cinemalune]

# GARRETT GRAHAM – MATERIALIST

001. ONE-SHOT

Casual

002. HEADCANNONS

003. SERIES

[cinemalune]

PROLOGUE

001. Dean Di Laurentis x Camila Reyes

002. Series Materialist

There were exactly twenty three people in Camila Reyes’s grandparents’ backyard.

Twenty four if someone counted the dog.

Twenty five if someone counted the toddler currently running around wearing a superhero cape and absolutely nothing else.

Which was why Camila couldn’t help laughing when her cousin Diego dropped into the chair beside her and announced dramatically,

“You know, when you leave for college, this family is going to fall apart.”

Camila nearly choked on her lemonade.

“The family is not going to fall apart.”

“It absolutely is.”

Across the yard, three of her younger cousins were attempting to start a water balloon war.

Her grandmother was yelling at somebody in Spanish.

Her uncle was arguing with another uncle about baseball.

Someone had turned music on.

Someone else had started dancing.

It was complete chaos.

The kind of chaos Camila had grown up with.

The kind she loved.

The kind she was suddenly realizing she would miss.

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m not.”

Diego pointed at her.

“You organize everything.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You organized Christmas.”

“Because nobody else would.”

“You organized Grandpa’s birthday.”

“Again, because nobody else would.”

“You organized the family vacation.”

Camila opened her mouth.

Then closed it.

Diego smirked.

“Exactly.”

Unfortunately, he wasn’t entirely wrong.

Camila liked organization.

Liked plans.

Liked knowing what came next.

Maybe it was because she’d grown up as an only child.

Or maybe it was because everyone in her family seemed to share a single collective brain cell and somebody needed to keep things functioning.

Whatever the reason, she’d somehow become the responsible one.

Not just for her parents.

For everybody.

And there were a lot of everybodies.

Technically, Camila was an only child.

In reality, she’d never spent a single day feeling like one.

Between her mother’s side and her father’s side, she had enough cousins to fill an entire classroom.

Some older.

Some younger.

Some so distant she wasn’t entirely sure how they were related.

But they were family.

And family always showed up.

Birthdays.

Graduations.

Cookouts.

Random Tuesdays.

It didn’t matter.

There was always somebody around.

Which was why the thought of leaving for Briar University felt strange.

Not scary exactly.

Just……strange.

For nineteen years she’d lived surrounded by people who knew everything about her.

People who knew she hated tomatoes.

People who knew she cried during every Disney movie.

People who knew she secretly loved terrible reality television.

People who loved her before she ever had to earn it.

Three weeks from now she’d be living in a dorm surrounded by strangers.

The thought made her stomach flutter.

“Nervous?”

Her father’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.

Camila looked up as Gabriel Reyes sat beside her.

At forty eight, he was still the person she trusted most in the world.

Strong.

Patient.

Reliable.

The kind of father who never missed a school parent & kid game.

Never missed a school play.

Never missed anything important.

“A little.”

He smiled.

“That’s normal.”

“Is it?”

“Of course it is.”

Camila watched as her youngest cousin launched a water balloon directly into another cousin’s face.

Screaming immediately followed.

Her grandfather started laughing.

Her grandmother started yelling.

Again.

The entire scene was ridiculous.

And perfect.

“What if I hate it?”

“You won’t.”

“What if I don’t make friends?”

“You will.”

“What if…..”

“Camila.”

She sighed.

Her father smiled knowingly.

“You’ve spent your whole life preparing for this.”

Maybe.

But preparing for something and actually doing it were completely different things.

The truth was, Camila Reyes had never been reckless.

Never been spontaneous.

Never been the type to jump first and think later.

She got good grades.

Followed rules.

Made smart decisions.

While some of her classmates spent high school sneaking out and partying, Camila spent Friday nights watching movies with her cousins.

While other girls were dating, she was studying.

While everyone else seemed determined to grow up as quickly as possible, Camila had been perfectly content staying exactly where she was.

At least until recently.

Because lately something had changed.

Maybe it was graduation.

Maybe it was college.

Maybe it was the realization that adulthood was suddenly standing right in front of her.

Whatever it was, she couldn’t stop feeling like she’d missed something.

Like everyone else had been living while she’d been planning.

Like everyone else had stories while she had schedules.

It was stupid.

She knew it was stupid.

But the feeling remained.

And it was that feeling that would eventually convince her to say yes when Maya called four days later.

