#That reminds him of someone he barely remembers

[joelsrose]

Guns and Roses: Chapter 10

I KNOW I POSTED LAST NIGHT BUT I COULDN'T STOP MYSELF - HERE ENOYYY EEEEEEKKK

TW: VIOLENCE ANGST PUNCHING BRUISING

masterlist

“That guy’s a fucking asshole,” Caleb muttered as you walked in from dinner. You barely glanced his way, too emotionally drained to unpack the night’s events. The weight of it pressed down on you as you stood by the nightstand, brushing your hair in silent, rhythmic strokes, hoping the familiar motion might somehow clear the ache in your chest.

But even now, you could still feel the ghost of Joel’s hands on your face, his touch lingering as though he’d never really pulled away. He had been close—closer than you’d prepared for—and in that charged moment, you felt an undeniable pull, an ache that seemed to pulse through you, quietly urging him to close the distance. His lips, soft and pink, flashed in your mind like an oasis you hadn’t dared to reach, a forbidden place you’d denied yourself.

A wave of regret washed over you as you remembered the way he’d paused, held back, waiting for the smallest signal from you. You hadn’t given it, hadn’t let him know. And now, here in the quiet of this room, the memory of his nearness was all you had, and you couldn’t help but wish you’d crossed that line.

When you didn’t respond, Caleb lowered the book he’d been reading, placing it flat on his chest, his gaze heavy as he studied you through the mirror. The silence between you was thick, pressing down on you with an unspoken weight that made your hands falter as they brushed over your hair.

"Did you two ever…?" he asked finally, the question hanging in the air.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze for a moment before looking away. "No. We didn’t…never." The words were out quickly. You focused on your reflection, refusing to let your eyes drift back to his, hoping he wouldn’t see the flicker of hesitation that even you could feel deep down.

"Good." His reply was soft, almost a sigh, but it held a note of finality, a quiet relief he wanted to believe.

And it wasn’t a lie. You hadn’t crossed that line with Joel—not in the way Caleb feared. But there was something there, something you couldn’t name or give shape to, something that felt almost tangible in the way it filled every moment you shared with him. It was more than physical; it was a pull, a quiet force that you’d been holding back from fully understanding.

The memory of Joel’s expression tonight crept into your mind—how he’d looked at you with that pained intensity as you told him it was too late, that you were marrying Caleb. You’d said it with such conviction, surprising even yourself. The words had sounded so solid, so sure. But beneath that certainty was a war raging, a clash between the promise you’d made and the longing you still felt, a pull rooted so deeply in your gut it left an ache.

And now, in the stillness of this room, with Caleb’s expectant silence pressing against you, you wondered if that ache would ever truly fade—or if it was something you’d carry, a quiet, constant reminder of the path you hadn’t taken.

It wasn’t fair to Caleb. Every time he reached for your hand or pressed his lips to yours, you felt a pang of guilt, knowing he deserved someone who loved him without reservations, without ghosts lingering in her mind.

He deserved someone who wouldn’t drift away in thought at the feel of his hand, someone who didn’t close her eyes and wonder what it might be like if it were someone else.

You could feel the warmth of his affection, the weight of his love, and yet here you were, holding pieces of yourself back, leaving parts of your heart that he would never reach.

As you slipped into bed, Caleb broke the silence again, his voice hesitant but with a hint of determination. “I was thinking…maybe we could bring the wedding forward. Why wait?” His eyes searched yours, hopeful, trying to find some reflection of his own certainty. But you kept your gaze on the ceiling, your mind somewhere distant.

A part of you wanted to say yes—not out of some sweeping, undeniable love, but out of a quiet desperation for stability, a need to root yourself in something certain, someone who could finally drown out the constant hum of Joel in your mind.

You hoped that by making those vows, sealing your commitment in words as binding as they were final, you might stitch a clean line across the tangled feelings you held for him, quieting them to a faint, harmless echo.

But as the words hovered on the edge of your tongue, a knot of unease twisted deep in your gut, a silent protest rising within you, unyielding and impossible to ignore.

"…Let’s talk about it tomorrow. I’m tired." You rolled over onto your side, putting a small but needed distance between you.

“Alright. Goodnight,” he murmured softly, leaning over to press a kiss to your shoulder.

It should have felt comforting, grounding—something to pull you closer to the life you’d chosen.

But as he settled beside you, you lay there, eyes shut, wishing to feel something, anything at all.

•••

Days passed, and somehow it felt even worse knowing that Joel was somewhere in town, close but entirely out of reach. The weight of it settled in your chest—a hollow ache that you knew you had no right to feel. After all, you’d been the one to tell him it was too late, that you had chosen a different path.

But really, what choice had there been?

Life with Joel had always been a storm, unpredictable and wild, leaving you to gather the scattered pieces of yourself whenever he was gone.

As you moved through your days, running errands, keeping busy with mundane tasks—picking up supplies, stopping by the market, helping Maria with the garden—you found yourself glancing up each time you heard footsteps, your heart giving a hopeful leap before reason set in. Every time the doorbell chimed at the general store or someone rounded a corner on the main street, you’d scan their face, just in case it might be him. You told yourself it was foolish, that you shouldn’t expect him, but the habit was unbreakable.

Each disappointment left a quiet bruise. The truth was, you felt lost, untethered, like you were moving without a map. You were standing at a crossroads, one side offering you the safe, steady life you thought you wanted, and the other pulling you toward a need you barely understood, a pull so strong it scared the light right out of you.

Later that afternoon, as the sun dipped low, casting a warm, golden haze over everything it touched, the world seemed to glow in quiet reverence. Long shadows stretched across the ground, and the leaves caught the fading light, turning them into flickering embers of orange and red. It was a rare, perfect moment, as if the day itself was holding its breath.

“Hey, Ellie,” you called softly, spotting her standing at the edge of the porch. She stood with her gaze lowered, her shoulders tight, her usual spark dimmed and subdued. When she looked up, there was a heaviness in her eyes, a weight she carried with a quiet resilience that made your heart ache. You could see it—the struggle she didn’t want anyone else to notice, the weariness she’d tried so hard to hide.

"Did you want to come in?" you offered, gesturing toward the door.

She shook her head quickly. "No…out here’s fine."

You nodded, leaning against the railing, giving her space. She shifted on her feet, hands shoved deep in her pockets, a trace of hesitation flickering across her face.

"I wanted to…say sorry about dinner," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “That was really fucking stupid of me.”

You offered her a gentle smile. "Hey, don’t worry about it. Really."

But you could see the regret in her eyes, a silent apology lingering there. Without thinking, you opened your arms, and after a moment’s hesitation, she stepped forward, letting you pull her into a hug. Her arms wrapped around you tightly, and as she leaned into you, you felt her release a small, shuddering sigh, like she’d been holding her breath under the weight of everything she couldn’t say.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes met yours with an unusual intensity. "Has Joel…spoken to you?" she asked, her voice careful, like she was treading on fragile ground.

You nodded, averting your gaze, not quite sure where this was headed. "Yeah…we’ve spoken a little. Why?" Your tone came out a little guarded, betraying the unease stirring within you—you hadn’t expected her to bring him up.

Ellie hesitated, a look of vulnerability flickering in her eyes. "Did he…explain everything?"

You exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the admission settle over you. “Honestly? I was so angry, I didn’t really give him a chance to explain.” Running your fingers through your hair, you let out a weary sigh. “And…I’m not even sure it would change anything.”

She paused, her eyes searching your face, a flicker of disappointment shadowing her expression. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then hesitated, choosing her words carefully.

Finally, with a surprising gravity, she looked directly at you and asked, “Do you love him?”

"What?" you whispered, caught off guard.

“Do you love Joel?” she repeated, her gaze unwavering. “Because if you do, it matters.”

You were about to respond, ready to deflect, but Ellie didn’t give you the chance. In a quiet, deliberate motion, she rolled up her sleeve, revealing an unmistakable bite mark—jagged, the edges tinged with an unnatural red, yet somehow healed into a scar that seemed etched into her very soul. Your heart stopped, your breath caught as you stared at it, struggling to comprehend a reality you’d never imagined possible.

“I’m immune,” she said, her voice steady, though it carried an ache that had clearly weighed on her for a long time.

The world seemed to narrow to that bite, to the raw truth it held. Immune. The word echoed in your mind, almost too big to grasp, reshaping everything you thought you knew. That scar wasn’t just a mark—it was a revelation, a silent testament to survival against the impossible.

“I got bitten, years ago,” she began, her voice even and steady, each word carefully controlled, like she’d repeated this story to herself so many times that the shock of it had dulled, fading into a familiar ache. “And…I didn’t turn.” She paused, letting the weight of those words settle between you, their meaning unfathomable.

“Before we left, I was on patrol,” she continued, her gaze distant, focused somewhere beyond the room. “Those raiders—they knew about me. They were after me, after what I am. They want a cure, and to them, I’m the key. That’s why I had to leave Jackson, why I had to disappear.” She swallowed, a shadow flickering across her face. “They’d kill me to get what they wanted.”

She turned back to you, her eyes meeting yours with a quiet intensity. “Joel left because he was protecting me,” she said, her voice soft but unwavering. The words seemed to carry a depth of gratitude, pain, and loyalty that went beyond anything she’d ever let show before.

Her words sank into you like stones, heavy and undeniable, pulling you into the depths of everything she’d endured. For a brief moment, she looked scared, as if expecting you to recoil, to look at her with fear in your eyes. But all you could see was this girl—this brave, burdened girl who had lost so much and carried this unimaginable weight alone.

“Oh, Ellie…” you whispered, pulling her into a hug, holding her tightly, hoping it might lessen the weight she carried, even if just for a moment.

She mumbled against your shoulder, her voice muffled but tinged with her usual dry humor, “Are we just gonna hug all day?”

“Yes,” you replied softly, your arms wrapped around her. “Yes, we are.”

With Ellie against your chest, you found yourself lost in thought. Joel hadn’t abandoned you out of indifference; he had shouldered the enormous weight of keeping Ellie safe, protecting a secret that was far bigger than either of you. You thought about all he’d lost, the sacrifices he’d made, and the toll it had taken on him—the way it had hollowed him out, leaving a shell of the man you once knew.

A pang of guilt twisted within you, regret pooling in your chest as you realized how quickly you’d dismissed him, how you hadn’t given him the chance to bare his soul, to explain the truth he’d been carrying alone for so long.

Last night, he had practically begged for that chance, and you had turned away.

You pulled back, subtly brushing a tear from your eye, but Ellie noticed. She looked at you, her voice soft, gentle, as if she understood just how deep this conversation was cutting. “So…it’s not his fault. If you love him…please, don’t let this be the reason you don’t.”

A pang of guilt twisted in your chest, sharpening the ache that had already settled there. “Ellie, I…I spent a year thinking you two were dead. He could’ve left a note…anything.” The hurt slipped out, raw and honest, surprising even you.

Ellie snorted, a wry smile breaking through the tension. “Yeah, well, Joel’s a fucking idiot sometimes. But he’s your idiot, y’know? And if you feel even a tiny bit of what he does for you, then you’ve gotta let that Caleb guy go.”

You blinked, genuinely caught off guard. “Ellie!”

“I’m serious!” she threw her hands up in exasperation, her voice taking on that familiar blunt edge. “Jesus, I feel like a damn couples counselor here, but come on. Think about it. Really think about it.”

Her words lingered in the air as she turned to leave, cutting straight to the heart of your indecision, leaving you with no easy escape. You could only give her a silent nod, your mind louder than it had been in a long time.

•••

It was your birthday.

Once, this day had been filled with meaning—sun-soaked afternoons at the beach, laughter stretching into late nights, bouquets of flowers from a boyfriend who felt like he knew you better than anyone. Back then, it was a day to celebrate, a marker of joy. But now, it felt different, a quiet reminder of time passing, of things that had faded and slipped away.

You groaned as the blinds opened, spilling bright, uninvited light across the room, tugging you from the last, lingering fragments of a dream. Caleb leaned over, pressing soft kisses across your face, each one gentle and warm.

But somehow, the touch felt…misplaced, like an ill-fitting piece in a puzzle. Your mind betrayed you, drifting to thoughts of Joel—to the imagined sensation of his rough beard brushing against your cheek, the warmth of his presence unmistakable, something that lingered even in his absence.

"Good morning, baby. Happy birthday," Caleb murmured, his voice warm, affectionate, grounding.

You forced a smile, whispering, “Morning,” while your thoughts drifted somewhere else.

Caleb clapped his hands together, the sound bright and eager. "Alright! Get up, get dressed. I’ve got a surprise for you," he announced, his excitement almost childlike, lighting up the room.

You groaned, rolling your eyes playfully. “You know I hate surprises.”

But that was a lie, wasn’t it? You remembered the time Joel had taken you to the farm, how he’d planned every detail with an unexpected tenderness. And that other time he’d led you out under the vast night sky, revealing that he’d named a star after you, his shoulders brushing against yours.

The man had literally gifted you a piece of the heavens, and that memory burned brighter than anything else.

•••

You got dressed, brushing off Caleb’s playful protests as he tried to convince you to let him blindfold you. “Come on, just this once!” he begged, grinning as the two of you strolled side by side down the street. But you could already guess where he was leading you.

Maria’s house.

Sure enough, as you reached her porch, he made one final attempt. “Okay, let me put it on now, just so they think we walked the whole way like this.”

“Fine,” you relented, laughing as you let him tie the scarf over your eyes. His laughter mixed with yours as he guided you up the steps and inside.

The warmth of Maria’s house wrapped around you instantly, filled with the familiar scents of home-cooked food and fresh coffee. You could hear rustling, hushed whispers, and the occasional stifled giggle—a poor attempt at hiding what was clearly waiting for you. But it brought a genuine smile to your face, their clumsy enthusiasm both endearing and comforting.

“Alright, take it off now,” Caleb whispered, barely containing his excitement.

As he slipped the scarf from your eyes, a chorus of voices filled the room. “Surprise!”

You blinked, taken aback even though you’d guessed it. Around you stood everyone who mattered—Maria, Ellie, Tommy, each face smiling with warmth and sincerity. You took it all in, grateful for each of them. But as your eyes swept across the room, you felt a small, inexplicable pang in your chest.

Joel wasn’t there.

Of course he wouldn’t be. You’d been the one to end things, to say it was too late. He had no reason to show up, no reason to pretend it didn’t still hurt. And yet, the emptiness of his absence gnawed at you, a hollow ache you hadn’t expected, a vacancy that cast a subtle shadow over the gathering.

For a moment, you almost laughed at yourself, at how foolish it was to feel his absence so sharply amidst people who loved you.

Maria’s hug grounded you, pulling you back into the moment. “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice a gentle warmth that seeped into your heart.

“Happy birthday, sunshine!” Tommy chimed in, his baby balanced on one hip, his grin wide and teasing. “You’re getting old!”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Not as old as you, Tommy.”

Ellie was next, bounding over with her usual mischievous smirk. “Happy birthday! Don’t worry, I didn’t get you anything lame,” she added, with a wink that drew a laugh from you.

You glanced around, noticing the mismatched wrapping paper on a small pile of gifts, streamers drooping from the ceiling, looking like they’d survived a few birthdays already.

Somehow, the makeshift charm of it all was perfect. “Guys…you didn’t have to do all this,” you said, a hint of emotion tightening your voice.

Tommy grinned, nodding at Caleb. “All your man’s idea. He wanted to make this one special.”

You looked over at Caleb, his face beaming with pride and affection. “Thank you,” you murmured, giving him a soft kiss, hoping the gesture might quiet the conflicted feelings bubbling up beneath the surface.

“Alright, enough of that,” Caleb said, clapping his hands with a grin. “Let’s get to the presents!” He gently steered you toward the center of the living room, where the small pile of gifts awaited, each one carrying a personal touch from those who cared about you.

You settled onto the floor, surrounded by colorful packages, each one wrapped with care. Caleb handed you the first gift, and you carefully peeled back the paper to reveal a beautifully scented candle—a blend of lavender and cedar, one of Lydia’s creations from her little workshop on the edge of Jackson.

“Oh, I love this! Who’s it from?” you asked, holding up the candle and breathing in the familiar scent.

“Uh-uh,” Tommy chimed in, grinning from the couch as he crossed his arms. “You gotta guess—makes it more fun.”

You smiled, glancing around the room, already having an idea. “Maria. She knows I’m obsessed with this scent.”

“Guilty,” Maria laughed, raising her hand with a playful shrug. “Thought it’d be perfect for you.”

Next, you picked up a small, oddly shaped package wrapped in newspaper with tape clumsily slapped on every edge. Inside was a mug, boldly painted with “#1 Old Person” in bright letters, complete with a cartoon of a grumpy face and a cane.

You raised an eyebrow, stifling a laugh. “Let me guess…Ellie?”

Ellie groaned, crossing her arms. “What? I thought it was perfect!” she said, though her grin was unmistakable. “I mean, you’re getting up there, aren’t you?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, holding the mug up to show everyone. “This is…incredibly accurate. Thanks, Ellie,” you said, trying to look serious as you held back a smile.

Ellie shrugged, her smirk widening. “Just keeping you humble.”

Tommy’s gift came next, wrapped in an old flannel shirt and tied with a strip of leather. You unwrapped it to reveal a sturdy, worn pocketknife, the blade engraved with delicate etchings of mountains and pine trees, like the landscapes around Jackson. It had clearly seen its share of use but had been cleaned and polished until it gleamed.

“Thought you could use a reliable blade,” Tommy said with a grin, leaning back with that familiar glint of pride. “Got a lot of history in that one. Used to belong to one of the rangers around here, way back when.”

You turned it over in your hands, feeling the weight of it, the smoothness of the handle that felt perfectly worn to fit. It wasn’t just practical; it felt like a piece of the land, of all the paths you’d come to know.

“Thank you, Tommy,” you said, meeting his gaze. “It’s…perfect. Really.”

Soon, only two small packages remained beside you. You looked around, eyebrows raised, wondering who might’ve gone out of their way to get you two gifts. You picked up the first one, turning it over in your hands, curiosity prickling at you.

The package was wrapped with a care and precision that immediately drew your attention. It was covered in a soft, natural brown paper, the kind that felt textured under your fingertips, like it had been chosen intentionally. A delicate rope ribbon was tied around the top, carefully knotted and finished with a small, neat bow—a touch that made it feel personal, thoughtful, like someone had taken their time to make this moment feel special.

