Don't Bother (Ghost X reader

33.

You stayed rooted to the spot, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter as if it could steady the storm inside you. The fruit you had come for was forgotten, your appetite replaced with a new kind of hunger—one you couldn't name, let alone satisfy. The kitchen light felt too bright now, too exposing, but you couldn't bring yourself to move.

The echo of his retreating footsteps faded, leaving only the pounding of your heart and the faint hum of the fridge. You should go back to bed, pretend this moment hadn't happened, but every nerve in your body begged you to follow him.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, your feet were moving, drawn like a moth to a flame. The hallway felt endless, your bare feet soundless against the hardwood floors. You found his door ajar, the faintest sliver of light spilling into the darkness.

You hesitated, your hand hovering over the doorframe. The rational part of your mind screamed at you to turn around, to retreat back to the safety of your room. But the memory of his touch, the weight of his words, and the way his gaze had burned into you made it impossible to walk away.

"Simon?" you called softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

You heard movement from inside, the creak of the mattress as he shifted. "Come in," he said, his voice low but inviting, as if he'd been expecting you.

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you. The room was dim, lit only by a small bedside lamp that cast warm shadows across his face. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped as if he were trying to hold himself back.

He looked up at you, his dark eyes soft yet intense, drawing you in. "Couldn't sleep either?" he asked, a faint smirk playing on his lips, though his tone was serious.

You shook your head, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze. "I just..." You trailed off, unsure of what to say, unsure of what you wanted—or maybe you knew but were too afraid to admit it.

He stood then, his movements slow and deliberate, like he was giving you time to back away. But you didn't. You stayed rooted to the spot, watching as he closed the space between you.

"Tell me to stop," he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper as he reached out, his fingers brushing your cheek. "If you want me to stop, just say the word."

You didn't. Instead, you leaned into his touch, your eyes closing as a shaky breath escaped you. That was all the permission he needed.

He closed the gap, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and intense, as if he'd been holding back for too long. His hands framed your face, grounding you as the world seemed to tilt beneath your feet.

You clung to him, your fingers tangling in his hair as the kiss deepened, the heat between you building like a fire that refused to be contained. It wasn't rushed—it was deliberate, every touch and movement a silent confession of everything he'd been holding back.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I've been trying to fight this," he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. "But I can't anymore."

You opened your eyes, finding his gaze locked on yours. "Then don't," you whispered, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess them.

He smiled, a genuine, unguarded smile that made your heart flutter. "Careful what you wish for," he teased, though the look in his eyes told you he was just as serious as you were.

And as he pulled you back into his arms, you knew there was no going back. This wasn't just a spark—it was a wildfire, and you were ready to burn.