A decision that would alter the course of her entire life.

Because if Camila Reyes had known what was waiting for her at that party…..The stranger.

The night.

The consequences.

She never would have gone at all.

[cinemalune]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀୨ৎ

𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒

dean di laurentis x camila reyes

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀୨ৎ

❝ perhaps some stories are written long before they begin.

perhaps some hearts are destined to find each other,

even after getting lost. ❞

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀୨ৎ

genre . . .

romance • angst • drama

accidental pregnancy • opposites attract

strangers to lovers

status : ongoing

updates : tba

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀୨ৎ

Camila Reyes has always been the definition of a good girl.

Nineteen years old, responsible, quiet, and focused on her future, she's spent her entire life following the rules. While everyone around her chased adventures, Camila buried herself in books and dreams of college.

She's never had a boyfriend.

Never been kissed.

Never done anything reckless.

Until one night changes everything.

Dragged to a party by her friends just weeks before starting college, Camila finds herself completely out of her comfort zone. One drink becomes two. Two become too many.

The next morning, she wakes up alone.

With no memory of the stranger who shared her night.

No name or number.

No way to find him.

Camila tries to convince herself it was a mistake she can leave behind.

Then, days later, she discovers she's pregnant.

Determined not to let her future slip away, she begins college anyway, carrying a secret that grows heavier with each passing day.

What she doesn't know is that fate isn't finished with her.

Because somewhere on campus walks Dean Di Laurentis.

Twenty-one.

Arrogant.

Charming.

Everything she's not.

And completely unaware that one unforgettable night connected their lives forever.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ୨ৎ

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀୨ৎ

✧ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

✧ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

✧ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

✧ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

✧ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

✧ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

✧ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗

✧ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

✧ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

✧ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄

✧ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐍

✧ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

✧ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄

✧ 𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀୨ৎ

❝ sometimes love arrives with flowers.

sometimes love arrives with timing.

and sometimes love arrives disguised as a mistake. ❞

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀୨ৎ

[cinemalune]

# DEAN DI LAURENTIS – MATERIALIST

001. ONE-SHOTS

002. HEADCANNONS

Dean Di Laurentis as a jealous and clingy bf

003. SERIES

WRITTEN IN THE STARS – Ongoing

[cinemalune]

Dean Di Laurentis as a Jealous and Clingy Boyfriend

Dean likes to act like he’s above jealousy. He’ll laugh whenever someone suggests he’s the possessive type and throw out some cocky comment about how he has nothing to worry about. But the second another guy starts getting a little too comfortable around you, all that confidence becomes something much more dangerous.

The first sign is how quiet he gets.

Most people expect Dean to make a scene, to crack a joke or insert himself into the conversation. Instead, he watches. He leans against a wall with his arms crossed, jaw tight, pretending he isn’t paying attention while tracking every smile, every laugh, every second your attention is on someone else.

And when you finally look over at him?

That smile is gone.

Not completely. Just enough that you know exactly what’s bothering him.

He won’t say anything in front of other people. Dean is too proud for that.

Instead, the second you’re alone, he’ll casually ask, “So who’s that guy?”

You answer.

He nods.

Then comes the follow-up questions.

“How do you know him?

“Why does he text you so much?”

“Has he always been that friendly?”

When you point out that he’s being jealous, he’ll immediately deny it.

“I’m not jealous.”

“Dean.”

“I’m not.”

“You literally stopped talking for twenty minutes.”

“I was observing.”

“You were glaring.”

“I was evaluating the situation.”

The worst part is that he genuinely believes he’s being subtle.

He’s not.

The entire hockey team knows.

Garrett knows.

Logan knows.

Tucker knows.

The moment Dean wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you against him while staring directly at another guy, nobody is fooled.

Dean also becomes ridiculously clingy whenever he’s feeling insecure.

If you’ve been busy all week with classes, work, or friends, he’ll suddenly decide he hasn’t seen you in years.

You’ll be sitting in your dorm trying to study when he appears out of nowhere.

“What are you doing?”

“Studying.”

“That’s boring.”

“Dean.”

“I miss you.”

“You saw me yesterday.”

“I know. Tragic, isn’t it?”

He’ll flop onto your bed and refuse to leave.

He’ll put his head in your lap while you’re trying to read.

Wrap his arms around your waist while you’re making coffee.

Follow you from room to room just because he wants to be near you.

Half the time he doesn’t even need attention. He just likes your presence.

He’s the type to constantly reach for you without thinking.