You slowly undid the ribbon, your fingers grazing over the rough twine as you pulled back the paper. Inside was a packet of rose seeds, their delicate promise of life and color held in each tiny seed. The simple, quiet beauty of it took you by surprise, and your heart swelled, a rush of unexpected joy flooding through you.

Seeds like this were rare, a near-impossible find. You’d managed to cultivate a few hardy plants in your garden, but roses—roses were a dream you’d given up on long ago. Caleb must have gone out of his way, venturing further on patrol, searching specifically for these, knowing how much they’d mean to you.

Without a second thought, you jumped up, wrapping your arms around him, the weight of the gesture sinking in.

In this moment, everything felt right—solid and certain, grounded in this small but powerful act of care. For the first time, you felt a sense of calm about your future with him, a glimmer of peace in the middle of all the chaos.

“Caleb, this is incredible—how did you even find these?” you asked, your voice filled with wonder.

But as you looked up at Caleb, a strange, pained expression crossed his face. His eyes flickered, a brief moment of something almost like discomfort, his smile fading as he seemed to brace himself.

He looked queasy, unsteady, as if something within him had just cracked. “Uh…that’s not from me,” he murmured, his voice sounding hollow, almost broken. He rubbed the back of his neck, unable to meet your gaze.

The words sank in slowly, and you felt yourself pull back, the warmth of the moment slipping away as confusion took its place. The room fell into a tense, awkward silence, a stillness that felt like it stretched forever. You glanced around, searching for answers in the faces around you, but all you found was the same look of surprise and discomfort reflected back at you.

Then, with a crushing inevitability, it hit you.

Joel. It was Joel.

The truth settled over you like a weight, dragging you down as the air seemed to still around you. The seeds—the rare, impossible seeds, the effort someone would have gone to just to find them, to make them yours. It had Joel written in every detail, every small, unspoken gesture meant to convey what words never could. The realization clawed at you, turning what had been a moment of pure joy into something complicated, something unbearably tender and painful all at once.

Your fingers tightened around the packet, the tiny seeds now feeling impossibly heavy in your hands, as if they held all the things left unsaid between you.

You didn’t dare look up, didn’t want to see the pity or confusion on anyone’s face, least of all Caleb’s. The warmth of his love, the comfort you had just found, suddenly felt fragile, slipping through your fingers as your heart twisted with the undeniable truth that, despite everything, Joel had left his mark on you, deep and unshakeable.

•••

You sat with Maria on the couch, the gentle hum of conversation around you fading as Tommy, Ellie, and Caleb headed outside to set up a fire pit. Their voices blended into low laughter and the crackle of kindling, a comforting sound that drifted back to the house.

Caleb had gifted you a leather-bound journal, its pages blank and waiting, a thoughtful gesture, especially since yours had nearly run out of space. Yet, somehow, the gift felt strangely hollow, unable to fill the silence left behind by everything else you couldn’t voice.

Maria’s voice cut softly through your thoughts. “He’s on patrol,” she said, her tone quiet but knowing, as if she understood more than she let on.

You looked at her, catching her gaze, something flickering there that made you feel seen in a way you weren’t ready for.

She nodded gently. “He wanted to come,” she continued, “but he couldn’t miss his shift.”

“Oh.” You tried to keep your voice even, unaffected, but you felt an unbidden rush of relief mingling with a strange disappointment.

Why did knowing he wanted to be here, but couldn’t, make your chest tighten? Why did it bring that bittersweet feeling creeping in, like a sigh you couldn’t let go of?

He would have been here if he could.

“But he’ll be there tonight,” Maria added, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, her tone light but carrying a hint of something unspoken.

“Tonight?” You glanced at her, feeling a sudden stir of curiosity tangled with a wary edge. “What do you mean?”

Maria raised her eyebrows, her expression feigning innocence but laced with amusement. “Ah, Caleb and his damn surprises. Guess he didn’t tell you?”

You shook your head, an odd mix of dread and excitement swirling in your chest, tightening like a knot. The idea of seeing Joel—of being in the same room after the weight of today’s revelations—left your mind in a quiet spin.

“We’re all heading to the Tipsy Bison tonight,” she said, giving your knee a reassuring pat. “Figured we’d celebrate properly, give you a chance to unwind.”

“Sounds…nice,” you murmured, managing a small smile.

Maria leaned closer, a playful glint in her eyes. “Well, I have another gift for you…but I didn’t want to show Caleb up. Though, I think that ship might’ve already sailed.”

“Maria!” you protested, but you couldn’t help laughing with her.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” she said, her chuckles spilling over as she led you upstairs. “Sorry, that was mean.” She caught her breath, grinning. “But still—you’re gonna love this.”

“You’re such an ass,” you teased, nudging her as you followed her into her room.

“Here it is,” she said, reaching into her closet.

There it hung - a dress crafted by Maria, a vision of elegance and simplicity. Made from a soft, creamy fabric, it hugged the body in all the right places, flowing naturally down to a midi length that grazed just below the knees. The neckline was a gentle scoop, the capped sleeves curved gracefully over the shoulders, lending the dress a vintage charm.

Scattered across the dress were small, floral cutouts, almost like dainty stars punctuating the fabric, allowing subtle glimpses of skin beneath. The fabric managed to be both demure and alluring, with a timeless, almost ethereal quality, as if it belonged to another era yet felt perfectly suited for the present.

It was a dress that could turn heads in any room—simple, beautiful, and quietly captivating.

You stared, momentarily speechless. “Maria…this is stunning.”

She smiled, giving you a nudge. “I thought you might like it. Figured it was time you had something as beautiful as you are.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you ran a hand over the dress, feeling the luxurious fabric beneath your fingertips. “I’ll wear it tonight,” you said softly, a touch of excitement sparking within you.

•••

You felt a flutter of nerves, the unmistakable butterflies in your stomach—a feeling you hadn’t encountered in a while. It was both thrilling and unnerving, like something had shifted inside you, but you couldn’t quite name it.

As you walked toward the Tipsy Bison, your mind wandered to Joel. You pictured him leaning against the bar, his usual presence a quiet, magnetic force.

Would he say hello? Would he give you space, giving no more than a polite nod? Would he even bother to acknowledge you?

As you made your way through the crowd at the bar, the subtle signs of birthday decorations became apparent—scavenged balloons in soft pastel shades, a few whispers of “Happy birthday” as you passed familiar faces. Caleb’s hand rested lightly on your lower back, a small but constant touch that didn’t go unnoticed.

When Caleb saw you come down the stairs from Maria’s room, wearing that dress, his breath caught in his throat. You were a vision in cream, the soft fabric catching the dim light of the bar, and for a split second, he thought about you standing at the altar, ready to take his last name, ready to belong to him completely.

"Let’s get the birthday girl a fucking drink!" Tommy exclaimed, his voice already tinged with the warmth of a few drinks, clearly eager to get the night started.

"Cheers to another year older and wiser!" he added, lifting his glass high with a grin.

"Cheers," you echoed, raising your glass, the weight of the night settling on your shoulders as you took in the faces around you. The warmth of the room, the laughter, and the clinking of glasses felt almost surreal.

You found yourself scanning the room, searching for Joel, an unspoken urgency tightening in your chest. Where was he?

“Looking for someone?” Caleb’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you turned, feeling a flicker of disappointment you couldn’t quite hide.

“Oh, there you are,” you replied, forcing a smile, but the words felt hollow, empty. The brightness in his eyes didn’t reach you, and for a brief, guilty moment, you couldn’t ignore the ache in your heart that only one person seemed to fill.

“Let’s dance,” he said, taking your hand and pulling you onto the dance floor. His touch was warm, but there was something detached in the way he held you, something that didn’t settle right in your chest.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured, as you began to sway to the soft thrum of music in the background.

“Thank you,” you replied, your words automatic as your gaze flickered toward the door of the Tipsy Bison, your heart still fluttering with anticipation.

You tried to focus on the rhythm of your movements, the way the soft music swirled around you, but your mind kept drifting, restless.

A voice summoned Caleb away, murmuring something about a cake you weren’t supposed to know about. He shook his head, clearly frustrated that the moment had to end. "I'll be right back," he promised, his gaze lingering.

You chuckled softly, not wanting to make it harder for him to leave. “It’s fine, really. Go on—I’ll find Maria in the meantime.”

You turned to find her and Tommy somewhere in the crowd, but then you felt it—the pull. A visceral, gut-wrenching tug that stole the breath from your lungs, like some magnetic force had wrapped itself around your very core.

It was something primal, something undeniable, surging through you like lightning, an irresistible draw toward the one person you hadn’t been able to shake from your heart, not even for a moment.

He was here.

You gasped quietly, the sound caught somewhere between a breath and a whisper as you turned. And there he was.

Joel.

Your heart thundered wildly, drowning out every other sound as you took him in. He looked achingly handsome, cleaned up in a way you’d never seen—his beard trimmed to perfection, each hair deliberate yet effortlessly rugged. He wore a dark button-up that fit him with an almost devastating precision, every line and curve of him highlighted, yet softened by the shirt’s deep hue. His hair was slicked back, adding a polish to his usual rough edges.

His gaze swept the room, searching, until it found you. And when his eyes landed on you, a subtle shift crossed his face—a flicker of uncertainty melting into something so tender, so open it felt like a gift.

A slow, guarded smile broke across his lips, the kind of smile that felt rare and carefully offered. And despite yourself, you mirrored it, warmth spreading through your chest, leaving you breathless, your heart catching as you looked back at him.

He started toward you, his steps almost tentative, as if each one took more courage than the last. There was something shy in the way he approached, and it was so painfully sweet that it left a hollow ache, a dizzying rush, a feeling you couldn’t name but felt in every fiber of your being.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured, pulling you into a hug that felt like it wrapped around every inch of you, enveloping you in a warmth that made the world fall away.

His arms were strong, steady, and as he held you, you felt your knees weaken, the weight of his presence overwhelming yet grounding. You clung to him, not daring to move, as if letting go would break whatever fragile spell had pulled him here, to you, in this moment.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice trembling, the words barely making it past the thundering pulse in your ears. It felt like your heart had taken up residence in your throat, every beat a reminder of how real he was, how close.

“I, uh…” He trailed off, his voice catching, and for a heartbeat, you saw him—truly saw him—vulnerable, a hint of hesitation softening the hard lines of his face. “I wanted to come by earlier, but I got caught up on patrol.”

“Maria told me,” you replied, your words spilling out before you could even think, laced with a breathlessness you couldn’t hide.

He nodded, a flicker of something almost bashful passing over his face, his jaw tightening as if he was struggling to hold back. There was a gentleness in his expression, a quiet depth that made your chest ache, that left you wanting to memorize every line, every flicker of his gaze.

“Did you…did you get my gift?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. That roughness in his tone, usually so sure, now carried a raw, unguarded edge, and in that single question, you could feel the weight of every unspoken word between you—tender and vulnerable, lingering just beneath the surface.

You nodded, your smile deepening. “It was perfect,” you murmured, warmth flooding your chest as you thought of the rose seeds he’d chosen, each one a promise, a quiet gift just for you.

A genuine smile broke across his face, softening those guarded lines, and you realized how long it had been since you’d seen him like this—unguarded, open. “Good,” he said, almost tenderly. “For your garden.”

His gaze traveled over you, lingering in a way that made your heart pound. “That’s… a hell of a dress” he murmured, his voice low, eyes tracing every line and curve, his stare lingering on you as if he was seeing you for the first time, taking in every detail.

A blush crept up your cheeks under the weight of his attention, a rush of warmth that spread through you, leaving you both exposed and exhilarated. The intensity in his eyes was almost too much, a fire you couldn’t look away from, and yet…you didn’t want to.

“Thanks… Maria made it,” you replied, voice softer than you meant, struggling to find your footing under his gaze.

He nodded, his gaze flickering briefly around the room, watching the couples swaying together in soft rhythms on the dance floor. There was a pause—a flicker of something in his expression, something that felt like hesitation, vulnerability even. Then, in a voice so low it was almost a whisper, he asked, “May I?”

This was dangerous, reckless—you shouldn’t, you thought. Not with your fiancé just a few feet away, busy in the kitchen preparing your birthday cake.

But something in you betrayed that logic, and after a heartbeat, you nodded, surrendering. His hand slipped around yours, warm and steady, and he led you onto the dance floor. The moment felt surreal, as if the world had slipped into a different time and space where only the two of you existed.

Everything around you dissolved—the lights, the murmurs of other people, even the steady hum of music. All that was left was him, his hand at the small of your back, guiding you in gentle steps that felt too right, too natural, like you had always been meant to move this way together. The rhythm of the song was a soft thrum in the background, intimate and unhurried, but it was his presence that overpowered it, anchoring you, drawing you closer.

With each step, every subtle shift, you felt yourself spiraling deeper into his orbit, as if the universe had tilted just to place you here, in this fragile, fleeting moment. And for now, just this once, you let yourself be swept away, the rest of the world dissolving like a forgotten dream.

The soft fairy lights strung across the Tipsy Bison cast a warm, golden glow, illuminating his eyes until they looked like molten honey—rich, deep, filled with secrets and stories you’d give anything to know. Those eyes were the kind that made the air hitch in your lungs, made you feel as if you were the only person in his world.

And under his gaze, you almost believed it.

Your hands intertwined perfectly, his fingers wrapping around yours in a way that felt like a homecoming, as though they’d always been meant to find solace there. His other hand settled low on your hip, his thumb brushing gentle, rhythmic circles against you, a touch so grounding yet tender it sent a warmth spreading through you. His movements guided you in a slow, unhurried sway, the two of you falling effortlessly into a rhythm that matched the music’s soft, steady beat.

“Where… where’d you find the seeds?” you asked, your voice soft, almost hesitant, eyes searching his face, trying to catch every flicker of expression.

“When Ellie and I were… uh, gone,” he began, his voice steady yet laced with something raw, something fragile. He looked down, his gaze drifting to the floor before meeting yours again. “Found ’em and thought of you. Kept ’em, just in case I ever…” He trailed off, the unfinished words hanging heavily between you, laden with all the things he’d never said, all the things that had gone unspoken but never unfelt.

The space around you thickened, the weight of his thoughtfulness settling into every unspoken inch between you. He hadn’t merely thought of you in passing—he’d carried you with him, held onto this small piece of hope, even when it seemed like whatever you had was just a distant memory, too far gone to ever reach again.

“Oh.” The word slipped from your lips, barely above a whisper, your heart thundering in your chest as you absorbed everything his quiet confession held. You looked up at him, feeling the impact of everything you’d just learned, the depths he’d gone to, the things he’d kept close.

“Ellie told me.”

You felt him still, his hand pressing a little firmer against your hip, grounding himself in the moment. “She did?” His voice was barely audible, tinged with an emotion you couldn’t quite name—relief? Regret? A complicated blend of both.

“Yeah,” you replied, voice trembling. “She told me everything… about her bite, about why you left.”

When he finally looked back at you, there was a glimmer of something vulnerable in his eyes—a quiet, almost desperate hope that made your chest ache.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Joel?” The question slipped out, your voice barely above a whisper, yet heavy enough to linger in the air. “Why didn’t you wake me up? Or… at least leave a note?”

The sounds around you faded, the music dimming to nothing as his expression shifted, his gaze dropping. He seemed to struggle, the silence stretching out between you until it felt like it could crack under the weight of everything unsaid.

Finally, he spoke, his voice rough and raw. “I know,” he muttered, barely above a whisper, each word weighed down with regret. “I know it was…fucking stupid. Should’ve told you, should’ve explained. There’s no excuse—I should’ve just…should’ve told you, I think.” He paused, swallowing hard, his gaze dropping as though he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes. “I was scared, and I know that sounds like a damn pathetic excuse, but… it’s the truth.”

He took a shaky breath, as if gathering the courage to continue. “I thought if I just… left quietly, it wouldn’t feel so real. But saying goodbye… I couldn’t face it. Couldn’t face you.” His voice wavered, a crack of vulnerability slipping through. “And now I’d do anything to go back, to change it all. Anything.”

There was a painful honesty in his tone, an ache that seemed to reach down to his very core. His shoulders tensed, his jaw set with the weight of guilt he’d been carrying, a guilt that had carved itself deep into him.

You could see it in the way his gaze wavered, as if he couldn’t quite meet your eyes, as if he was bracing himself for whatever judgment you might cast. In that moment, he was laid bare, stripped of his usual guarded strength, showing you the bruises he kept hidden—the hurt he’d caused himself by walking away.

You stayed silent, the words tangled up in your chest, knotted and aching, fighting to break free.

“I missed you,” you whispered, the confession slipping out before you could stop it, carrying a weight that felt almost too heavy to bear. The words hung in the air, soft yet resonant, filled with regret, with longing, with an ache you hadn’t realized was still so raw.

He looked at you, his eyes widening just slightly, a glimmer of something fragile lighting in his gaze. “You… did?” His voice was barely above a murmur, hesitant, like he didn’t dare believe it, yet there was a quiet desperation in his expression—a need to hear it, to let himself hope, even if it was dangerous. The look he gave you made the air feel heavier, thick with all the emotions you’d been holding back.

“Of course I did,” you replied, meeting his gaze and feeling your heart twist at the vulnerability in his face. “You took care of me in ways I didn’t even realize until you were gone.” Your voice dropped, and you looked down, feeling your chest tighten. “I—I couldn’t sleep for months without you there beside me. Didn’t want to admit it, but… it felt like I was drowning without you.”

He looked at you now like you were the answer to something he’d been searching for, as if those words had bridged a chasm he’d thought was too wide to ever cross.

The confession slipped out, raw and unguarded, before you could even think to hold it back. You had spent so long convincing yourself that you were better off without him, telling yourself that you’d moved on, that you didn’t need him.

But the truth was, you hadn’t been whole since he left. Each night, lying alone in the vast emptiness of your bed, it felt as though some vital piece of you was missing, like a wound that refused to heal.

“I thought about you every day,” he murmured, his voice thick, laced with a depth of emotion that made your chest ache. The words lingered between you, heavy with the weight of everything he’d kept buried.

In his eyes, you could see it—the regret, the longing, the silent, unyielding truth he’d been carrying alone. And in that moment, he wasn’t hiding anymore; he was letting himself be seen, stripped of all pretense, finally letting you see the vulnerability he’d kept locked away.