His hand finding yours under a table.

His arm draped over your shoulders.

His fingers hooked through your belt loops while standing in line.

A hand resting on your thigh whenever you’re sitting together.

Physical touch becomes second nature for him.

And if you try moving away?

He’s immediately pulling you back.

Not forcefully.

Just enough to keep you close.

At parties, Dean somehow always ends up attached to you.

You start talking to someone, and within minutes his arm is around your waist.

Someone asks if you’re together and Dean answers before you can.

Someone flirts with you and suddenly Dean is standing much closer than before.

Not because he doesn’t trust you.

Because he doesn’t trust them.

When it comes to texting, he’s worse than anyone expects.

Dean pretends he’s low-maintenance.

He’s not.

If you don’t answer for a few hours, his messages slowly become more dramatic.

Hey.

How’s your day?

Miss you.

Are you ignoring me?

I know you’re alive because Instagram says you were active ten minutes ago.

This is actually a crime.

I’m suffering.

The second you respond, his reply appears almost instantly.

As if he’s been staring at his phone the entire time.

At night, the clinginess reaches another level.

Once Dean gets used to sleeping beside you, he’s ruined.

He wants you tucked against his chest.

He wants an arm around your waist.

He wants to wake up and immediately know you’re still there.

If you try getting out of bed early, you’ll feel his arms tighten.

A sleepy groan leaves him as he buries his face into your neck.

“Don’t go.”

“I have class.”

“So skip it.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. I believe in you.”

And if you actually manage to get out of bed, he’ll spend the next hour sending messages about how abandoned he feels.

The truth is that Dean falls harder than he ever planned to.

For someone who spent years avoiding serious relationships, he becomes surprisingly attached once he finds someone he loves.

He wants to know how your day went.

He wants random pictures while you’re apart.

He wants to hear your voice before bed.

He wants every spare minute he can get with you.

And no matter how much he complains when the team makes fun of him for it, the smile on his face whenever you walk into a room gives him away every single time.

Because Dean Di Laurentis is jealous.

He’s clingy.

He’s completely obsessed with you.

And honestly?

He stopped trying to fight it a long time ago.

[cinemalune]

not something to hide|2

Part 1 | Part 2

———

he doesn’t sleep that night, not even for a minute, just lies there staring at the ceiling with everything replaying on a loop he can’t shut off, your voice when you said it, the way it didn’t even sound angry anymore, just tired and hurt, like something in you had already given up, and that’s the part that gets to him the most because he can handle anger, he can argue back, defend himself, explain, but that quiet kind of disappointment? he has no idea what to do with that, and now it’s all he can see when he closes his eyes

he keeps going back to the exact moment he said her name, like if he rewinds it enough times he can somehow stop himself, choose different words, keep everything from breaking the way it did, but it doesn’t work like that and he knows it, so instead he’s left with the weight of it, the realization that it wasn’t just one mistake, it was everything leading up to it, everything he ignored, everything he justified under “protecting you” without ever actually asking how it felt on your side

because he did think he was protecting you

that’s the part that makes this worse, he wasn’t trying to hurt you, he was trying to avoid exactly this kind of situation, people knowing too much, saying too much, dragging you into something you didn’t ask for, he’s seen it happen before, seen how quickly things can turn ugly, how people can go from supportive to invasive in seconds, and the idea of that being directed at you made him pull back instinctively, keep things quieter, more controlled, more… contained

but lying there, with nothing to distract him, he finally admits the part he’s been avoiding too

it wasn’t just about you

it was about him too, about control, about not wanting something real in his life to become something public that he couldn’t manage, because once it’s out there, it’s not just his anymore, people have opinions, expectations, narratives they build on their own, and that terrified him more than he ever said out loud

so he kept you slightly separate, told himself it was safer that way, better that way

and never once stopped to think that from your perspective it might feel like he was pushing you away

like he was embarrassed of you

that thought alone makes his chest tighten, because that was never it, not even close, if anything it was the opposite, you mattered too much, which is exactly why he handled it so badly

by morning he knows he can’t just sit with it, can’t wait and hope it somehow fixes itself, so he goes to you, even if there’s a chance you won’t want to see him, even if there’s a chance he’s already too late

standing outside your door feels worse than anything he’s done on track, worse than any pressure he’s used to, because this actually matters in a way nothing else does, and when you open it, looking at him with that same guarded expression, he feels it all over again