His hand slid down to your hip, then rose slowly, almost as if he were afraid you might pull away, before settling on your face, his fingers brushing your cheek with a touch so light it felt like it might disappear if you blinked.

It was intoxicating—not the whiskey, but the overwhelming gravity of him, the way his mere presence made you feel more alive, more vulnerable, than you’d ever thought possible.

Only he could do this—make you feel utterly exposed and entirely safe, with just the whisper of his fingers against your skin.

His thumb drifted down, grazing your bottom lip, parting it ever so slightly, his gaze following the movement with a fierce, aching intensity, as though he were memorizing every detail, committing the sensation to memory. “To think,” he murmured, his voice a rough blend of regret and yearning, “I never got to kiss these lips.”

“Joel…” The whisper slipped from your lips, trembling, as if your own voice could barely contain the weight of his name. The ground beneath you felt like it was crumbling, the world narrowing to this one breathless moment. Your knees weakened, a quiet surrender overtaking you, and for the first time, you felt helplessly, beautifully powerless, lost in the ache between his fingertips and his gaze.

You felt his hand slip to the back of your neck, steadying you as he drew you closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body, the solid strength of him grounding you in a way that nothing else could. He gave you a sad smile, one that broke something inside you, because it was tinged with so much sorrow it never quite reached his eyes.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, his voice soft, a little rough, almost like a plea. His hand slid up, guiding you until your head rested against his chest, your ear pressed to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “Just… let me hold you,” he whispered, his words thick with an ache he couldn’t hide. “Please… don’t say anything.”

You nodded, sensing the unspoken fear in his eyes—the fear that you might tell him to stop, to pull back, to shatter this fragile closeness he so desperately clung to.

In his arms, you felt something deeper than comfort; it was a sense of belonging, a promise wrapped in the warmth of his hold, a silent assurance that, for this brief moment, everything was as it should be. And yet, somewhere beneath that warmth, there was an ache—a quiet sadness that made it feel like both a beginning and an ending, like a promise and a goodbye, woven together in the quiet, unspoken understanding that neither of you dared to break.

What you didn’t see was Caleb, emerging from the kitchen with a smile that radiated warmth and excitement. His eyes sparkled with the joy of seeing you again, eager to sweep you back into the celebration, to lose himself in the laughter and dance that had defined the night. But as his gaze landed on you and Joel—your hand pressed against Joel’s chest, his arm wrapped around you, the two of you standing impossibly close—Caleb froze.

In an instant, the warmth in his chest turned cold, hardening into a knot of dread that twisted painfully, souring the joy he’d felt only moments before. He saw the way your hand lingered on Joel’s chest, how Joel looked at you with an intensity Caleb could never ignore—a look filled with longing, regret, a depth that seemed to cut straight through him.

Caleb’s chest tightened, his pulse pounding as he took in the scene before him. Here was the man who felt like a shadow over everything Caleb dreamed of—a silent barrier between you and the life he wanted to build, a man who symbolized not just an obstacle, but a threat to the future Caleb had envisioned with you.

•••

A cough broke the silence, slicing through the tension like a blade. Caleb stood in front of you, his expression tightly controlled, but the pain in his eyes spoke louder than words. He wasn’t the kind of man to yell or make a scene, but the quiet devastation in his gaze twisted something deep inside you.

“Mind if I steal my girl for a second?” he said, his voice tight, each word laced with barely contained frustration.

Joel’s shoulders slumped slightly, a flicker of resignation crossing his face as he gave a silent nod. He met your eyes one last time, an unspoken regret hanging there, before he backed away, disappearing into the crowd.

You turned to Caleb, forcing a small, uneasy smile, hoping he wouldn’t bring up what he’d just seen. But he didn’t return your smile. Instead, he swallowed, his jaw clenched, his eyes filled with a hurt that made it hard to meet his gaze.

“What the hell was that?” he asked quietly, his voice carrying a restrained intensity, the simmering anger unmistakable.

“Nothing,” you replied quickly, but even to your own ears, the words sounded hollow.

“Don’t.” His tone was sharper than you’d ever heard it, a warning edged with pain. “Don’t lie to me. Not now—not when we’re supposed to be getting married in a month.”

“We were just dancing, Caleb,” you insisted, but the words felt feeble, barely convincing even to yourself.

“Stop,” he said, his voice rising slightly, drawing a few glances from the people nearby. His face twisted with a mixture of hurt and frustration, his control slipping. “Don’t act like I didn’t see what was going on. You think I can’t see it? The way you looked at him?”

He took a shaky breath, his voice trembling as he continued, “I need you to be honest with me, because I can’t do this if there’s any part of you that’s still holding onto him.”

“Can we talk about this later?” you pleaded, feeling the weight of curious eyes around you, your voice a quiet entreaty.

“No.” Caleb’s response was immediate, his frustration evident. “We’re talking about this now.”

“Caleb,” you whispered, glancing around at the people watching, feeling exposed. “Please, not here. Not in front of everyone.”

“I don’t care who’s watching,” he said, his voice lower but unyielding. “I deserve to know what’s going on between you two—right now.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Tommy and Maria edging closer, their faces etched with concern as they observed the tension building between you and Caleb. Their presence only added to the weight pressing down on you, the intensity of the moment nearly suffocating.

Caleb’s gaze shifted, his frustration boiling over. “Where the hell is he?” he muttered under his breath, his jaw tight.

As if summoned by the charged air, Joel appeared beside you, his expression calm but his gaze sharp as he looked at Caleb. “No reason to be raising your voice at the lady,” he said, his tone low, but the quiet warning was unmistakable.

Caleb’s face hardened, a bitter sneer twisting his mouth. “I need to talk to you, asshole,” he said, voice taut with anger as he took a step closer to Joel.

“Caleb,” you began, your voice pleading, but he didn’t look at you. His eyes were locked on Joel, the rage barely contained.

“Go ahead,” Joel said coolly, crossing his arms as he met Caleb’s glare head-on, unflinching.

Caleb’s shoulders tensed as he moved even closer, his voice low, but the intensity behind it was unmistakable. “You need to back off. I don’t know what the hell you two had going on, but she’s my fiancée. And I don’t want to see you anywhere near her again.”

Joel’s gaze narrowed, his jaw tightening. “Don’t think that’s your call to make.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Caleb shot back, his voice rising enough to draw more attention, the frustration and hurt evident in his tone.

“Caleb, please,” you whispered, voice cracking, tears welling in your eyes. But he didn’t look at you—his gaze was fixed on Joel, anger and frustration hardening his features. Joel’s eyes, however, were on you, searching, his silent question clear: Are you okay?

“Caleb,” Joel said, his tone even, unshaken, “this isn’t the time. It’s her birthday.”

Caleb let out a bitter laugh, his eyes flashing. “Now you’re acting like you know what’s best for her?” He shook his head, his voice a mixture of hurt and disbelief. “I can’t believe you. You waltz back into her life, and suddenly you’re the one who understands her?”

Joel held his ground, his expression steady. “I’m not pretending to know everything,” he replied quietly. “But I know that right now, she doesn’t need this.”

Caleb clenched his fists, glancing at you, then back at Joel, his voice rising. “And what she needs is you?”

“Caleb, stop,” you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper, but the urgency in it held him in place.

“This isn’t the right time to talk about this,” Joel said, his voice low as he began to turn away, but not before casting a lingering glance your way—a quiet, unspoken reassurance.

But Caleb wasn’t done. “Hey! You don’t get to walk away from me, asshole.” He reached out, his hand gripping Joel’s shoulder, pulling him back with enough force to turn him around to face him directly.

Before you even registered what was happening, Caleb’s fist flew forward, connecting with Joel’s jaw with a force that sent a shockwave through the crowd around you. The impact echoed, silencing the murmur of voices as people turned to stare, wide-eyed.

Joel staggered back, momentarily dazed, his hand rising instinctively to his jaw. But then he steadied himself, his gaze hardening as he looked back at Caleb, a dark determination in his eyes.

“Caleb!” you gasped, stepping forward, but the tension between them was thick, raw, and unyielding, as though neither could hear you. Caleb’s chest heaved with anger, his fists still clenched, and Joel stood his ground, his posture unshaken, his gaze steady, daring Caleb to make the next move.

The silence around you was deafening, everyone waiting to see what would happen next, and you felt a mix of fear and desperation, knowing that whatever came next could change everything.

Joel turned to leave again, clearly trying to defuse the situation, but Caleb wasn’t finished. He grabbed Joel’s arm, yanking him back once more. This time, Joel had reached his limit. In one swift movement, he gripped Caleb’s shoulders firmly, pulling him close enough to speak low, his voice a quiet storm.

“Enough,” Joel hissed, his words sharp and precise, barely contained as he struggled to keep control. His grip on Caleb was firm, a grounding hold that left no room for further argument. There was a finality in his tone, a command that dared Caleb to defy him.

“You got a problem with me, you come to me,” Joel said, his voice low and steady. “Like a man. You don’t ruin her night.”

For a moment, Caleb faltered, his breath coming in heavy, uneven waves as he stared back at Joel, the weight of his words settling over him. The two of them stood in a silent standoff, the tension between them almost palpable, crackling with unspoken resentment and restraint. But Joel’s control—his refusal to let this spiral—spoke louder than any fight could have. His priority was clear, and it wasn’t himself.

As he slowly released his grip, he cast a look back in your direction, his gaze softening for just a heartbeat, a fleeting vulnerability crossing his expression.

You thought it was over.

You thought the tension had finally dissolved, that the confrontation would end with Joel’s final, steady words. But just as Joel began to turn away, you saw a flash of movement—Caleb, his face twisted with embarrassment and anger, lunging forward, fists clenched.

Before you could think, you moved instinctively, stepping between them. “Caleb, stop!” you cried, reaching out, but in the flurry, Caleb’s fist, meant for Joel, swung wildly in the chaos—and in an instant, pain exploded across your eye as his knuckles connected with you instead. You staggered back, a sharp gasp escaping your lips, clutching your face as the room spun in shock.

Caleb’s fist connected with your eye in a swift, unintended blow, and a sharp, blinding pain surged through you, leaving your vision faltering as the shock of it set in. You stumbled back, your hand instinctively flying to your face as the world spun, your eye already throbbing, the pain deep and immediate.

“Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry,” Caleb stammered, his face pale as he stared at you, horror and guilt flashing across his features. He reached out, hands trembling as he tried to come closer. “It was an accident—I didn’t mean to—”

But the words hung there, hollow and helpless, unable to undo the pain or the impact. His eyes were wide, pleading, as though he wished he could take back the last few seconds, erase what had just happened. The shock in his expression, the way he hesitated, spoke to the gravity of the mistake he’d made—a line crossed, one that couldn’t be undone.

Before he could get any closer, Tommy stepped between you, his voice low and firm. “Step back. Right now.”

Caleb’s hands froze mid-air, his face twisted in a mixture of panic and regret. “I didn’t know—I wasn’t aiming for her. It was an accident, I swear!”

“Now,” Tommy repeated, his tone brooking no argument, his steady gaze pinning Caleb in place. The room had fallen into a tense silence, all eyes on the unfolding scene, the weight of what had just happened settling over everyone.

Joel was by your side in an instant, his hand gentle yet firm as it cradled your face, his thumb brushing tenderly just below your eye, which was already starting to swell and bruise. His gaze was frantic, worry etched into every line of his face as he took in the injury, his jaw tightening, eyes flicking with barely restrained anger.

“Hey, darling,” he murmured, his voice soft, steady. “You’re alright. I’m here—I’m right here.”

But the pain, both physical and emotional, overwhelmed you, a sob escaping before you could stop it. “I need to get out of here, Joel,” you managed, your voice breaking as tears slipped down your cheeks. “Please… I can’t be here.”

Without hesitation, Joel slipped his arm around you, his touch solid and reassuring as he led you away, his presence a shield against the stares and murmurs surrounding you. He held you close, his own voice low and steady as he whispered, “I’ve got you. Just breathe. We’re getting out of here, right now.”

Joel guided you home, the short walk feeling like miles with the throbbing pain in your eye. As soon as you reached the door, he had Ellie sprint to his place to grab some painkillers he kept stashed away for his back, the kind tucked into his drawer just for emergencies.

Now, he had you settled on your couch, his presence anchoring you as he sat as close as he could, his fingers brushing carefully beneath your swollen eye, his touch feather-light. His face was etched with worry, a raw, almost desperate guilt darkening his expression. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick and rough with regret. He looked like he’d take the pain on himself if he could.

“It’s not your fault,” you managed, choking on the words as quiet sobs broke through, your breath catching with each one. “I don’t even know why I stepped forward—I just… I didn’t want him to hit you again.”

He stilled, his gaze softening as he reached up to gently wipe away a tear that had slipped down your cheek. “My darlin’ girl,” he whispered, the endearment filled with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. “I can’t stand seein’ you like this, hurtin’ like this.”

He looked around, his concern shifting to impatience. “Where the hell is Ellie?” he muttered, glancing toward the door as though he could summon her with sheer will, his urgency clear—he couldn’t bear to see you in pain one second longer than necessary.

And though the ache in your eye throbbed, his touch, his presence, and the warmth in his voice softened the edges, leaving you with the feeling that, as long as he was here, you’d be alright.

Just then, Ellie burst in, breathless and wide-eyed, her expression a mix of shock and disbelief as she took in the scene. “Holy shit,” she exclaimed, eyes darting between you and Joel. “That was the craziest thing I’ve ever seen!”

“Ellie,” Joel cut her off, his tone firm but gentle as he motioned to the bottle in her hand. “Give me those, and grab some water from the kitchen, would ya?”

Without hesitation, Ellie handed over the painkillers, her gaze lingering on you with concern before she hurried into the kitchen. Joel opened the bottle, easing you upright with one hand, his touch warm and steady.

“Here, baby,” he murmured, his voice soft, filled with a quiet tenderness as he held the glass to you and placed a pill in your hand. “Take this—it’ll help.”

You took the pill, letting his words and touch ground you as you sipped the water he offered. The throbbing pain dulled just slightly in the warmth of his care, and as you met his gaze, you saw something there—an unspoken promise, a reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Ellie dropped onto the other couch, her brows knit in worry as she took in your bruised face. “That’s a nasty black eye,” she muttered, her voice caught between worry and a strange sort of awe.

“Ellie,” Joel’s voice held a gentle but unmistakable warning. “Go on home. It’s past your bedtime.”

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “It’s only ten!” she protested, but the look he gave her softened her defiance. With a huff, she stood up, glancing back at you with genuine concern.

“Hey… I hope you feel better soon,” she said, her voice quieter, sincere. She hesitated, her gaze flicking to Joel before she added, “And, uh—Joel’ll take care of you. You’re in good hands.”

You managed a small, grateful smile, the warmth of her concern and Joel’s steady presence easing some of the ache. Ellie nodded, satisfied, and slipped out the door, leaving you alone with Joel in the soft quiet, the sense of safety he radiated settling around you like a blanket.

The pain had started to dull, though your vision remained blurred, Joel’s figure splitting slightly into a hazy double image as he leaned in close, his hand resting steady and grounding on your shoulder.

“You alright? Warm enough?” he asked, his voice gentle but thick with concern, his eyes scanning your face as if he could will the pain away.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine, Joel,” you managed, offering a faint, wavering smile. “Thank you for getting me out of there. I… I’ve never seen him like that—so angry.”

Joel’s expression shifted, his jaw setting as something dark and fierce flickered in his gaze. He shook his head, his mouth tightening, frustration etched into every line of his face. “He had no right,” he muttered, his voice low, barely restrained. “Of all damn nights—on your birthday, no less. That asshole…” His words trailed off, the anger simmering beneath his calm exterior, as though he was holding back an urge to storm out and finish what had been started.

“You know you deserve better than that, right?” Joel’s voice was soft but firm, his gaze steady as he looked at you, waiting for the words to sink in. “I would never… I can’t imagine ever doing that to you.”

There was an honesty in his tone, a quiet conviction that made your chest tighten. His hand lingered on your shoulder, warm and grounding, and the way he looked at you—as if you were someone precious, someone worth protecting—stirred something deep within you, a feeling you’d buried for too long.

For a moment, the pain in your eye, the embarrassment of the night, all of it faded under the weight of his words, his presence.

“I know you wouldn’t,” you murmured, your voice barely holding steady as you let out a shaky breath. Slowly, you lifted your hand, your fingers grazing the angle of his jaw where Caleb’s punch had left a faint bruise, half-hidden beneath the roughness of his beard. Your touch was soft, tentative, tracing the bruise with a gentleness that seemed to make him wince, though he didn’t pull away. His gaze stayed locked on yours, unwavering, intense, as though he was absorbing every part of this moment.

“Bet I look awful,” you tried to joke, a faint laugh escaping, but the self-consciousness gnawed at you, awareness flooding in as you thought of the swelling around your eye, the bruises marking your skin. Embarrassment washed over you, and you began to pull your hand back, suddenly feeling vulnerable beneath his steady gaze.

But Joel’s hand moved swiftly, catching yours, his fingers curling around yours, holding your hand against his cheek. “Don’t,” he whispered, his voice low and warm, a quiet command wrapped in tenderness.

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours, filled with a look so unguarded, so filled with admiration, it left you breathless. “You’re beautiful. Don’t ever doubt that. Even now… you’re still the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.”

His words settled around you, filling the space between you with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice barely holding steady as you looked up at him, feeling every part of you drawn to him, helpless to resist. “Kiss me.”

Something flickered in his eyes—a mixture of longing and relief, like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. In an instant, the space between you disappeared. His hand slipped to the back of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair as he pulled you closer, his breath warm against your lips, hovering for a heartbeat, letting every ounce of tension swell until it felt like you might break from it.

Then he kissed you, his lips claimed yours with a fervor that took your breath away, the kiss deep and consuming, as if he were pouring years of waiting, of unspoken feelings, into this single, electric moment.

His hand slid up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as his other arm tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You could feel his heartbeat, wild and fierce, mirroring your own, a rhythm that seemed to fill every inch of you.

The kiss deepened, his lips moving over yours with an intensity that left you dizzy, the world blurring until nothing else existed but the heat of his mouth, the strength of his arms, the way he held you as if he’d finally found what he’d been searching for.

You clung to him, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself to him as he pulled you impossibly closer, the space between you vanishing entirely.