“i know you probably don’t want to see me,” he starts, voice quieter than usual, rough from not sleeping, “but i need to explain, properly this time”

you don’t shut the door, and that’s enough for him to keep going

“what i said yesterday… about her,” he continues, forcing himself to say it even though it feels awful, “that was wrong, completely wrong, and i’m not going to try and downplay it, you didn’t deserve that, not even a little bit”

you stay quiet, just watching him, waiting

“i wasn’t thinking,” he admits, running a hand through his hair, “i felt like everything was slipping and i said the first thing that came to mind to defend myself, and it was careless and stupid and i hate that that’s what came out when i was talking to you”

he takes a small breath before continuing, because this part matters just as much

“but the rest of it, i need you to understand where i was coming from, not because it excuses anything, but because i don’t want you thinking i was ever ashamed of you”

there’s a flicker of something in your expression at that, and he steps a little closer, careful

“i’ve seen what people can be like,” he says, more steady now, more honest than he’s been before, “i’ve seen how they treat people who get pulled into this world, how quickly things can turn, and i didn’t want that for you, i didn’t want you dealing with all of that just because you’re with me”

you cross your arms slightly, still guarded, “you should’ve told me that instead of just shutting me out”

“i know,” he says immediately, nodding, “i know, and that’s on me, i handled it badly, i thought if i kept things quieter it would be enough, but i didn’t think about how that would feel for you”

he pauses, then adds, softer, “i didn’t realize i was making you feel like something i didn’t want people to see”

that lands, you can tell it does, but it doesn’t fix it, not even close

“i understand what you’re saying,” you tell him after a moment, and his chest lifts slightly at that, “i really do

he nods quickly, hopeful for half a second

“but that doesn’t change how it felt,” you continue, and that hope drops just as fast

he exhales slowly, bracing himself

“it’s not just what you said about your ex,” you go on, your voice calm but firm, “even if that was the worst part, it’s everything before that, the way you kept me at a distance, the way i had to ask for space in your life instead of just being part of it”

he looks down for a second, jaw tightening, because hearing it like that makes it impossible to defend

“i started feeling like i had to tone myself down around you,” you admit, quieter now, “like loving you the way i do was too much”

“it wasn’t too much,” he says immediately, looking back up, “it was never too much, i just…i didn’t handle it right”

“no, you didn’t,” you agree softly, and there’s no anger in it, which somehow hurts more, “and that’s not something that just goes away because you explained it now”

he nods slowly, because he knows you’re right, even if he hates it

“so what do i do?” he asks, more honest than anything else, “because i don’t want to lose you over this”

you take a breath, like you’ve been thinking about this longer than just today

“you don’t get me back just because you’re sorry,” you say, meeting his eyes, “and i’m not saying that to punish you, i’m saying it because i can’t just ignore how this made me feel”

that lands exactly how it’s supposed to, heavy and real

“i’m not asking you to ignore it,” he says quickly, “i just….i need a chance to fix it”

“you have a chance,” you tell him, “but that doesn’t mean we’re back together”

the words hit harder than he expects, even though he probably should’ve seen them coming

“so i just… what, wait?” there’s a slight edge of panic in his voice now he can’t fully hide

“you show me,” you correct gently, “you show me that you understand what went wrong, that you’re not just reacting because you’re scared of losing me, but because you actually get it now”

he nods, even if the idea of not having you fully there anymore feels wrong in a way he can’t explain

“and you don’t rush me,” you add, “you don’t decide when i should be over it”

“i won’t,” he says immediately, “i won’t rush you, i just…i’ll do whatever it takes”

“that’s exactly it,” you reply, “i don’t want you to do whatever it takes, i want you to actually mean it”

he stops for a second at that, because there’s a difference, and he knows it

“i do mean it,” he says, quieter now, more grounded, “i just need to prove it to you”

there’s a long pause, and then you nod, just slightly

“then prove it”

it’s not forgiveness, not even close, but it’s not the end either

and that’s enough for him to hold onto it

———

after that, nothing is easy

he doesn’t get to fall back into old habits, doesn’t get the comfort of knowing where he stands with you, everything feels uncertain and that’s something he hates, something he’s never been good at dealing with, but he forces himself to sit with it because this is the consequence of what he did

he starts small, consistent, not overwhelming you, not trying to force closeness back too quickly, just showing up, checking in, being there without expecting anything in return

and it’s hard, harder than he thought it would be, because he notices every difference