When he finally drew back, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathless, he didn’t let go. His hand lingered, fingers grazing your jaw, his eyes searching yours, a quiet intensity in them that made your pulse race all over again.

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[revelboo]

I'm so sorry for the likes spam. I just find your work phenomenal, and I LOVE coming back to it every day.

No worries

18+ mass displaced mech 🌶️

Stand Too Close

IDW Prowl x Reader

• Mouth sliding against his, you’re liquid fire in his lines, thrumming through his spark as your little tongue traces the seam of his lips and he growls as he lets you in. Taking over the kiss, servos tangling in your hair as he claims your mouth, demanding and letting out all of his frustrations in the feel of your mouth under his, glossa sliding against your tongue. Knowing just how terrible an idea this is, but needing to feel someone touch him even if there’s no affection in that touch. Shifting against you to pin you better when you try to wiggle in his grip, hooking a leg around his hip, little fingers catching the jutting blade of the chevron on his helm and tugging.

• He makes a low guttural noise where his mouth is still on yours, hips pinning you more firmly. The hands not buried in your hair finally letting go of your other wrist, sliding along your side and gripping your hip, your butt in his big hand. And then he bites your lip, the little sting making you gasp, his optics so much less icy as he actually smiles down at you, the twist of his lips cocky. “I hate you,” you hiss, tongue darting out to check to make sure you’re not bleeding as he slides down your body, venting against you.

• Hate? He almost laughs, hands sliding under your top, pulling it up over your head. Those angry eyes dark with need, looking up at him as he runs a palm over your exposed skin. Mapping you out with his servos. “How much do you hate me?” He growls, servos fumbling with the closure of your pants, before he just yanks them down over your hips. Needing to know if this is possible, because you’re his. Servos sliding over your hip, spreading your thighs and finding you slick for him, his spike aching as he frees it. Sees your eyes widen as you suck in a breath, then his mouth is on your hip, denta biting and nipping as he cups you. Spearing a servo into that wet, welcoming heat. “Tell me,” he demands between nips, leaving the imprint of his denta in little crescents on that soft skin, not biting hard enough to break the skin, but enough that you’ll have little reminders that you’re his.

• Shuddering as he strokes that servo inside you and presses another bite to the curve of your hip, you’re aware of the noises you’re making. “Hate everything about you,” you manage, hips lifting as he curls that servo, still stroking to send your thoughts scattering. “Your stupid, growly voice, your big hands.” Cupping you, spearing you with that servo. Head falling back when he fucks you a little harder, a little faster, with that servo, still curling it to stroke deep as your hips buck. Needing more. “You’re awful.”

• That throaty noise you make when he slips his wet servo free, the way you glare up at him, breathing raggedly he wants to remember how you look sprawled under him, face flushed and needy. Taking his spike. Shifting himself between your thighs and feeling you shudder when he slides the length of himself against you, finding your core and sheathing himself deep, loving the way your silken heat grips his spike. “Look at me,” he demands, servos tightening on your hip. “Eyes on me.”

• Lips parting as he cups your chin in a big hand, tipping your head with his thumb on your bottom lip as he rocks himself against you in a slow slide. Making you meet his optics. “Fuck, I hate you,” you moan, feeling every bump and ridge of his spike before he’s driving back into you, thumb stroking over your lip, bumping your teeth and you bite him. Feel him shudder against you, door wings trembling as he looses control completely, hips snapping against yours. And you bite down harder, tongue sliding against him as he braces himself and ruts against you. Those optics never leaving your eyes, his denta bared in a snarl.

• Those teeth and that tongue on his servo as he bucks into you, hearing those lovely noises you’re making even with his thumb in your mouth mixing with the wet sounds of your body taking his spike. And those defiant eyes glaring up at him, dark with passion and need. Hating him, wanting him, needing this connection just like he is. Understanding you, because you’re just as awful as he is. The only difference? You don’t care, you can say the things he has to bite down on, do the things he can’t. What would that freedom be like? Body trembling under his as your hands cling to him, you fist his spike, head falling back with a cry and he chases after, hips pumping as he slumps onto a forearm over you, burying himself deep to release inside you. Those eyes still staring up at him and he has no idea what you’re thinking. If you regret what you just did. “Fuck me,” you groan, throwing an arm across your eyes and a startled laugh escapes him as he eases more of his weight against you, hips settling in the cradle of your thighs, mindful not to crush you. And rests his own forehead against your arm, his rough venting mingling with your ragged breathing. Wanting to curl himself around you, but afraid you’ll push him away if he tries to hold you. Not quite enemies, but not friends either.

Previous

[fanfics4all]

Crossing Paths

Request: Yes / No Hey I was wondering could you write for Luke Alvez where y/n is Hotch’s daughter and she was like 17 when the show started and the team loves her and she’s kind of like a mini Spencer and wanted to be just like her dad and when she was old enough she went to work in Afghanistan and when she’s there she meets Luke and they fall in love but then she gets transferred and they know if they’ll see each other again and all Luke has of her is a Polaroid picture he took of her that he carries with him. She gets back to the BAU in season 11. When Luke starts working there she is injured from a previous case so she’s not in to see him straight away so when she comes in and the team introduces her to Luke she acts like they were just friends in Afghanistan ( not wanting to announce in front of everyone and her dad) but when they are alone it’s a very heartfelt reunion and very fluffy @sxphia-g

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Luke Alvez x Fem!Hotchner!Reader 

Word count: 1493

Warnings: Nothing I think

Y/N: Your Name 

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(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

*Luke’s POV*

I had many expectations when stepping into the BAU, but seeing her again was not one of them. I wasn’t sure I’d ever see her again, not after we were separated in Afghanistan. Her transfer tore us apart and all I had left was a single Polaroid as a reminder. I kept the photo close, folded it carefully, and tucked it into my wallet as if I would bridge the distance between us. But here she was, just as I remembered, maybe a little different. She looked a little worn from the line of work we both knew all too well. 

When the team introduced her as ‘Hotch’s daughter’, I kept my expression as neutral as possible. My heart was racing to see her in person again. She nodded politely at me, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips as if we were nothing more than people meeting for the first time. 

“Alvez, nice to meet you.” She said with a lightness I recognized. It was the same one she used in Afghanistan when they couldn’t be anything but professional. 

I couldn’t help but be impressed. She was brilliant, just like her Father and Reid, a natural in the world of profiling and deduction. The team adored her, and from what I could tell, she was every bit as committed to the work as I remembered. But we weren’t on just professional terms back then, and the reality of it hit me hard when I caught her gaze from across the room. Her eyes softened for just a second like she wanted to reach out and hold me. 

After what felt like an eternity, we finally found ourselves alone in one of the small rooms of the office. The door clicked shut and for a moment, neither of us spoke. We just took each other in after so much time apart. 

“Luke…” She whispered, her voice barely above a whispered. It was like no time had passed. I crossed the space between us in a heartbeat, pulling her close. My hands rested on her shoulders, I was afraid to let go. 

“God, I thought I’d lost you for good.” I whispered, my voice thick. I looked down at her, trying to take in every detail as if I could memorize her all over again. She was different, but somehow the exact same. She had the same spark in her eyes, the same quiet strength that had captivated me back in Afghanistan. 

“I missed you.” She admitted softly, her hand coming up to brush my cheek. The professionalism we held up during our reintroduction faded away, leaving only the tenderness we hadn’t been able to share until now. We stayed like this for a moment, lost in each other, both realizing how much we held onto the hope of this reunion. A reunion we never thought would come. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close as she rested her head against my chest. We stood in silence, feeling the steady rhythm of each other’s heartbeats. It was a quiet reminder that we were both finally together again. After a few moments, she pulled back, looking up at me with that familiar glint in her eyes that I’d fallen for so long ago. 

“Did you keep it?” She whispered, but I knew exactly what she was asking. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my wallet, and carefully unfolded the worn Polaroid. Her face in the picture was younger and carefree, her smile wide and bright as she laughed at something I said before snapping the picture. I remembered that day so clearly, the warmth of the sun, the laughter that filled the air, and the unspoken promise between us. 

“Every day. It got me through some rough times.” I whispered, holding it up so she could see. Her eyes softened and she reached out, brushing her fingers over the image before looking up at me. There was a hint of sadness mixing with the joy in her expression. 

“I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again. I tried not to get my hopes up.” I felt my chest tighten. 

“You don’t have to hope anymore. We’re here now. We’re back.” We both fell silent, sharing a tender look, knowing we’d have to navigate this new reality cautiously. 

There was the team to think of, Hotch to think of, and we weren’t the same people we were back then. There was a lot more on the line now, but somehow, standing here with her in my arms, I didn’t feel like any of it mattered. 

Just then, the door cracked open and JJ poked her head in, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

“Hey, Hotch wants to debrief on the last case. You two ready?” We exchanged a quick look, our shared secret settling into a comfortable place. 

“Yep, on our way.” She replied smoothly, pulling away with a professionalism that almost made me chuckle. There was a small, knowing smile she sent my way, one that promised we’d pick up where we left off as soon as we had a moment. I watched her walk out, the weight of the photo in my pocket felt a little lighter, and followed her out of the room. 

As the weeks went by, Y/N and I sipped into a rhythm, balancing work with the unspoken bond we shared. It wasn’t easy. We kept things low-key, but every time our eyes met across the bullpen, every time we passed each other in the halls, there was a spark that ran deeper than words. 

One late night, after the rest of the team had gone home, I stayed behind, working on case files. I thought I was alone until I heard a soft knock on the door and looked up to see her leaning against the frame. She had that familiar, mischievous smile on her face. 

“Burning the midnight oil?” She teased, slipping into the dimly lit office. I chuckled, dropping my pen. 

“Could say the same for you. What’re you still doing here?” 

“Oh, you know…” She shrugged, coming closer. 

“Couldn’t sleep, thought maybe some company would help.” She took a seat next to me and we slipped into comfortable conversation. Memories from Afghanistan waving into stories from recent cases. Being around her felt so natural like no time had passed at all. Eventually, the conversation slowed, leaving only the soft glow of the lamp illuminating our faces. She looked up at me, her expression vulnerable, her voice soft as she spoke. 

“Luke… sometimes I wonder if we’d still feel like this, even if we hadn’t been through so much back then. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like I can’t let go of that version of us, you know?” I reached out, taking her hand gently in mine. 

“Afghanistan brought us together, yeah, but what I feel… it’s so much more than that. We’re not just some memory for me. This…” I lifted her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. 

“...This is real.” She held my gaze, the weight of my words settling between us. It was something we both needed to hear. Afghanistan had been intense, but what we had not was grounding, rooted in shared dreams and hard work. We stayed like that, the quiet comfort of each other’s presence enough to fill the room. But then she tensed, a small frown creasing her brow. I noticed instantly, my thumb brushing over her hand. 

“What’s wrong?” She took a deep breath, her gaze dropping to our hands. 

“It’s just… my Dad. He’s protective. I don’t know how he’d react to this, to us. He’s always been supportive, but when it comes to me, he’s got blind spots. And you know, you’re not just any guy, you’re a part of his unit now, too.” I nodded, understanding her concerns. Hotch wasn’t just her Father, he was my superior and a man whose respect meant the world to me. We both knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but my grip on her hand tightened. It was a quiet reassurance that I was ready to face whatever came our way. 

“I’ll talk to him. When the time is right. He deserves to hear it from me. But you gotta know, nothing, no one, could make me walk away from you. Not after everything we’ve been through.” I said firmly. She looked at me, her eyes shining with gratitude and love. Leaning in, she brushed a soft kiss to my lips, one that held all the promises we didn’t need to say out loud. 

“I love you, Luke.” She whispered, her voice full of all the warmth and strength I’d come to know so well. My heart swelled and I pulled her close, pressing my forehead to hers. 

“I love you too, Y/N, and we’ll figure this out together. One step at a time.”

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs-blog1 @lover-of-books-and-tea @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches28 @kmc1989 @drw0301bieber @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @rachelxwayne @ready-4-fanfiction @madammarvellous-blog1 @pettyjayy @bruisedfists-and-splitlips @answer-the-sirens @andreasworlsboring101 @liz-owl

[skylargrxy]

hearing romeo call her perfect again, skylar blushed, her heart fluttering. she'd never thought of herself that way—in fact, she'd been plagued with insecurities for as long as she could remember. her height, her personality, everything seemed like it wasn’t enough, not helped by zack’s constant put-downs and reminders of her flaws. so when romeo said it, she had to ask, “you really think i’m perfect?” she looked at him closely, searching his face for any trace of doubt, as if her heart was bracing for him to take it back. but the more she looked, the more she felt the tears building up. “you’re so sweet,” she said softly, feeling an overwhelming warmth for him. “and i bet you don’t see yourself as perfect the way i do,” she added with a small smile. maybe they were more alike than anyone knew. he didn’t see his worth, either. yet here he was, looking at her like she was someone extraordinary, someone worth loving. when romeo smiled at her, she felt something shift. her heart raced, and she realized she could easily fall for him right there. his kindness, the gentle way he was massaging her legs—it was like he was silently telling her he would never hurt her. she could see herself in his world, but she was so used to heartache that it scared her. yet every time he looked at her, she felt those fears soften. “you’re going to make such a great teacher,” she said, feeling it deeply. “you have that kindness and focus… that’s what people want in a teacher. i know anyone would be lucky to have you.” she’d practically forgotten about the ice cream now, too caught up in him. when she saw his fingers interlocking with hers, she knew she didn’t want this moment to end. “this date,” she whispered, “it’s perfect. nothing to improve.” her smile grew as she gently slid her feet off the couch, letting them touch the cool tile floor, trying to keep her courage up. letting go of his hand, she circled the table and sat right next to him. “maybe this is better?” she stammered softly, her cheeks flushed. “sorry… i like being close to you. if it’s too much, just say so.” her head tilted up to meet his eyes, her voice barely a whisper. “you make me really nervous. in a good way, you know?”

romeo hand on heart wouldn't have changed anything about skylar. nothing needed to change. she was perfect as she was already. shortness wasn't a problem. she was cute. romeo was kind of liking the height difference between them if he was being honest about it. romeo knew he could cup the girl's face and get her to look up at him and let their eyes make up the difference that was between them. "maybe you don't see yourself as perfect but you are perfect to me." skylar was a beautiful person inside and out. she was caring, sweet, willing to listen and talk. romeo didn't feel any judgement with sky. she didn't know too much about his background but he knew one day she might not judge him because of his parents perspective on him. skylar seemed to take people at face level which was all he wanted. romeo didn't want someone to judge him on his past or his future. relationships were all about working through the present and hoping for a better future to come out from it. she was someone he could easily see himself walking through life with - even this early on. romeo couldn't help but to shine a smile int he girl's direction as she said that any student would be lucky to have him as a teacher someday. teaching or coaching was important to him. he wanted to become the teacher he could've used in the past. the warm and welcoming kind of teacher, the one people could go too if they needed advice or somebody to talk too. teachers and coaches could sometimes be harsh on students too fast without thinking about what was going on at home. a simple conversation with someone could go a long way. "do you really think so?" romeo wanted to be the person that students who were similar to him could get advice from. kindness was important and he would always advocate for kindness. skylar was the kindest person that he knew and that's one of the reasons he thought he was perfect. she was nice to everyone she met. she gave everyone the time of day at any point. romeo wished he could be more like skylar in that aspect. he put up a front sometimes - usually to protect himself - sometimes he could be a bit of an asshole. romeo's hand reached across the table to intertwine with skylar's. "how's this date been anyways? any improvements that need to be made before the next one?"

[sunmoontruth-stiles]

I need a completely rewritten teen wolf series with Derek Hale as the main character. I think it would heal me.

[ectoplasmer]

rgrhrgrhgr going insane thinking about how I have felt so much love and affection for a character from a card game anime of all things!! for over two years!!! one of the most frustrating guys ever nonetheless!!!!

[robertsbarbie]

x

[dammit-tazmuir]

A summary for you! (Will definitely cover a lot you know, of course, but reminders better than assuming and missing things, right?)

---------

In the epilogue of Harrow the Ninth, we follow a girl living in a city very different than any we've seen in the series. It talks about "the person who went to work for her, the person who taught her, and the person who cared for her." At the end, she asks the person who cares for her, "Do you know who I am?" And Camilla Hect answers, "Not yet."

---------

So going into NtN:

Characters and Setup

The setting is a city called New Rho, on a planet outside the Houses, though still under the emperor's command. The people here have already been relocated, some of them multiple times, due to resurrection beast threats. Blood of Eden has a lot of activity here, but even the normal citizens abhor necromancers / "zombies."

The person who goes to work for her is Pyrrha. The person who cares for her is Camilla. And the person who teaches her is Palamades, now sharing Camilla's body. It's a tenuous and dangerous arrangement. Being there at all is killing her slowly, and fronting too long or using necromancy takes a much bigger toll as his soul starts trying to consume hers. If he doesn't front at all, her body will also try to expel his soul. They're determined to make it work and communicate via recordings, written notes, and relaying messages through Pyrrha and Nona.

Nona and Pyrrha were both pulled out of the River by Blood of Eden at the end of HtN (Harrow's Bullshit Dead Girlfriend talking in "the wrong voice twice removed" about chest compressions and such). Camilla had already been picked up by Blood of Eden. (No one except Pyrrha, Cam, and Nona know Palamades is also among them for a long time.)

No one knows who Nona is, least of all Nona herself, but she's in Harrowhark's body and woke up with no memory of anything, even speech or motor skills. Every night, Nona dreams about a scene of Harrow and Gideon in salt water, and every morning Camilla makes her recite as much as she can remember looking for new clues. Everyone wonders if she could be Harrow OR Gideon with memory loss, or Harrow AND Gideon as a full gestalt fusion (a new person, like Paul later is), or if it's someone else in Harrow's body and if so who and how.

There's a lot weird about Nona. Her healing factor is overwhelmingly beyond even lyctor capabilities, closer to John's. She can understand and speak any language when she's present for it, "by making her mouth move like theirs", but has trouble interpreting if she can't see the person. She can't read or write and her brain is madly resistant to learning. She can identify people and intentions by how people move. She's barely capable of lying. She hates the sword and the bones that Cam and Pal try to get her to practice with. (They won't tell her why, as they don't want to lead her.)