the way you don’t reach for him automatically anymore

the way there’s that small pause before you respond sometimes

the way you keep just enough distance that he can feel it constantly

and he doesn’t complain about it, doesn’t make it your problem

he just takes it

because he knows he’s the reason it’s there

he starts being more open too, not in a way that feels forced, but enough that it’s clear he’s not hiding you anymore, mentioning you when it comes up, not dodging it, not redirecting, letting people know you’re part of his life without acting like it’s something that needs to be kept separate

and when he asks you to come to a race, he does it differently this time

“you can say no,” he says, almost careful with it, “i’ll understand if you’re not ready”

you hesitate, and he prepares himself for that, for the possibility that it’s too soon

but then you nod, slow, unsure

“okay”

it’s not excitement, not like before, but it’s something

and when you’re there, he makes sure it’s different, not performative, not over the top, just… present, he checks in, includes you, doesn’t leave you feeling like you’re on the outside looking in, and when people notice, when attention shifts slightly, he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t retreat like he used to

he stays

with you

it doesn’t fix everything instantly, of course it doesn’t, you’re still careful, still holding a part of yourself back, and he feels it every time, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t try to rush you into being what you were before

because he understands now

that version of things is something he has to earn back

not something he gets just because he wants it

and slowly, very slowly, you start meeting him halfway again

not all at once, not dramatically, just in small moments

your hand brushing his and not pulling away

your shoulder leaning into his for a second longer than necessary

your guard slipping just enough for him to see that he’s not completely shut out

and he holds onto those moments carefully, doesn’t make them bigger than they are, doesn’t scare them off

because this time, he’s not trying to control how things look

he’s just trying to make sure you never feel like something he has to hide ever again

even if it takes longer than he wants

even if he has to sit in the uncertainty for as long as you need

because losing you once was enough to show him exactly what’s at stake

and he’s not making the same mistake twice

———

[cinemalune]

Should I write BTS fanfics too ?

Yesss !

Nooo !

Voting ended onMay 6

[cinemalune]

Honestly I’m still choosing Damon Salvatore over Stefan Salvatore because his love actually fits who Elena Gilbert becomes, not just who she was

Stefan loved her at her most human, her most innocent, and he kept trying to hold onto that version. Damon loved her even when she changed, when she got darker, when things weren’t clean or ideal anymore

Damon never needed Elena to be perfect to love her, Stefan kind of did

And the biggest thing is Damon grew because of her. He didn’t just love her, he let that love change him. With Stefan it always felt like Elena had to live up to something, with Damon she could just be exactly who she was becoming

That’s why Damon wasn’t just the more intense choice, he was the right one for her long term

That doesn’t mean I didn’t like Stefan or his relationship with Elena ( even if I think it was to fast burn ) I just preferred Damon as her romantic interes 😅

[cinemalune]

PJO Materialist

Percy Jackson

Jason Grace

Luke Castellan

Leo Valdez

Frank Zhang

Requests: Open

[cinemalune]

1 | Not something to hide

Oscar Piastri x reader

Part 1 | Part 2

———

it starts like something small, or at least that’s what oscar tells himself, because in his head this isn’t a real problem, it’s just a difference in how you both see things, how you show things, how much of yourselves you’re willing to give away to the world that already takes so much from him, so he stays calm at first, composed like always, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed while you stand a few steps away, clearly more affected than he is, or at least more willing to show it

“i just don’t get why it’s such a big deal,” you say, your voice tight but not raised yet, like you’re still trying to keep this from turning into something worse, “i’m not asking for anything crazy, oscar, i just want to be there more, i want to come to your races, i want to support you properly, not just from a screen like everyone else”

he exhales slowly, already feeling that familiar tension settling in his chest, the one he gets when something personal starts pushing too close to the very controlled life he’s built around himself, “it’s not about you being there or not, it’s just… complicated,” he says, choosing his words carefully, always carefully, “fans notice everything, they pick things apart, and i don’t want you dragged into that”

you let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, shaking your head as you look at him, “dragged into what? being your girlfriend? that’s not something horrible, oscar, that’s just… normal”

“not for me it’s not,” he replies, a little sharper this time, his patience thinning even though he doesn’t want it to, “you’ve seen how people are, how they talk, how they twist things, i’m trying to protect you from that”