Their group works with BoE's "Ctesiphon Wing", under Commander We Suffer, as "Troia Cell". Some other cells in the same wing and "Merv Wing" are more antagonistic to them. Another notable BoE member is Our Lady of the Passion / Pash / "two thigh machetes" sometimes by Nona. (She's later revealed to be Commander Wake's niece, which makes her Gideon's cousin.)

Regardless of who's in the body, BoE sees a potential weapon in Nona and wants Camilla and Pyrrha to try to unlock Nona's necromancy beyond just the healing to give them their own lyctor power to use against John. Most ideally they want to open the Locked Tomb but they'll take what they can get. She's "The Lyctor Project".

Judith and Coronabeth had been traveling with Camilla in HtN too, the survivors of Canaan House. Corona has become a full member of Blood of Eden and changed her name to Crown Him With Many Crowns Thy Full Gallant Legions He Found It In Him To Forgive, aka Crown. She likes Nona and fully believes the gestalt theory, envying the idea (wishing she and Ianthe could have achieved that). Judith is doing much worse, because-

Number Seven, aka Varun the Eater, the resurrection beast they fought at the end of HtN that killed G1deon, is approaching. It's not to the planet yet, but "parascoping", projecting ahead of its path and watching from the sky as the rest of it catches up. It's a matter of time until it arrives and devours the planet. Its blue light infects necromancers with "blue madness", driving them mad. (Nona, mysteriously, is not only immune, but finds Varun soothing.) Most necromancers have evacuated the area. Judith is being held underground at a BoE facility, strapped to a bed, in and out of coherence.

Also, the Sixth House seceded from the Empire. Like it was built in a facility that could be mobile and just straight up moved. This was done after word from Cam and Pal (they do also know Pal's there) and orders a while before her death from Sixth House lyctor Cassiopeia. 16 members of the leadership/nobility/whatever were captured by BoE and are being held somewhere in New Rho as extra leverage against Camilla (and Pal).

(Almost done with characters and setup I swear.)

Nona works at a school during the day as a teacher's aide. The Nice Lady Teacher, Jolie, is just a very normal woman in over her head and doing her best. The main kids at the school are a "gang" led by 14-year-old Hot Sauce, and extremely traumatized and serious girl with burn scars. Her "right hand man" Honesty is 12 and a mini criminal. Born in the Morning and Beautiful Ruby are probably 12-ish give or take. And their youngest member is 7-year-old Kevin. (Hot Sauce is just a nickname because she likes it. Kevin is probably a House name, as that's Nona's first language. At minimum Born in the Morning and plausibly the other two are implied to be Nona's auto-translation thing messing with how she hears it.)

The kids know what a resurrection beast is btw. Kevin knows Varun the Eater by name. The Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus with all her resources and studies did not know what an RB was until becoming a lyctor. This immediately says so much about the state of life outside the Emperor's super special Houses.

The other teacher, called "The Angel" by the kids, is named Aim and is also called "The Messenger" by Blood of Eden, who they're later revealed to be part of. Aim has she/they pronouns and not (just?) in a gender way. Upon hearing Hot Sauce say "we love her", Aim's driver (who doesn't like Aim taking risks by working somewhere) scoffs, "Oh, I get it. A chance to be 'her', huh?" To which Aim replies, "It is my enormous privilege to be 'they.'" Later, Aim talks about themselves using "we", "we are the message." It is not yet revealed what the message is, but a few factors imply it may have something to do with genetic coding they're carrying. (It was also passed down from their predecessor MSN and I'm.... Tamsyn plz...) Also Aim has a six-legged dog named Noodle who is a certified good boy.

---------

Plot - Present Day

Beginning to Broadcast

The book starts pretty slow. Nona is going about her life and we see through daily activities and flashbacks to earlier in the past six months what life has been like her in New Rho. Everything sucks, but Nona is happy. She's only had two tantrums in her whole life, and she's very proud of that, even if that whole life is only about six months. Nona loves swimming in the ocean, and even going to the beach after she stops being allowed to swim helps keep her calm.

One notable early event is Honesty getting a job, and coming to school the next day with a black eye. For a moment it sounds embarrassing and silly when he admits he walked into something, but when he explains, we learn his group had been trying to rob "the convoy"-- a bunch of BoE mega-trucks that drive around underground tunnels-- and saw into a truck filled with people with glowing white eyes who all turned to look at the same time. He was running like hell.

The first time we see Nona's household called in to talk to We Suffer, they head down to visit Judith in the basement. When they walk in, she thrashes and shouts cryptically, stuff about "Green Thing" and "what have they done to you?!" When she calms down a little more, she's still frantic and struggling, but more herself. Toward the end, she once again shouts and thrashes and calls out to the Green Thing.

When the group leaves, Nona asks what the captain was talking about at the beginning and end, and Crown and Camilla stare, deeply unsettled. "Nona...? The captain didn't say anything when we entered. She only screamed." Those moments were Varun speaking through her, and on several other occasions throughout the book, it possesses Judith again to talk to Nona.

Later, there's a Broadcast in the city, projected in a public square. Hot Sauce takes Nona with her as they sneak away from school to watch it. A person whose description matches a very dead Naberius Tern delivers a message from the emperor. It is in fact Ianthe-- now going by Tower Prince Ianthe Naberius, the Saint of Awe-- piloting Naberius's preserved corpse remotely to avoid the effects of Blue Madness. The empire wants the Sixth House and any surviving members of the Cohort returned, and all BoE agents to cease activity and disperse. It's framed like "because God is so merciful, this is all you have to do" when in practice it's more "if one person fails to comply with these demands we'll use violent force."

Ianthe introduces on camera the other Tower Prince, Kiriona Gaia, the Emperor's only heir, and Nona recognizes her as the girl from her dream, aka Gideon. She looks super mega dead.

That night, Aim's driver gives Nona a ride home, because neither Cam nor Pyrrha came to get her. Cam is waiting at home and incredibly relieved to see her, only to realize Pyrrha isn't with her. As far as Cam knew, Pyrrha was going to pick Nona up at the usual time. The next day is somber and rough as they worry about where she could be.

---------

Day After Broadcast

Cam takes Nona to school, but as a final day to say goodbye, with as tense as things have gotten. A lot of other kids have been pulled out already, and others are having their own last day. Hot Sauce has all the gang swear an oath that even if they're torn apart, they'll always be a gang and always have each others' backs. Eventually, everyone except Aim, Camilla, Nona, and Hot Sauce go home.

While looking through drawings the kids had done the day before, Aim had stopped cold at one. After sending Hot Sauce to shut down the generator to get her out of the room, Aim asks Nona about her drawing. The way Nona describes it matches an elephant, but it's not named and Aim says this is a long, long extinct animal they only know about because of their very specialized studies on their old planet.

At some point while talking to Aim, they figure out "Camilla" is a necromancer, and because "she" has been functioning in spite of Varun's light, they assume she's a lyctor. They subtly sent out a call to BoE. As Pal tries to talk Aim down, a bullet comes through the window, right through Nona's head. She heals from it. Cam/Pal were also shot at but Pal was able to stop the bullet.

Pash is there now, revealed to be a personal bodyguard to Aim. She's freaking out about the shit show, because as much as Pash hates it, that's the fucking Lyctor Project they just called a hit on. Aim's been kept so out of the loop they didn't know. But now Merv Wing is outside and they don't want to back down; they're the wing that burns anyone who might be a zombie in public executions. Aim feels very bad about all this, especially since Nona is just indignant in her usual way after being shot, still very much herself.

As Merv Wing storms in, Nona runs to find Hot Sauce, who Pash locked in the generator room now. Aim tried to warn her but didn't really get it through clear, Hot Sauce saw Nona get shot. She's extremely distressed and confused. How could she make that up?? When the coast is clear and they get out, Hot Sauce sees the blood on the floor along with brain matter and the blood in Nona's hair and realizes she didn't make it up. "You're out of the gang," and she shoots Nona in the head again.

This time, when Nona wakes up, she's zip tied down to a chair. Reaching a breaking point, she throws her third ever "tantrum," aka goes absolutely fucking batshit feral with necromantic power. She rips her body apart and just regrows whatever she needs to discard to escape and goes on a rampage. Finally, enough people get close enough to get her restrained and subdued, as she's still physically frail. She hears her own voice yell, "You're killing her, fool!" Some part of her knows she's talking to herself.

---------

Infiltration to Finding Gideon

The next morning, Nona wakes again in BoE headquarters, with Pal there. There's a lot of talking and Pal reveals himself to several more people. We Suffer lets them listen to a radio signal as Crown, wearing a bug, goes to the docked ship where Ianthe (still in Naberius) is stationed, begging for sanctuary and to see Ianthe. She's also brought Judith, which BoE did not authorize, begging for help to save her. Ianthe is repulsed by the Judith part, but begrudgingly lets her bring her aboard. With enough pushing, practically anything for Corona, after all.

Also "the Saint of Duty" is there. Ianthe thinks "he's" been weird but hasn't clocked that it's a whole other person. While Ianthe easily catches the bug Corona's wearing and mocks Blood of Eden before destroying it, Pyrrha uses the code words she's trained with Camilla and Nona to let them know there's another hidden bug they can tap into, and they're able to do so.

Ultimately, they're able to use Ianthe's demand to "surrender Camilla Hect and Harrowhark Nonagesimus" to their advantage. With a haircut and some coaching, Nona pretends to be Harrow and Cam pretends to be only herself. Some temporary dye/film is applied to Nona's eyes to make her look blind, and she's instructed to only answer minimal questions and fake fits of Blue Madness like the captain if asked tough questions. The one time she does this, she can't think of what to scream to 'act like the captain' and in her mind just yelps, "Help! Help! Help!" To everyone else, she actually goes trance-like for a moment and has unleashed another horror scream like her tantrums that genuinely fucked shit up.

While talking to Ianthe, Camilla brings up that the Third House once challenged the Sixth to a duel back at Canaan House. Sixth had right of reply but it never happened, so she accepts now. If she wins, she gets to go free, and if not, she dies. Ianthe rightfully points out that's really really really stupid, but Corona threatens to kill herself if Ianthe has become too much of a monster to grant someone even this little bit of dignity. Ianthe is exasperated, but after enough pushing isn't willing to take chances, and even offers Camilla a slightly achievable win condition with just managing to snatch a handkerchief.

Eventually, Ianthe stabs Camilla, seeming to have one, but Cam's voice says satisfied, "Match to the Sixth." It was always a farce to help Palamades invade Naberius's body. A few seconds to everyone else was much longer for him and Ianthe doing battle in a mental space, but he wins, not only taking control of the body but keeping Ianthe's soul trapped and suppressed for a little while, unable to just return to normal.

Nona, Pyrrha, Camilla, Palamades-in-Naberius, and Crown all search for Gideon. They're hoping if Nona IS Gideon, or part-Gideon, her soul will magnetize to the body, but nothing happens on that front.

Nona finds her first and feels an inexplicable urge to kiss her, and does so. She sees Gideon's eyes open, but when the others catch up, Gideon still looks super dead, eyes closed. They drag her body, debating if it's real or some kind of clone. John's effect on it make it impossible for Palamades to read with psychometry. Whatever the case, they agree they should take the body to the Tomb. Pal still wants to take a blood sample; it probably won't be viable outside the body, but the preservation on her is wild, and however the blood reacts will tell them something interesting.

But as he goes to draw a sample from her thigh, she snatches his hand. "Sexpal! If that's how you get a woman's pants off, it's no wonder I stole your girl!" She's back and worse than ever (I love her). She reveals she was awake the whole time (Nona is indignant, she told everyone!!) and just playing possum letting them drag her around. Not playing dead though, she is super mega dead. John's made a self-piloting revenant out of her. Also the wounds from her death in the first book are still very present, preserved open, which characters question but don't get a real answer about. (Also, she reveals John made her invulnerable. The needle never could have pierced her she just didn't like the idea of it and broke character lmao.)

Despite a wild new level of no fucks to give and questionable motives, Gideon goes with them.

---------

Loose Ends & Reconciliation to Reaching Drearburh

As payment for all this, We Suffer tries to track down the Sixth House, and upon the reveal they're being moved around constantly in a truck, Nona realizes that's what Honesty saw during his job. They're in the Convoy, and she can ask him where the truck was the other day to figure out where it'd be in its path now.

When taken to talk to him, he barely cracks the door. She realizes he's talked to Hot Sauce and knows she's a Zombie, and she's very upset and apologetic, but is glad he's taking that seriously. She'd think less of him if he stopped listening to Hot Sauce. She's still so Nona, so pure and full of love and fury and running on a single brain cell. She says she's gotta go away and tells him where some of her things she wants to leave him are, including the rag she uses at school, because it might have enough chemicals left on it he could sell it to get someone high. And he slams the door, and Hot Sauce opens it, and Honesty is raving that he can't stay mad at a girl like that, who would think of his business! Hot Sauce can't either, though. Nona and Hot Sauce have a sweet moment, the love between all these kids ultimately pure and unconditional and more powerful than their feelings about any factions.

Nona gets the information and delivers it, and the Sixth House leadership are recovered and helped. But also, Varun has gotten close enough that heralds are descending. Everyone has to fight through some, and Nona ends up talking to Varun (through Judith) atop one of the megatrucks. "You said you wouldn't do anything weird!" She begs and begs Varun to withdraw, and ultimately, though it doesn't get rid of what heralds already came down, Varun agrees and does so. When Judith comes back to her senses, she asks in confusion, "Harrowhark...?" And for the first time, Nona, who's on some level known but not wanted to, admits, "No, and I never was."

So now it's a matter of getting to the Ninth House. Preferably fast.

Palamades is confident they can pilot a megatruck through the River. Pyrrha tells him he's not a bloody lyctor and that would be difficult if he was. He's not worried. He and Camilla gather some of their closest friends and family, and have a very deep and heartfelt last talk as themselves. He performs a ritual, and Camilla catches on fire, and when the fire dies down, their eyes are originally-Pal's clear gray irises, with inhuman pupils of originally-Cam's slate gray-brown. They are an advanced form of lyctor, a form where nothing is taken and everything is given, becoming a new person. They name themself Paul.

Nona has begun having "top and bottom" thoughts, her memories trying to surface as she desperately clings to the "middle" thoughts, like someone who can't remember what a thing they hated hearing said, but can hear it approaching and is plugging their ears going LA LA LA LA to block out the details. She'd rather die as herself, this her, and she's afraid to remember, certain she'll forget her life now. She doesn't want to forget loving Palamades or Camilla or Pyrrha or Hot Sauce. Paul tells her they loved her, and she loved them. "It's done. You can't take loved away."

A bunch of people board the megatruck, including Aim, who explains a little of their importance, and Pash, who regrettably goes where Aim goes. Paul is able to take them into the river, and they drive along its surface....

...but it's Wrong. It's not ghostly in the way it should be, and in the distance, an immense distinctly-stone tower juts out and runs seemingly all the way down. Gideon is just "yup" about it. This tower scares those top and bottom thoughts, and we don't get an explanation about it.

At several points since getting shot, Nona has run more on instinct or had her old self seep through. Once she went off on Pyrrha, asking if she had fun playing pretend like this. Pyrrha has also figured out who she is, but Nona made her stop when she started to say it. Harrow's body is incredibly dying at this point, but in the truck, Nona again drags it based on something she just feels drawn to do, taking the wheel from Paul. As she pushes on and on, she starts to wonder if maybe everyone dying together would be nicer; she's known she's dying for ages and has been relieved about it, so why would it be so bad for everyone? Paul reminds her Noodle is in the truck and letting a dog get hurt is too far for Nona. (She's so real.) She books it and makes it to the Ninth House.

---------

The Ninth House & The Locked Tomb

It's bad here. A bunch of folks stay back but those who press forward encounter??? What the fuck ARE those? "Devils" apparently, or corpses who have been possessed by Devils. Gideon says they've been fighting a lot of them on another planet, Antioch, for months, but John said they couldn't travel elsewhere so what the fuck. They also realize this is what possessed Colum back at Canaan House.

True to at least this word, John did send newly awakened folks to help replenish the Ninth House numbers, but a lot of them have been killed. They encounter Crux, who mistakes Nona for Harrow and her admittance she's not for just having one of her episodes. He goes along with the group and they find Aiglamene with a bunch of the survivors barricaded up. It's explained they need to get Harrow's body into the tomb, and everyone helps.

Ianthe shows up, and after a bit of weirdly casual banter with Gideon that does not at all sound like they're enemies, Nona is appalled to realize they're wearing friendship bracelets. Anyway, Gideon still wants the Tomb open, and Ianthe is very confused. Ianthe insists that'd be really bad for John, daddy has been a useless wreck lately and Ianthe's got to do everything around here. Gideon insists John sent her and she's supposed to kill whatever's inside?? And then she'll become his new cavalier?? Ianthe tells Gideon she's delusional. "He loves her, you idiot! John. loves. Alecto! He needs ALECTO."

And upon hearing her real name, Nona's delusion shatters. She starts to unravel, literally, physically, Harrow's body no longer able to contain her. They need a thanergy burst to help unlock the tomb, and Crux snaps that he's the obvious choice. His other choices are waiting to die of basically-poison and being possessed or being healed and killed by devils anyway. Aiglamene berates that all anyone in this house ever knew how to do was die for Harrow. They could have lived for her, but they didn't know how.

Gideon volunteers, having fantasized about his death for years. She makes sure to rub it in his face that she's God's kid first, and he basically tells her 'fuck you and fuck God' because his loyalty is to Harrow and his opinion of Gideon isn't remotely changed by this??? Like. Okay dude, horrible but weird respect I guess. Nona/Alecto isn't seeing shit at this point, just overhearing as Paul and Pyrrha try keeping the body remotely together and dragging it toward the door. She hears Gideon after killing Crux, "Fuck... Why didn't that feel good?!" (In sharp contrast to John finding death intoxicating...)

The door is opened, and eventually magnetism takes hold, and Alecto drags the crumbling body to her own, where Harrow's soul has been since the end of HtN, when she found herself inside the tomb and crawled into the coffin to sleep.

---------

Alecto's POV

Alecto wakes up as herself, breaking her body as she rips herself from her chains, just as Nona did with her third tantrum.

She's almost entirely disconnected. The humans are all children, even the oldest among them, and she can barely tell their voices apart. (The audiobook does a few wrong in the second to last scene, and I'm not sure it that's intentionally reflecting this or was just a mistake because it's definitely hard to follow.)

"The black-eyed infant" (Harrow) is still weak as hell but in her own body and holding in one piece again. She throws herself at Alecto's feet, but Alecto recognizes her, from her dreams and from the 9 years her soul has been haunting Harrow, ever since Harrow opened the tomb when she was 10. She "kisses" her, aka bites her mouth, because "this is how meat loves meat", but upon tasting her blood, she realizes she's Anastasia's descendant. Thus, as she once swore to Anastasia, she swears herself now to Harrow, until such time as the bargain has been paid. (This is the first the audience is hearing of this and we don't get explanation.) To which Gideon iconically replies, "Get in line, thou big slut!"

In the final scene, Alecto enters a room where John is sleeping, unconscious Harrow flung over her shoulder, and drives her sword through his heart. But he just wakes up and greets her. "Annabel, good morning."

=========

Plot - In The Dream

John's and Earth's History, Harrow's Connection

In the dreams, a woman and John walk around as John rambles about his backstory. He addresses her as Harrow, but keeps saying "you" in context to the past.

Long story short because the rest is so long, the "you" is planet earth. She was dying, and she saw a man leading a project desperately trying to save her, and she chose him, and she gave him power over life and death. He learned to use it, but more and more budget cuts and bureaucracy and idiots drinking up propaganda led to trillionaires buying their way off-planet and leaving everyone else to rot and earth to die. John was so pissed off by the end he personally triggered nuclear war, but the souls he ate from that weren't enough.

He tried to eat earth's soul too, even physically shoveling dirt in his mouth, but she was simply too big to contain, so he made a new body from dirt and vomit and blood and bone and shaped her into a lifesize Barbie. Whatever he couldn't contain, he stuffed into this form, and their souls were intertwined, becoming one. But it still wasn't enough. He reached and reached and reached and devoured the souls of all the solar system, creating the RBs. With all that power, he was able to remotely grab one of the trillionaire escape ships, could feel them inside and knew they felt him, but then it slipped from his grasp and escaped. (It's possible this led to the creation of BoE? Or was one part of its founding.) He decided punishing those assholes was worth killing everyone including the planet himself, and he didn't even succeed. His takeaway is "That'll teach me to hesitate."

Alecto was horrified by her new form. ("A monster from the moment you resurrected her, and you went and made her worse.") What had he done to her? Where did he put all those souls? But also, "I still love you."

But now, in this dream, Harrow has been experiencing all of this via walking through Alecto's memories the day after everything was killed, before anything but her had been resurrected. (Notably, when he does resurrect them, he fucking changes his friends' names, implied by how Ulysses and Titania were U— and T— on their death certificates but he changed those. Side note, Pyrrha says "Gideon... G—..." at one point, with the dash like that, so it's??? possible she remembers??? But yeah.)

Whatever is happening seems to have some outside connection and awareness of the present, too, perhaps via the part of John that's part of Alecto and vice versa. The conflation of Alecto and Harrow is made more unsettling with John writing in the sand, "J + E", replacing the E with A, then the A with H, before drawing an uneven heart around it...

Like Alecto, Harrow still loves him, loves her God and Teacher. But she tells him, as Reverend Daughter, it is her duty to understand what it truly means to love God for herself. She will find divinity, whether she lies in the Locked Tomb or her search leads her back to him. He asks where she'll look, and she looks off to a tower in the distance in the water, one that shouldn't have been in the memory (likely the tower in the River). She'll start there, and she walks off into the sea.

And that bit was shortly before Alecto and thus Harrow woke up.

---------

I hope this wasn't too long. I know the book is confusing as hell, and frankly I agree it's the weakest of the three despite being really good, but also feel like a lot of that is from how hard it is to follow and that the actual content is really fun. So yeah, genuinely hope this helps!

Nona the Ninth is really good, even if I found it the weakest of the Locked Tomb books, I enjoyed it a lot. Nona is absolutely adorable, I love her so much.

That being said, what in the ever loving fuck happened in that book?

[seumyo]

KENJI SATO ✰ 10:43

“Working overtime really doesn’t suit you, Sato.” The teasing sentence made Kenji grunt in disapproval, slumping against his couch.

“Wow, I didn’t notice. Thank you for that valuable input, [Name],” he says, rolling his eyes at you. 

He can’t help the sarcastic reply. Kenji’s schedule was all over the place. His life has been all over the place ever since his return to his home country, Japan. And now he not only has to take care of himself—which, in his defense, was fairly simple when he just had to worry about himself—he has to worry about an infant Kaiju!

What a wonderful (not) icing on the cake.

“Ken is really appreciative that you made time to fulfill his request, or, shall I say, cry for help, [Name].” Mina’s familiar voice flurried from a distance, closing in to your right in a breeze. 

“Hey! It was not a cry for help—it’s more like a... Asking a friend for a favor,” Kenji says, trying to ease his brain with what’s coming out of his mouth (like it was on autopilot, scrambling to defend himself and the pride he had left).

“Uh huh. And the favor is? I don’t really think there’s anything I could do to her containment unit or any repairs that’re needed in this place.”

“I just need someone to watch over her.”

(“I just need someone to talk to” is a much fitting phrase.)

“Doesn’t Mina already do that?”

“There’s only so much a supercomputer like me can do to entertain a living being, [Name].”

On cue, Emi croons at the video of you singing on stage. A part time career of yours, because when you’re not developing new tech that boosts the economy, you might as well indulge in your hobbies. 

Kenji wouldn’t admit it, but he has a vinyl or two—or even a whole collection of them—that he considers as priceless as his one-of-a-kind sports car displayed in the basement.

“Would you look at that? She likes your singing.” 

He watches as you take a step closer to Emi, observing how she delightedly squealed at the soft melody being played on the holograms. This 20-foot-tall baby Kaiju reminded you of the time you took care of children at the daycare center.

“I just...” he sighs. You didn’t even notice that Kenji was already beside you, offering you a canned drink. 

“How do you do it? Juggle everything?” He murmurs. “You’re the busiest person I know. Working on your thesis, performing at various concerts, taking on charity work, and whatnot. Hell, if you could run for president, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you in the elections, too.”

A quiet laugh was returned. “It’s not easy, that’s for sure. But within time, you’ll learn just what you need and what you can handle.”

“Mm. Don’t you ever just want to run away from all the responsibilities people place on your shoulders? I can barely take care of this young lady,” he chuckles, though it doesn’t hold even the slightest ounce of humor to it.

“I wish, but then I’ll remember the kids who're so happy to see me whenever I drop by,” you say. “They may be a handful at times, but you’ll be surprised to know just how smart and caring they are. How they take in their surroundings and attempt to figure out who they are. We’re all what they have. The least we could do is give them our time and love all the same.”

Kenji lets your words sink in. Simple and touching. The kind that gets the gears in his head to start twisting.

“You really are a charm with your words; did you know that?”  

“Thanks; I try my best.”

The night continues with Kenji and Emi playing baseball on a simulated field with you by the shed, cheering on from a safe distance. Kenji doesn’t remember the last time he’s been this genuinely happy after his return to Japan. It’s a refreshing feeling that he wants to get used to again. To see the baby Kaiju successfully hit the ball with a swift swing after watching after him is a sight that tugs at one’s heartstrings.

Just like a proud father.

“Come on, girl! We gotta run the bases!”

And as the two celebrate their moment of triumph, the baby Kaiju stomps toward you and giggles happily as she hoists you in the air without much warning. You took it all in you not to shriek and absolutely lose all composure, but when you’re up in the air and are being held to a bear hug like some sort of teddy bear by a Kaiju that could probably crush your bones if not careful, it’s hard to not just scream for your life.

“Oh, ok—ok. Baby, put me down gently, please,” you chuckle nervously. 

“It appears that the little one sees you as her other mother,” Mina adds.

Kenji laughs at the sight, pulling out his phone to take a picture. This is definitely a memory he’d want to remember.

“This is not funny, Kenji. Tell her to put me down.”

“Aw, is Baby not listening to her Mommy?”

“Again, not funny. This is like an out-of-the-blue co-parenting a child with you. With you being my annoying ex-husband.”

“Specific, eh?”

“Shut!”

When you’re just about to leave for the night, Kenji suggests that you sleep over. There’s a lot of spare bedrooms in their manor, he reasons. He also doesn’t understand what came over him to offer, but he doesn’t take it back.

But it could be because he’s missed you. And he’s somewhat afraid that this may be the last time you see each other in a while due to your clashing schedules.

“You’re such a girl dad, Kenji,” you tease.

“Haha, good one,” he says, rolling his eyes at you. He took a couple of blankets from the closet and placed them on the bed.

“Just saying.”

“Whatever you say, Mommy.”

“Oh hush, Daddy.”

That ringed out a laugh from him. “Bleh, that sounds so embarrassing coming from you.”

You shrugged. “Hm? Don’t you think you’re embarrassing too?”

“I’m not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too. I will not be going back and forth like this with you anymore, Kenji Sato. Good night!”

Kenji can’t hide the smile that appears on his face. Yeah, he definitely missed this. 

Definitely missed you.

SEUMYO © 2024. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[valwrote]

PICK YOUR DOMESTIC HUSBAND 🛒

WHICH HUSBAND IS ON THE DOMESTICITY MENU TODAY?

featuring: diluc, alhaitham, zhongli, wriothesley, neuvillette.

synopsis: glimpses into married life with the genshin men.

warnings: implied fem!reader, occasional pet names, ooc (I have a sparse idea how diluc works, mention of "activities" (just mention I can't write smut pls), silly goofy ah loser coded men, mild swearing (damn, heck)

a/n: *stretching my back and crunching my neck.* I'm back from the dead. apologies for the choppy writing. thanks for the support on the other posts, if only I could write 50-page essays thanking everyone. <33 :')) not proofread.

DILUC 🍷

PRODUCT NAME: BREAKFAST AND KISSES IN BED. Diluc always hated the Knights of Favonius… 

He hated how most of them just stand around like buffoons and do not partake in any actual work that involves saving Mondstadt. He wouldn’t admit that he enjoys playing Batman. He hated them all except for one.

One he was willing to forgive all flaws of. "Knight of Favonius…always so inefficient,”  He scoffed at the pathetic sight of the hilichurls trying to dry roast a few knights roped to a wooden stick for their dinner. “Seriously, You’re so right Master Diluc.” Diluc’s head turned so fast at the sound of a new voice. When did you get here? Were you always there and how did he not sense you around?

That’s simply how you always were. A hard worker amidst slackers – he always termed despite Jean trying to explain that others work hard too. Perhaps that’s what caught his attention, honestly, he would never know what did. “G’morning…” He murmured against your skin, head buried in the crook of your neck, your flushed bare back pressed against him. “5 more minutes…” he heard your soft and groggy voice evoking a chuckle from the usually passive man. “Have I ever told you…how beautiful you are?” Diluc muttered against your skin. You smiled and turned around, “You always do. I remember my Dark-Knight Hero crying at the altar.” You pressed a finger against his chest, while he scoffed at the memory. “Don’t remind me about that, Kaeya doesn’t let me live that down…” He sighed, his brother consistently brought up the matter of him crying whenever he was losing an argument. Foul play if you ask anyone. “So…breakfast downstairs or in the bed?” He planted a kiss on your cheek while you hummed out a response, “Bed, you didn’t exactly go easy on me the previous night.” You recalled the events of the passionate night the day before. The honeymoon phase never seemed to end. “I am so sorry–” He panicked,” You're not in pain are you? I promise I’ll be gentle– I knew I should’ve been more considerat–” You stopped him by pressing a kiss against his lips. He groaned at the feeling of your soft lips touching his hands tangling themselves in your hair.

“I’m kidding silly… you should stop taking things so seriously unless you want me to start searching for grey hairs amidst those red locks of yours.” You snickered out seeing him release a breath of relief.

If the Darknight Hero really does exist, he's probably just someone in disguise. When he gets up in the morning to brush his teeth, it's the real him. He was his real him in front of you. People may call him a loser for such vulnerability…he was a loser for you.

ALHAITHAM 🌱

PRODUCT NAME: READING BOOKS OUT LOUD. One would say married to someone like Alhaitham was nothing short of a nightmare. They weren't 100% right. Shrouded beneath the aloof and meticulous personality resided someone who was in complete denial towards being loved. He loves it.

Who was he kidding? Nobody in a million years thought someone could put up with his insufferable personality — said Kaveh, his unpaying tenant. That was until he ran into you during his time as the newly appointed Scribe. You were like a painter, splashing heaps of paint in his 90s black-and-white life. Was eating ice cream always this enjoyable or was it because it was with you? Was the gossip between co-workers always this interesting or was it because it included you?

Why was his heart having an entire Queen’s rock and roll concert talking to you? Was it cardiac arrest or– He almost shuddered at the thought of it being what they called love.

“You’ve got flour on your face, sweetheart.” His teal eyes blinked amusingly into yours, a faint smile curling up his lips. You must have saved a nation in your previous life to land this man as your husband. Beige shirt perfectly sculpting around his abs – contrary to him calling himself “feeble,” hair slightly tousled and slight sleepiness in his eyes. He might not act like it but he was a little child whose needs had to be tended to like the coffee mug in his hands which you made, like usual. You wouldn’t want a cranky Alhaitham now, would you? “Hmpf, not my fault, this cooking book is completely bogus!” You rubbed your cheeks with the back of your hand, wiping away any remaining flour. “This is so boring…if only someone could provide their poor wife with some entertainment.” You always resorted to theatrics to get him to do things for you, albeit begrudgingly. “No, the same tactic is not going to work again.” “Please…” “No…” He groaned, tone almost pleading not to put him through the torture again. “During better or worse!” You resorted to the ace up to your sleeve. WEDDING VOWS! “Stop quoting the wedding vows.” He sighed in defeat. The most intellectually gifted man in the nation couldn't win against his own wife. Ironical. He got up and grabbed a book out of the bookshelf; a small fraction of his much larger library.

“Miss Elizabeth,” Alhaitham lazily flipped through the pages earning a rebuke. “More emotion! You are ruining the scene.” Alhaitham sighed and cleared his throat, “I love you most ardently…” His tone was feathery soft, emotion surging in it. A smile crept up as he stared at you endearingly.

“That’s much better. Though I seriously think Mr Darcy should’ve said– Miss Elizabeth, allow me to kiseth thy lovely lips.” You mimicked the deep voice of the character with the failing British accent. “Please have mercy on Jane Austen’s ghost and let her enjoy the afterlife.” Alhaitham chuckled and continued reading as you continued baking.  It was a shame that a man of such talent only paid attention to the truth itself and not to the people around him. If only the searching eyes of the ordinary say the exception to his indifference, you.

This was your biosphere, just you, him, novels and food encapsulated inside your small home.

ZHONGLI 🪨

PRODUCT NAME: ALWAYS ON HIS MIND. What is the best but the most useless flex you have? Being married to the Geo Archon. The inability to just tell the whole world that you are married to the frigging god was painful. You yourself were surprised by your ability to control yourself. Zhongli was a man of carefully curated words. Instead of words, straight-up poetry flew out of his mouth. Everyone knew how much he adored his wife, every vendor, every acquaintance, heck even Venti. Wangsheng Funeral Parlor's mysterious consultant. Handsome, elegant, and surpassingly learned. Excellent memory. A master of courtesy and rules. The amount of poor women who have tried to grab his attention. "Mr.Zhongli, how does this look?" the woman, who he remembered meeting over a history discussion 17 days ago. "Hm?" his amber eyes shifted to gaze at the hairpiece the lady was holding. "Most exquisite.." He remarked, seemingly going into deep thought. Instead of a compliment, he said something that made the woman back away, "Such beautiful craftsmanship...may I ask you to tell me where you found this? I wish to buy one for my wife–" he paused, seeing the lady vanished after pointing at the shop where she got it from. "Zhongli, you should be able to tell why people approach you..." Hutao sighed, standing beside the rather oblivious gentleman. "Let's just continue...we've got customers to find!" Hutao started walking alongside the railing, hoping to find people in need of funeral services. "Maybe we should go and ask peopl– Zhongli??" Hutao looked around for the Consultant, who was caught up chatting with a shopkeeper over some earrings. "Zhongli!" Hutao called out to him, causing his head to turn towards the director. "Oh, apologies...It seems I got too carried away. These earrings caught my eye...I'm sure [Name} would love them.." he mumbled, staring at the jewellery. "I'll take them." "Mister Zhongli? What about the payment..." The shopkeeper meekly asked, causing Zhongli to turn his head fully at Hutao; gazing expectantly. Hutao should've expected this... "Zhongli, we are out here to find customers! Not buying gifts for [Name], her birthday is months away!" "They say the best things should be done first. After all, why must I wait for one specific day to express my love for my beloved?" Zhongli asked curiously and Hutao shaked her head; love was clearly out of her expertise. Zhongli, he is particular about everything. He only attended the best operas and focused on the perfect ratio for the creation of an authentic dish.  On a typical day, all you will glean from him is a few pieces of useless trivia, because he particularly enjoys sharing these fun tidbits with you. He was particular about you and your likings. A smile on your face was what he wanted by the end of the day. For being someone alive for 6000 years, he could proudly say that he loved and cherished something– someone.

"Wait here, Director Hu...Perhaps I should get those flowers over there to accompany the hairpin and earrings..."

WRIOTHESLEY 🐺

PRODUCT NAME: BATTLE TO BUY A DOG OR NOT.

"Wriothesley, I want a dog!" You crossed your arms, staring down at the Duke who was glued to the chair in his office. “But why? That’s just unnecessary responsibility…” Wriothesley sighed, rubbing his temples. This was the 3rd time this month you’ve brought up this topic. Was he that incompetent in terms of filling his role as your significant other? Perhaps not with the never-ending paperwork. Oh, how he wished people would just stop committing crimes. “I get lonely in the Fortress…I want a child.” You put forth your point by using the term ’ child’. Child, dog same thing. You hoped to finally convince him this time.