“protect me or hide me?” the question lands heavier than anything you’ve said so far, and for a second he doesn’t answer, because he knows how it sounds even if that’s not what he means, not even close

he pushes off the counter, running a hand through his hair, “that’s not fair”

“isn’t it?” you shoot back, stepping closer now, your eyes glossy in a way that immediately makes something uncomfortable twist in his stomach, “you don’t post me, you avoid talking about me, i can’t even show up to your races without it being this whole discussion, do you know how that feels? it feels like you’re ashamed of me”

that hits something, deeper than he expects, and he shakes his head quickly, almost frustrated that you’d even think that, “i’m not ashamed of you, don’t twist it into that”

“then what is it, oscar?” your voice breaks slightly on his name and that’s what pushes the argument fully over the edge, because now it’s not just a disagreement, it’s hurt, real hurt, the kind he doesn’t know how to handle properly, “because from where i’m standing, it feels like you’d rather pretend i don’t exist than let people see how much i care about you”

“it’s not about that,” he insists, his tone tightening, composure starting to crack in small, subtle ways, “not everything has to be public, not everything has to be shown off, we’re fine the way we are”

“you’re fine,” you correct immediately, “i’m not”

that silence after that is heavy, thick with everything neither of you are saying properly, and he feels cornered in a way he hasn’t in a long time, like no matter what he says next it’s going to be wrong, so he falls back on something familiar, something easy, something he doesn’t think through nearly enough before it leaves his mouth

“i didn’t have this problem before,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, but still loud enough, “lily never made it this complicated”

the moment the words settle in the air, he knows

he knows instantly he’s made a mistake, a big one, the kind you can’t just smooth over with a quick explanation or a change of tone, and the look on your face confirms it before he even has the chance to try and take it back

you go completely still, like everything in you just shut down at once, your expression falling into something he’s never seen directed at him before, something hollow and shattered at the same time

“you did not just say that,” you whisper, and it’s not even angry, which somehow makes it worse

“i didn’t mean it like that,” he says immediately, stepping toward you, the composure gone now, replaced with something far more urgent, “it just came out wrong, i wasn’t…”

“you compared me to your ex,” you cut him off, your voice trembling now, your eyes filling in a way that makes his chest feel tight, almost painful, “because i love you differently”

“that’s not what i meant,” he repeats, but it sounds weak even to him, because he knows exactly how it came out, how it sounded, how it felt

you shake your head, stepping back when he tries to get closer, and that small movement, that distance, hits him harder than anything else so far, “no, you don’t get to fix it that easily, oscar, you don’t get to say something like that and then just….what? take it back like it didn’t happen?”

“i’m not trying to pretend it didn’t happen, i’m just saying i didn’t mean it like that,” his voice is rougher now, less controlled, panic starting to creep in around the edges, “you’re not her, i don’t want you to be her”

“then why bring her into it at all?” you ask, and there’s tears slipping down your cheeks now, but you’re not wiping them away, like you’re too overwhelmed to even think about it, “why make me feel like i’m too much just because i don’t love you quietly enough for you?”

he doesn’t have a good answer for that, not one that doesn’t sound like an excuse, and the silence stretches just long enough for everything to sink in properly

“i can’t do this,” you say finally, your voice small but firm in a way that immediately makes his stomach drop, “i can’t be with someone who makes me feel like i have to shrink myself just to fit into their life”

“what are you saying?” even though he already knows, even though the words are right there, he still asks, like maybe hearing them differently will change something

you swallow hard, forcing the words out despite the way your voice shakes, “i’m breaking up with you”

and that’s it, that’s the moment everything really falls apart, because whatever calm, controlled version of Oscar Piastri has been holding onto completely disappears

“no,” he says immediately, stepping forward again, this time not stopping when you instinctively move back, “no, don’t do that, don’t make a decision like this over something i said in the heat of the moment, i didn’t mean it, i swear i didn’t mean it”

you shake your head, crying properly now, and it wrecks him in a way he’s not prepared for at all, “it’s not just that, oscar, it’s everything, it’s how you make me feel like i’m something you have to hide, like loving you out loud is wrong”

“i don’t think that,” he insists, his voice brking slightly, hands hovering like he wants to touch you but doesn’t know if he’s allowed to anymore, “you can come to the races, all of them if you want, i don’t care, i’ll post you, i’l do whatever you want, just don’t leave like this”

the desperation in his voice is so unlike him it almost doesn’t sound real, like he’s someone else entirely, someone who’s losing control in a way he never does

but you just look at him, heartbroken and tired, and that hurts more than if you were angry