“We have Sigewinne.” Wriothesley pointed at the head nurse prepping tea in the room with the back of his pen. “I am sorry, Your Grace but playing the role of the child is out of my job description.” The Melusine replied indifferently, pouring freshly seeped tea into the three cups. “Fine, we will go get one…I’ll schedule a meeting with the owner of the pet shelter. Happy?” He asked you, chin resting on his palm. Perhaps getting a dog was a good idea as he was guilty of being unable to spend quality time with you… “No way…” “Isn’t that..?” “The Duke of the Meropide–” “He rarely appears in public..” Wriothesley held out the door to the shelter for you, hoping you would go in and it would finally save him from the gaze of curious onlookers. The two of you walked in, only to be pounced upon by a big dog. “Kal! You sly dog! I knew I shouldn’t have let you out!” The caretaker yelled at the big ball of black fur who had tackled Wriothesley to the floor and was aggressively licking his face, tail wagging in delight. “Are you okay?” You asked your fallen husband, who just chuckled in response. “I am good just– Okay stop! I understand your gesture of love.” Wriothesley got up as the dog encircled him. “This one is so adorable…” you gasped at the cuteness radiating from the dog and its big brown eyes. “You’ve got a keen eye! This is Kal, Shiloh Shepard, one of the finest dogs out there.” The caretaker combed her fingers through the thick and groomed black coat of the canine. “He seems to have taken a liking to the Duke.” The caretaker continued as the dog ran back to Wriothesley, peppering his face with licks. “He even looks like you.” You teased as Wriothesley stared at you in disbelief. You did not just compare him to a dog…he even did a double take at the dog to confirm. “We will take this one then…” He chuckled in amusement. Never had he imagined marrying you and on top of that getting a four-legged beast. Needless to say, Wriothesley proudly walked out of the shelter, holding the big dog in his hands like a child. It felt complete ever since getting Kal; like your own little family. Wriothesley wouldn’t admit it but he loved the dog, despite it hogging all of your love and attention. He didn’t expect to be fighting over cuddling rights with a dog!? 

He watched you and Kal sleep peacefully on the couch, keeping him company while he finished up his work. He felt a sense of gratitude…people of the Fortress knew little of the crime he once committed. The only one who still remembers it like yesterday is Wriothesley himself. And no matter how much glory or repute he has earned, he still considers himself to be the same old Wriothesley he's always known.Neither a good person nor a complete villain. He's just another soul, still living on in this world. However, your eyes always reassured him in ways he couldn’t describe. Everything was perfect…

[Name]!! YOURDAMN DOG PISSED ON MY COAT!! Maybe not that perfect…whoops.

NEUVILLETTE 🌊

PRODUCT NAME: HELPING THE OTHER DRESS.

Monsieur Neuvillette, The Iudex of Fontaine, always wondered how his life had come to this. 500 years of serving his position as the Beacon of Justice, a lovely, beaming baker somehow broke the monotony. Well, calling you just a baker was now an insult. With your ring finger bejewelled, with one of the rarest gems– an ode to his undying loyalty and representation of his eternal love. “It’s astounding how a covert mission conducted by melusines could’ve landed someone such as myself a lady like her…” He muttered to himself, seeing his full form in the mirror. “Talking to yourself, again?” You leaned against the door frame, lopsidedly smiling at the peculiar antics of Fontaine’s most distinguished man. “Ah, apologies…I didn’t think you would notice me conversing with myself. Now I find myself in a rather awkward predicament.” He chuckled. Dear god, this man was so beautiful that his beauty was almost blinding with the morning sun perfectly hitting his face.

“Say ah,” You requested and he complied. Who better to take constructive criticism from other than your husband? “New filling?” He covered his mouth while chewing on the croissant. “Yup, how is it? I was experimenting with some Rainbow Roses and these Inazuman berries I bought.” You blinked curiously, waiting for some input. “Hmm it is very pleasant, it is fascinating how you manage to maintain the freshness of the fruit…” You smiled at his compliment, before noticing him struggling with the jabot around his neck. “Need help?” You offered and he nodded his head. “This is absurd..it usually isn’t this difficult.” He frustrated replied, it was amusing to see the cool and collected man all worked up about clothing. “I suggest simplifying your outfit.” You attached the jabot and secured it in with the teardrop brooch, fixing the ruffles. 

“Thank you. I do prefer my outfit as it conveys the message I wish for it to convey.” He explained before staring at you. You knew that look, he looked at you with his eyebrows slightly creased when he was hesitating from saying something. “What is it?” “Do I get a goodbye kiss before I leave?” “Pfft! I didn’t think you would take that seriously!” Conclusion: this man was wayyy to cute.

Neuvillette is a solitary person. Neuvillette is not known for his personal desires.

He was deemed as someone with unassailable impartiality. If only they knew that perhaps the Iudex was just a wee bit biased.

a/n 2.0: the crust will come off...hopefully. i wonder if it's possible to guess which one of them is my favourite??

don't steal, copy, plagiarise, or translate.

©definitelysel

[sttoru]

“you’re important to me, satoru.”

the words pierce through the comfortable silence. your lover’s closed eyes flutter open and stare at the ceiling for a second, unsure if what he’s heard was indeed reality.

his cerulean eyes eventually dart to your face. they’re filled with a rare sense of vulnerability, one that only appears around you. however it fades quickly when satoru tries to keep the moment lighthearted.

“heh, i know i am,” satoru chuckles, though you don’t miss the unusual softness in his voice. the white-haired man leans into your touch as your hands come into contact with his cheeks.

your smile lights up the room. it fills satoru’s heart with an undeniable amount of love— love that he has lots of. the kind of love that makes him dream of a future, his future.

the kind of love that reassures him that he’s someone.

“good! i’m glad you do,” you reply and pepper his face with kisses. your lover melts into your embrace and his head falls back against the pillows once more, his fluffy white hair pooling around his head, making him look like an angel.

satoru gently pulls you on top of him, the duvet around your tangled bodies rustling. the cocoon of warmth provides the both of you with a comfort like no other. “what’s with the sudden sappiness, baby?” he teases, booping your nose.

satoru doesn’t hate it. in fact, it’s the exact opposite. he cherishes the affection, the gentle reminders that he’s loved and will be loved until the end of time. even if no one in the world remembers him anymore, he knows you will.

you let out a small huff of laughter before placing a tender kiss on his lips. “just wanna show my man the love he deserves,” you hum and run your fingers through his hair.

as you speak, satoru can’t help but bask in your heartwarming words, drinking in your love and affection like a man starved of water.

you lower your head and leave a trail of pecks along his throat and collarbone. you eventually rest your head on his bare chest and hug yourself close to his body. his pecs function as a soft cushion for your head— a warmth you don’t ever wish to lose.

“. . you’re too sweet,” satoru sighs. his arms wrap around your torso and he squeezes you tightly, yearning to hold you as close to him as he possibly could. his heart beats loudly in his chest and he’s sure you’ve heard it. he then kisses the top of your head and exhales through his nose.

“you’re killing me, babe,” your small giggles as you jokingly complain about the lack of air in your lungs make him feel an incredible amount of joy. a certain joy he only experiences with you.

to your surprise, satoru rolls you over onto your back. his hands are on either side of your head, fingers curling around the silky material of the pillowcases. his eyes glisten with a deep sense of passion that he wishes to convey.

your lover captures your lips in a tender kiss, his white locks brushing against your forehead. “mhh— god,” satoru murmurs against your bottom lip after gently taking it between his teeth. his breath hitches when your fingers tangle in his hairs, “what did i ever do to deserve you, sweets?”

after a couple seconds, he pulls away. he’s breathless and so are you. “so much. you did and still do so much. hell, you deserve even more than this,” you reply without missing a beat. you want him to know that you appreciate him for who he is and what he’s done for you— for the world.

you shake your head and pull satoru down for another kiss.

his eyes widen and he swears that he can feel tingles spread through his nose. it’s that sensation which happens before the tears well up in his eyes. satoru isn’t one to cry so easily, thus he decides his best to hold back his emotions.

your lover shuts his eyes tightly to stop the tears from forming and holds onto you like you’re his lifeline. he feels so alive, so appreciated— he feels like he actually matters.

and he does. he matters to you. not because he’s the strongest and not because he possesses great power which others benefit from. but simply because he’s . . . himself.

satoru’s lips detach from yours. again, due to your body’s need for air. if it wasn’t for that, he’d kiss you forever. he rests his forehead against yours, his breath coming out in short and quick pants.

your half-lidded eyes look up at his as well. your fingers run up and down his nape while you lovingly stare at each other. a small smile tugs at your lips the moment you feel his mouth connects to yours again a final time.

satoru finally opens his eyes, his face hovering above yours. you’re left stunned by the sight of him like this; vulnerable, defenceless, honest and just pure. you adore it whenever he drops his over confident, playful and cocky side of his personality to make way for his inner self.

“. . you’re important to me too. very,” satoru responds to your earlier words, his voice gentle and sincere. he flashes you a subtle yet soft smile, his blue eyes glistening with tears that disappear as quickly as they appeared.

he lowers his head and rests it next to yours before taking in a deep breath, his mouth next to your ear as he whispers one more request;

“please don’t ever stop loving me.”

[incognit0slut]

On camera

PART 4 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST

Roommate!Spencer x Camgirl!Reader Spencer requests to take on a more involved role in one of your live streams.

content: (18+) 4k, exhibitionism/voyeur, reader wears lingerie, unprotected penetrative sex, creampie, overstimulation (surprisingly it’s him for once), and a hint of cockwarming at the end a/n: this is the second part to a special show although you don't necessarily have to read it to understand what’s happening. this took a while because… there was a little pressure? i didn’t expect people to wait on this i hope it lives up to the expectations, let me know what you think my cuties<3

You nudged your foot against his. “We don’t have to do this, you know. I don’t mind.”

“I’m fine."

"Are you sure? You've been quiet ever since you sat down."

He felt the words knot up in his throat. The quiet wasn’t hesitation, it was disbelief. The kind that lingered in the gap between what he imagined and what was happening. The lack of conviction that defied logic, even when he was the one who initiated to exist beyond just a pair of hands at the edges of the frame.

"Spence?”

He glanced at you. Deep pools of brown drowning in lust swept over the piece of lingerie you decided to put on tonight. Even without much fashion sense, Spencer could appreciate the soft frills of purple lace clinging to your figure. The garter belt wrapped snugly around your waist, leading down to thin straps that framed your smooth thighs, and every logical thought he tried to root out slipped away the longer he looked at you.

Wait. Purple?

Purple.

Although Spencer was sure it probably had a fancier, specific name that bordered on… lilac? Lavender? Or something else elusive he couldn’t quite pin down. To him it was just purple. He might not have the vocabulary to describe the exact shade, but he knew the way it looked on you was nothing short of captivating.

“You’re wearing purple.”

The frown creased between your brows as you tried to make sense of his sudden observation.

“I am.” Your lips formed a slight pout. “And you still haven’t answered my question.“

And he still couldn’t bring himself to answer.

“I thought you were supposed to be Princess Pink?”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them. It was true. Pink was your color. The soft, playful blush had always been part of your alter ego. You shifted on your feet, glancing down at the purple lace hugging your hips before meeting his eyes again. A small, hesitant smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and for a moment, you looked almost… shy.

“Well, yeah,” you admitted, your voice so soft it dipped into a tone he wasn’t used to hearing from you. Your fingers traced the edge of the fabric absently, and you glanced away again as if finding the floor more interesting.

“I thought maybe… it might help, you know? Calm your nerves or something.” The nervous laugh creeping out of you sounded strained. “I know you like purple… so I figured…”

The corner of his lips curled upwards. His smile reminded you of the times he caught you off guard with a look that was equally amused and deeply affectionate as if he couldn’t believe his luck.

“You wore it for me?”

You felt warmth rise to your neck but decided there was no point in hiding it. “I thought it might make this less scary for you.”

His smile faltered. “I’m not scared.”

“Spencer, you’re about to get naked.”

“You’ve seen me naked before.”

You couldn’t help but let out an amused laugh. He stated it so plainly with no hint of self-consciousness or hesitation. And technically, he was right. You had seen him completely, wholly bare more times than you could count by now ever since that first night you stripped away his innocence.

You still remembered how you had pulled him across the line from a curious roommate to someone who wanted to know every inch of your body. And that night turned into another, and then another, until what you were doing stopped being about one-off hookups and started blurring the boundaries you’d drawn between friendship and something more. Something you couldn't quite put your finger on that felt heavier than lust but not quite defined as love.

Spencer was a roommate, a friend, a lover, and eventually, an active participant in your live streams.

His hands were, at least.

You took a step forward, slipping between his legs where he sat comfortably at the edge of your bed. “I have seen you naked,” you agreed, “but they haven’t.”

His hands hovered at your waist, fingers twitching over your lace as if he wasn’t sure where to put them. He glanced up at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips before he finally admitted, “Okay… maybe I am a little nervous.”

“I know, but you don’t need to be. Think of it this way, the people who are going to see us will only be jealous of you.”

“Why would they be jealous of me?”

“Because you’re the one who gets to be with me.” You reached up to brush his hair back from his face, tucking those long, unruly strands behind his ear. “They’re in their rooms jerking off to a screen while you get to kiss me.”

A kiss fell on his lips.

“Touch me.”

Another peck.

“And fuck me.”

He chased your lips this time, his mouth puckering before he closed the gap. His words were muffled against you, “I am pretty lucky.”

“The luckiest,” you mumbled back. A soft smack of a kiss lingered in the air when you pulled away. “And you don’t have to worry, once we get started, you’ll be too distracted to remember what you were even nervous about.”

He hummed, the sound deep and rumbling in his chest as his grip on your waist tightened. “I think you might be right.”

“Good.” You moved to the side of the bed. “Now let me set up the camera.”

The tripod attached to the top of your computer screen wobbled slightly as you fiddled with it, adjusting the device until the lens angled down. You observed the setup, making sure it captured your body and the way Spencer’s hand rested on your waist without revealing either of your faces.

Perfect.

“You ready?”

Surprisingly, he was.

With a slight nod from him, you turned on the live stream.

Princess_Pink is online.

Spencer’s eyes widened as the chat erupted in a flurry of notifications, messages pouring in so rapidly they blurred into an endless stream of words.

“That’s a lot of people," he muttered under his breath.

“That’s the usual amount of people.”

“No, it’s not,” he countered. “I can’t even keep up with the chat.” Which was saying a lot. For someone who could read entire pages of text in mere seconds, this was overwhelming in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

“Don’t let them intimidate you.” You turned around and slipped between his legs again, feeling the way his knees instinctively parted to make space. “Just focus on me.”

Spencer barely managed to nod before your lips met his again, and with that, everything else seemed to dissolve. He could never quite get used to how effortlessly you could unravel him with just a kiss. His hands slid up the back of your thigh, the rough pads of his fingers brushing over your skin as they trembled slightly, grazing the delicate strap of your garter before settling firmly on your ass.

A surprised giggle bubbled out of you.

“Easy there,” you murmured, catching his bottom lip gently between your teeth before letting it go with a playful tug. “I have to greet them first.”

He reluctantly loosened his grip, letting his fingers linger on you for a final moment before slipping away to rest at his sides. His eyes remained fixed on you as you turned away, shifting your focus back to the screen and reaching over to the mic.

A faint hum filled the room as it came to life. Spencer could feel his breaths gradually falling into sync before your sweet voice cut through the silence like honey.

“Hi, boys,” you purred, letting the greeting roll off your tongue. “Did you miss me?"

Princess.no1.fan: Princess!!! JadenCums: we missed those tits Adam_4432: fucking hot as always Adam_4432: purple looks good on you Crazydick: who's the skinny loser at the back

You rolled your eyes as the comment popped up in the chat.

“This is getting old,” you said with a sigh, fingers hovering over the mouse. “You’re all obsessed with him.”

With a quick flick of your wrist, you blocked the troll and watched with satisfaction as his name disappeared from the list. Spencer tried to peek over your shoulder. “What did they say?”

“Nothing important,” you replied lightly, brushing it off as you turned back to the mic. "Didn’t I tell you guys to play nice?”

Princess.no1.fan: i always play nice with you JadenCums: they’re just jealous of your boy toy Adam_4432: ignore the haters, babe BigBoss88: let him stay in the background ThickNick: you're gorgeous princess

“Remember, if you can’t behave, you don’t get to stay. And I don’t think any of you want to miss out on what we've prepared."

That was his cue, right? He forced down the tightness in his throat, the sensation catching and shifting like a dry click as his pulse quickened. With a quiet exhale, he slipped off the edge of the bed and made his way behind you.

There was a moment of hesitation. But his doubt faded into the background as he focused on the curve of your waist beneath his fingers. He let his hands move slowly, tracing upward with a touch that lingered at the dip of your spine until his fingers brushed the delicate lace of your bra.

Wide hands covered the soft swell of your breasts.

Princess.no1.fan sent a $50 gift.

“See?” you breathed, pressing your back against him. “You play nice, you get to enjoy the show.”

He couldn’t help but squeeze your flesh, fingers sinking in and then pulling back, the skin dimpling under the pressure before slowly springing back. His veins looked prominent, winding up his forearm like delicate, raised lines that caught the light on camera every time he moved over the fabric of your bra.

And the lace offered the thinnest barrier. He could feel the way your nipple firmed underneath his touch, straining subtly as if it, too, was reaching out for more. He traced small, lazy circles around it, and when you arched into him, he had to bite back a smile. He pressed a kiss on your shoulder instead.

“You’re so good at this,” you muttered, letting your hand drift up to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair.

He let out a quiet hum of acknowledgment, his fingers hooking under the edge of your bra’s cup before pulling it down. Your breasts bounced slightly, settling naturally in his palm as the lace slipped away.

“I’ve had a lot of practice.”

A soft moan escaped you as he began to explore, and Spencer couldn’t help the surge of satisfaction that followed. He was rougher than he intended to be at times, testing the line between what made you shiver and what made you push back for more. It was the way he rolled both of your nipples between his fingers, alternating between gentle pinches and firmer twists, that finally drew the most telling reaction—a subtle, instinctive rub of your ass against him.

He took it as a sign to touch you further, one hand drifting lower while the other stayed firmly in place. Goosebumps prickled over your skin as he slid down your stomach until he reached the edge of your panties. His fingers skimmed along the waistband, and you could feel his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts as he brushed his knuckles underneath the delicate material, hesitating.

Adam_4432 sent you a $100 gift.

That was enough to break through his hesitation. Without a word, he slipped his fingers beneath the lace.

The heat between your thighs greeted him, and there was no mistaking what that meant. You were wet, so wet that his fingers glided over your folds like silk. He couldn’t help but feel a flicker of smugness as each subtle shift seemed to draw a new sound from your lips.