“i don’t want you to do those things just because you’re scared of losing me,” you say quietly, your words careful despite everything, “i wanted you to want to show me, not hide me like i’m some kind of secret you’re ashamed of”

“i’m not ashamed of you,” he says again, softer this time, almost pleading, “i never was”

“then why did it feel like that?” you ask, and he doesn’t have an answer that can fix it, not now, not after everything that’s been said

you take a step back toward the door, and he follows instinctively, like he can’t let you leave, not like this, not at all

“please,” he tries again, quieter now but somehow more desperate, “we can fix this, just-just give me a chance to fix it”

you pause for a second, and for a moment he thinks maybe you will, maybe you’ll turn back, maybe this isn’t the end yet

but then you shake your head, tears still falling as you look at him one last time

“i deserved better than being compared to someone else just because i loved you differently,” you say, your voice breaking on the last word, “and i deserved not to feel like something you had to hide”

and then you’re gone

the door closes, and the silence that follows is unbearable, heavy and final in a way that makes his chest feel like it’s caving in

he just stands there for a long moment, staring at the space where you were, replaying everything in his head over and over, every word, every expression, every second he wishes he could take back

because there’s no way this is how it ends, not like this, not over something he should’ve never said in the first place

and as the reality settles in, one thing becomes painfully clear to him

he’s not losing an argument

he’s losing you

and there’s no version of his life where that’s something he’s willing to accept, not without trying everything he possibly can to get you back

—

Note: ohhh I love a good angst ! So how did y’all think , sorry if it was a bit dramatic but I love a groveling man 😅🤭

Anyway IF you did like it please drop a like and follow! 🥹🧡

[cinemalune]

Quite Things

Lando Norris x reader

he doesn’t think of himself as someone who needs much, not really, he’s always been fine moving fast, race weekends, media, noise, people constantly around him but never really there, so he gets used to it, the quick pats on the back, the half hugs, the joking shoves, it’s all surface level and he never questions it because he’s never had anything else long enough to miss it

and then you come in and you’re different without trying to be, it starts small, it always does, you hug him like you mean it, not like a greeting, not like something you do out of habit, you just wrap your arms around him and stay there a second longer than people usually do, your hand resting flat against his back like you’re grounding him there, and the first time it happens he laughs it off, hugs you back quickly, pulls away because that’s what he’s used to doing, but there’s this weird pause after, like something didn’t finish properly, like a sentence cut off halfway through

he ignores it at first, genuinely doesn’t think about it, until it keeps happening, you sit close to him, knees touching and you don’t move, you reach for him without hesitation, fixing his hair, brushing something invisible off his shoulder, your fingers dragging lightly through the strands at the back of his head when you think he’s not paying attention, except he is, he always is, he just doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t know what he’d even say, all he knows is that every time you touch him something in his chest goes quiet in a way he didn’t realize was missing before

it becomes a thing before he notices it becoming a thing, he starts choosing the seat next to you without thinking, even when there are better ones, closer ones, more convenient ones, he just ends up beside you like it’s automatic, his arm brushing yours, his leg pressed against yours under the table, and when your hand finds his for the first time, properly, fingers slipping between his like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he completely loses his train of thought mid sentence, just stops talking, staring at your joined hands like he’s trying to figure out how something so simple feels so unfamiliar

you laugh at him, soft, asking if he’s okay and he says yeah too fast, a little embarrassed but he doesn’t pull away, not even a little, and after that he never does, it becomes something he waits for without admitting it, the way your hand fits in his, the way your thumb moves absentmindedly over his skin when you’re distracted, he starts leaning into you more, literally resting his head on your shoulder while you’re talking to someone else, barely noticing he’s doing it until he’s already there, and even then he doesn’t move because you don’t, you just tilt your head slightly so it rests against his and keep talking like this is normal, like he’s always been allowed to do this

that’s when it really sets in, not all at once but slowly, like something sinking under his skin, he starts looking for excuses, quiet ones, things no one else would notice, standing a little too close behind you so his hand can land on your waist when he passes, lingering just long enough to feel it, ducking his head toward you so you can “fix” his hair even when it’s perfectly fine, just because he likes the way your fingers move through it, slow and careful, like you’re not in a rush to let go

he doesn’t realize how much he depends on it until the first time it’s not there

it’s subtle at first, you still sit next to him but there’s space this time, not much, just enough that your knee doesn’t touch his unless he shifts closer, which he does, instinctively, but you don’t meet him halfway like you usually would, your hands stay to yourself, folded in your lap or wrapped around your phone, and he notices immediately, like a switch flipping somewhere in his head, something going wrong in a way he can’t ignore

he tries to brush it off, tells himself you’re just distracted, tired maybe, but then he reaches for you, casually, like he always does, his fingers brushing yours, and instead of lacing them together you pull your hand back slightly, not harsh, not obvious, just enough that it doesn’t happen, and it hits him harder than it should, way harder, this sharp, uncomfortable drop in his chest that makes no sense because it’s just a hand, just a small thing, but it doesn’t feel small anymore, it feels like something being taken away that he didn’t even realize he’d started needing

he goes quiet after that, more than usual, watching you without meaning to, noticing every little difference, the way you don’t lean into him, the way you don’t reach for him absentmindedly, the way your attention stays just out of reach, and it bothers him in a way he can’t explain, makes him restless, distracted, like he can’t settle properly in his own skin

by the time he finally asks, he’s already too deep in it

“did i do something?” it comes out more serious than he intended, quieter too, like he’s not sure he wants to hear the answer

you look at him, surprised for a second, like you didn’t expect him to notice, which somehow makes it worse

“no,” you say, but it’s not convincing, your eyes flicking away from his too quickly, “i just thought maybe i was being too much”

that actually stings, more than it should, because now he has to think about the fact that you almost stopped completely, that this version of things, this distance, could’ve been permanent if he hadn’t said anything

“too much?” he repeats, frowning slightly, stepping closer without realizing it, like he’s already trying to close the gap again

you shrug, small, unsure, “i don’t know, i just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything”

and that’s the moment it fully clicks, not gradually this time but all at once, the realization hitting him clean and sharp that it’s the opposite, that the only thing making him uncomfortable right now is the absence of you, of the way you touch him like it matters, like he matters in a quiet, steady way he’s never really had before

“it doesn’t,” he says quickly, a little breathless, like he’s been holding it in without knowing, “it doesn’t make me uncomfortable, it’s…” he stops, struggling to put it into words that don’t sound stupid, but there isn’t a better way to say it, so he just does, “i think i need it”

you blink at him, caught off guard, and he almost laughs at himself because of course that sounds ridiculous, he’s never been the type to say things like that, to admit something so soft out loud, but it’s true, painfully true now that he’s aware of it

“need it?” you echo, softer this time

he nods, running a hand through his hair before letting it drop awkwardly at his side, “yeah, like…when you stopped, i noticed immediately, and i don’t think i was supposed to, but i did, and it felt… wrong”

there’s a pause, not uncomfortable, just quiet, like something shifting between you, and then you step closer, closing the space he’s been trying to ignore, your hand finding his again, slow this time, giving him time to pull away if he wants to

he doesn’t

he holds on like he’s been waiting for it, fingers tightening slightly around yours, like he needs to make sure it’s real, that you’re not about to disappear again

and when your other hand comes up to rest against his cheek, light and warm, his eyes close for a second without him meaning to, leaning into it instinctively, like his body figured it out before his brain did

“you can just say if you want me to stop,” you murmur, thumb brushing lightly over his skin

he shakes his head immediately, almost a little desperate, “don’t,” and then, quieter, more honest, “please don’t”

so you don’t, and he doesn’t pretend it’s nothing anymore, doesn’t act like it doesn’t matter, because it does, more than he ever expected, more than he’s ready to admit to anyone else, but with you it’s easy, it’s quiet and constant and real in a way everything else in his life isn’t

and after that, he stops letting it be something that might disappear, he reaches for you first sometimes, pulls you closer without overthinking it, rests his head against yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world, because now he knows exactly what it feels like to lose it, even for a moment, and he’s not interested in going back to that version of things ever again

—

Note : Please be kind this is my first post and truly complete shot I did , like yea I will write in the past but never completely one or post it , English is not my first language so there can be some mistakes , but I did read it multiple times to make sure is as good as its gets !

If you did like it please give a like and follow!

[cinemalune]

Formula 1 Materialist

Lando Norris

Quiet Things

Oscar Piastri

1 | Not something to hide. Part 2

Charles Leclerc

Lewis Hamilton

Max Verstapen

Carlos Sainz

Kimi Antonelli

George Rusell

Requests: open

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