He let his fingers slide lower, searching, and when he finally found your clit, brushing his fingertips lightly over it, you jerked in his arms. The tiny, sensitive nub was swollen and begging for attention as it pulsed under his touch like a racing heartbeat. He gave gentle rubs. Slow circles. Steady pressure. The more he explored, the more your arousal smeared against his fingertips.

“Oh—you’re gonna make me cum so fast,” you gasped. You threw your head back against his shoulder, letting out a whine you knew would drive your viewers wild. “What do you think, boys? Should he make me cum now?”

The chat lit up instantly, flooded with messages begging you to let go, but between the rapid scroll of usernames and flashing emojis, one message caught your eye.

Looking4Sluts: no Looking4Sluts: cum on his cock Looking4Sluts sent you a $200 gift.

The notification flashed across the screen, and you felt a surge of adrenaline, a wicked smile playing on your lips. “Do you see that, baby?”

He nodded against your neck.

“They want more of you,” you purred, letting your hips roll back against him, pressing yourself closer to his obvious erection. “They want to see just how good you make me feel.”

Your words went straight to his cock. His touch suddenly changed as he began to move faster against your clit, and a choked gasp spilled from your lips. But just as the pressure started to build rapidly, you quickly grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand from your panties.

“No, not yet,” you stopped him, turning your head to catch his ear, your lips brushing against the shell. “Wanna cum on your cock.”

He watched as you reached down and slowly hooked your fingers into the sides of your panties, sliding them down your legs. A thin string of your arousal followed as you lowered the fabric, clinging to the lace before it finally broke and left a glistening trail against your thigh.

His balls tightened painfully.

Princess.no1.fan: Holy shit, that’s so fucking hot JadenCums: fisting my cock so hard Fatcock_777: wreck that damn pussy PussyLover69: i bet she’s fucking tight Looking4Sluts: jesus christ, she’s dripping

Spencer’s mind emptied the moment you leaned forward, planting your palms firmly on the desk for balance. The way your body arched made his pulse stutter, a surge of heat rushing through him so quickly it almost left him lightheaded.

“Like… this? Standing?”

You glanced back at him over your shoulder. “Exactly like this.”

He could barely think straight. His hands moved on their own, one sliding over your hips, gripping you firmly, while the other fumbled with his waistband, desperately tugging his pants down. The fabric slid down over his thighs, and he bit back a groan as his cock sprang free, hard and aching, pressing against the bare skin of your ass.

He could feel the heat of you against him, and it took every ounce of self-control to keep himself from sinking into you all at once. He pressed in closer, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse echoing in the ache between you both as the tip of his cock settled right where your folds parted. He rocked his hips in shallow motions.

“Baby…” You tilted your hips just enough to align with him, “no teasing."

But hearing those words only made him want to draw it out even more. He let his bulging head nudge at your hole, barely dipping in before pulling back, feeling the way you instinctively pressed against him.

"Spe—" you faltered, then groaned. "Stop it."

He couldn’t help but smile as his fingers found the straps of your garter belt. He tugged on one gently, watching the elastic snap back against your skin. "But you look so pretty."

"I'll look prettier with your cock inside me."

That did it. With one last shaky exhale, Spencer gripped your hips firmly and began to sink himself into you, feeling the tight, warm stretch of your cunt.

“Oh my god,” you gasped. He felt a slight resistance as your body adjusted to him. He carefully gave a few gentle thrusts, easing in and out just enough for you to relax.

Looking4Sluts: fuck yes JadenCums: she's so fucking tight PeachyKeen420: look at him stretching her PussyFiend69: just watching this is gonna make me cum HotForTits: Fuck her harder dude she wants it

His eyes flickered to that last comment, and something inside him shifted, like a switch flipping. Without another thought, without any lingering trace of hesitation, he tightened his grip on your hips and pushed in all at once.

Your moan tore through the air. So. Fucking. Loud.

HotForTits sent you a $300 gift

The notification flashed across the screen, but Spencer barely registered it, his control was slipping further away as his hips moved on their own. He started to grind into you, eyes traveling to your connected bodies. You were practically swallowing his cock, clenching so tightly around him that he felt like you were pulling him deeper, refusing to let him go.

In a way, you did beg for it. Each time you met his thrusts with an eager roll of your hips, the sound of skin slapping together echoed around you. He would have thought he’d be shy doing this in front of so many watchful eyes, but the way you moved against him made it impossible to care.

It only made him bolder. He let his hand slide up your back, fingers fumbling slightly with the clasp of your bra before he unhooked it. The straps slipped down your shoulders, sliding down your arms, and then you were completely, utterly naked, except for the garter hugging your thighs.

You were so pretty like this, so incredibly beautiful it made his pulse stutter in his veins. You were so pretty that it was almost disorienting, as if looking at you too long might make him forget where he was. And in his mind, all the lofty notions of beauty and art seemed to fall flat compared to seeing you like this. He needed to see all of you.

A startled whimper left your lips when he suddenly pulled out.

“Can you angle the camera down?"

There was a knowing look in your eyes. Your fingers moved to adjust the tripod, and he wasted no time stripping himself. By the time you were done angling the camera, he was already sitting on the edge of your bed, his cock throbbing against his stomach.

He looked painfully hard. Hard enough that every heartbeat seemed to pulse visibly along his length. You crawled onto his lap.

“Hi.”

His palm found the curve of your hip. "Hi."

“Are you okay?”

He nodded, his fingers tightening around the base of his cock as he urged you to lift your hips. “I think I’m starting to understand why you do this.”

“Yeah?”

"Mhm.” He nudged his tip between your folds. “It’s kind of exciting.”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, fingers curling into his shoulder for balance as you began to lower yourself. “See? Nothing to be nervous about.”

A deep groan escaped his lips the moment your walls tightened around him. “You make this seem easy.”

“Maybe you’re just a natural.”

He gave a low chuckle, but it caught in his throat when he felt the full length of his cock buried inside you. “I… ah… I think you’re the one making me look good.”

“Shut up,” you replied with a grin, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “You don’t need any help looking good right now, trust me.”

Spencer wasn’t entirely sure what to think about that. He’d never seen himself like this, not in the way you did. But when he glanced over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of the screen and the way your hips rolled over him, he started to believe it.

He looked like… well, like the porn he’d watched late at night in his room before you came along. But better. The kind that didn’t seem real, the kind that made him question if anyone actually had sex like that. He knew the vast majority of what’s portrayed in porn is exaggerated with only a small percentage even close to reality. Except this was real. It was really him, and you made it look like he knew what he was doing.

And sure, maybe he did in some way, albeit you being his only real experience. But that was the thing—he knew what made you tick. He could read the way your body reacted, knew the subtle cues that signaled when a whisper of his fingers could coax out a whimper or when the right shift of his hips would leave you trembling. And more than anything else, he knew how much you liked being watched.

He knew just how much it turned you on.

With that thought in mind, Spencer grabbed the firm swell of your ass and spread you open.

JadenCums: fuck yes FatCock69: she’s so wet BigdickXX: damn, I wish I could feel that pussy ILovePinkPrincess: spread her wider TommyGoode sent you a $200 giftDaddyDom92 sent you a $300 gift.

Your body squirmed beneath his hands.

“Babe… what are you doing?”

He ran his tongue over his lips. “Giving them what they want.”

Then he spread your flesh even further, fingers digging into your supple skin as he held you open. The sight was undeniably lewd, and yet he couldn’t deny the surge of pride swelling in his chest as he held you like this, putting you on full display. But more than that, it was what you wanted. The tension coiled in his muscles as he thrust his hips up, watching the movement play out in the reflection over his shoulder.

He could see everything. The slow drag of his cock, the way it stretched you open with each push, leaving no inch of you untouched. Every time he thrust up into you, his length came back slick and shining, catching the light for a split second before disappearing inside you again.

There was something hypnotic in the rhythm, in the way your body seemed to swallow him whole. And somewhere in that steady push and pull, you visibly clenched around him, a vice-like grip that sent a shudder through his body and pulled a deep, harsh groan from his throat.

His hands tightened their grip on you, and before he could think twice, his hips began moving faster. You squealed, an actual high-pitched sound that he hadn’t expected. It was almost cute in a way—if cute was even the right word for what was happening. But there was nothing cute about the way his body reacted to that sound.

His hips bucked upward, again and again by an instinct he couldn’t control. He was so lost in the sensation of your warm, slick pussy that he barely registered the rising tension in his own body. It wasn’t until his muscles locked up, his hips jerking with one final, forceful snap, that it all crashed over him.

Oh shit.

A sudden rush of heat coursed through him as he spilled inside you, the realization hitting him a second too late. His breath came in shallow gasps, a deep groan escaping his throat as pleasure overwhelmed him, leaving him stunned and gasping for air.

You paused, feeling the unmistakable warmth of his release slowly seep inside you. “Baby?”

His eyes widened. “I’m sorry,” he blurted, sliding his hands up your waist. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—that was—”

Fast didn’t even come close to describing what happened.

You cut him off with a soft laugh, shaking your head as your fingers gently cupped his jaw. “Oh, honey,” you cooed. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

His eyes flickered to the camera behind you. “I ruined everything, didn’t I?”

You followed his gaze, then turned back to him with a smile. “Of course not,” you said softly, threading your fingers through his hair. “You kind of made everything better, actually.”

His brows knitted together. “I did?”

You nodded and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“Do you know…”

You started to roll your hips again.

“How hot it is…”

A soft squelch filled the air.

“To fuck with your cum inside me?”

He could barely comprehend the words that had just left your mouth, let alone the feeling of you moving against him. His eyelids struggled to stay open, the question catching in his throat before it spilled out in a breathy whisper. “Hot?”

“Insanely hot.”

Spencer couldn’t describe what happened after that. Obscene didn’t even begin to cover it. Surreal, maybe? But even that word felt lacking. It was all too real. You were rocking your hips on his lap, and the wet, sticky sounds filling the room were undeniably his own doing.

He held your hips tighter, half in an effort to steady himself, half because he didn’t know what else to do. The words were gone. Logic was gone. The only thing that existed was you, grinding against him with the same intensity that had already undone him once.

And he knew he was going to lose it again.

You leaned forward, your forehead pressing gently against his. “Spence, baby,” you whispered, making sure your voice was soft, just loud enough that only he could hear. “Can you fuck me again?”

He couldn’t say no even if he tried. His hands slipped beneath your thighs, fingers curling with just enough force to lift you, tilting your hips for better leverage. The shift pulled a startled gasp from you and you clung to him for balance, but he didn’t give you a moment to catch your breath. His hips met yours in a swift, demanding snap.

The sound of your body meeting was unmistakable, a rhythmic slap that would’ve made him blush if he were in any state to think clearly. But right now, all he could focus on was the mess he’d made of you, the way his cum seeped out, sliding down his cock in slow drips. Whenever he thrust into you, there seemed to be more spilling out, leaving thick, creamy streaks painted across your inner thighs.

Spencer had messy sex before (all with you, of course) but this was on a whole different level. It was chaotic—unapologetically filthy. The wetness between you spread everywhere. He could feel it pooling against his thighs, trickling down your legs, and the damp sheets beneath you were clinging uncomfortably to his knees while the heady scent of sex hit his nostrils.

And your voice wasn’t helping his self-control. It was high-pitched with a tremor, somewhere between a moan and a desperate whine tumbling out in a jumble of words that barely made any sense. Your voice grew higher each minute, more frantic, until finally, he could make out a few clear words through the haze.

“Gonna c-cum,” you moaned, “I’m gonna cu—ah fuck yesyesyes—”

A final, helpless cry pushed him over the edge.

He came for the second time tonight. He tried to hold back, but the way you were clenching around him, your body pulsing through your sudden orgasm tore down what little control he had left. He groaned, burying his face in your neck as his release overtook him again, shocked that he still had anything left to give as he emptied inside you.

The intensity bordered on painful. He could feel his body pushing to its limits and every pulse of pleasure felt like it was wringing him dry. And it was no less intense for you. You jerked against him, body twitching, sweat beading on your skin. Your muscles tightened and relaxed with the rhythm of his racing heartbeat as the last spark of pleasure finally washed over you.

Neither of you moved for a while after that. The only sound in the room was your labored breathing, the heavy rise and fall of your chests pressed together.

You were the first to break the silence.

“Baby,” you hummed, a soft, breathless laugh escaping your lips, “I think that might’ve been the hottest stream we’ve ever done.”

It took a second for your words to sink in, and when they did, his eyes widened slightly. The camera was still on. The audience was still there. His nose pressed harder against your neck as he tried to hide in embarrassment.

“Really? You’re getting shy now?“

His soft groan vibrated against your skin. “I wasn’t exactly thinking about the camera,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against your neck. “It left my mind the moment I… you know.”

You smiled, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Oh, I know. I could tell.”

You started to peel yourself off of him, only for his arms to tighten around your waist. You gave a playful tap on his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Holding you.”

“Why?”

“My brain needs a moment to process this.”

Your hand danced aimlessly across his back. “Still embarrassed?”

“Mortified,” he confirmed.

A giggle slipped out of you, and you wiggled your hips. “We still need to clean up. I don’t think you want to stay like this forever.”

He let out a sound of protest but didn’t loosen his grip. “Just a few more minutes.”

Smiling at his stubbornness, you slid your fingers into his hair, letting your nails scrape lightly against his scalp. "Spencer," you said gently, making sure the mic didn't pick up your voice. “I need to turn off the cam.”

"They wouldn't mind watching us a little longer."

You sighed, feeling the undeniable stickiness between your thighs. It wasn’t the most comfortable feeling, and the warmth was quickly turning into a mess that would need attention sooner rather than later. But there was something so sweet about the way he wanted to hold you that it made it impossible to resist.

"Fine," you relented with a quiet laugh, "five more minutes."

[syluslnd]

Hi! Sorry if this is a long request but I remember very early on Sylus saying that he gets easily bored when things aren't exciting and it's mentioned in 1 of his character notes. I was wondering if I can please request a HC were the reader and Sylus are in a relationship but the reader thinks they are just fwb because they remember Sylus saying he gets bored easily, meanwhile Sylus thinks they're in a committed relationship and gets confused when he over hears the reader (maybe talking to her friend?) Saying how she wishes she sometimes had a boyfriend so they could do all the "normal couple things" and he confronts her about it? Thank you!

Sylus claiming you as his

You sat on the edge of the bed, your phone pressed to your ear, your voice soft as you talked to your friend. Sylus was across the room, looking relaxed as he read something on his datapad, seemingly disinterested in your conversation. But that couldn't be further from the truth.

"I just wish I had a boyfriend" you said, a sigh escaping your lips. "Someone to do, you know, couple stuff with. Like dates, going out... all those normal things."

You didn't notice the way Sylus's fingers tightened around the edge of the datapad or the way his sharp gaze flicked toward you at that exact moment. But in the next heartbeat before you could react he was beside you ripping the phone from your grasp with a speed that left you breathless.

"What the hell did you just say sweetie?" His voice was low but there was an edge to it-one that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Sylus, what-" you began but he cut you off, pressing the phone to his chest as he glared down at you, eyes darkening.

"You wish you had a boyfriend?" He repeated your words with a scoff, his brow furrowed. "What do you think this is? Some kind of joke?"

You blinked up at him, heart stuttering. "I thought we weren't... I mean, I didn't think we were actually-"

"Not actually what kitten?" he interrupted, voice rising just slightly. His usual calm, teasing demeanor was gone, replaced by something hard, intense and almost... hurt. "You thought this was some casual thing? Some fling?"

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

In truth, you had no idea how to answer that.

You'd convinced yourself that Sylus would get bored, that this was all temporary and that treating it like anything more would only end in heartbreak.

His lips curled into a tight, humorless smile.

"Sweetie” he said, voice dripping with disbelief “I don't know what kind of 'fling' you think this is but I sure as hell didn't sign up for that."

The tension in the room was suffocating, the air thick with unspoken emotions. You bit your lip, trying to gather your thoughts. "You said... you get bored easily” you murmured, your voice barely audible. "I thought... maybe you'd get bored of me too."

For a moment, Sylus said nothing, just stared at you like he was trying to process what you'd just confessed. Then, without warning, a low, incredulous laugh bubbled up from his throat.

"Bored? Kitten, are you serious right now?"

Before you could respond, Sylus closed the distance between you, his hands finding your waist as he yanked you closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "You think I'd be spending all my time with you, putting up with all your little antics, if I wasn't serious?"

Your breath hitched as his fingers dug into your skin just enough to make you squirm.

He was mad, no doubt about it but there was something else underneath that anger-something possessive, something that sent heat coursing through your veins.

"You don't need a boyfriend" he murmured, his lips trailing down the side of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "You already have one."

Your heart stuttered at his words and you felt him smirk against your throat as he started to press slow, deliberate kisses there. "But if you really need proof.."

He bit down gently on your skin, pulling a gasp from your lips as he sucked hard enough to leave a mark—a claim. "I'll remind you."

Your pulse quickened, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as he worked his way along your neck, leaving a trail of hickies in his wake. "S-Sylus..." you breathed but the word came out shaky, almost desperate.

"What?" he teased, lips brushing against your collarbone now. "Isn't this what couples do? A normal boyfriend would mark what's his, wouldn't he?"

He tugged at the collar of your blouse, undoing the buttons one by one, his hands moving with practiced ease. Your heart raced, anticipation building as your skin was exposed to the cool air. Sylus's fingers skimmed over the bare skin of your chest, making you shiver, his touch sending a wave of heat through your entire body.

"Sylus" you tried again, your voice coming out in a mix of breathlessness and embarrassment. "This—this isn't..."

"Not couple enough for you?" he finished for you, voice teasing now, the anger from earlier fading into something playful, dangerous. "Because I can keep going, kitten. I can show you just how committed I am."

He kissed you again, harder this time, his tongue tracing the marks he'd left behind and you whimpered softly, your body arching into him as his hands slipped under your blouse. He grinned against your skin, his fingers tracing patterns down your spine as he leaned into you.

"You don't need to look anywhere else” he whispered, voice dark and possessive.

"Because you're already mine. Understand?"

His lips met yours then a kiss that was rough and consuming, filled with all the emotions he hadn't spoken aloud and in that moment, with his body pressing you into the bed and his hands exploring every inch of your skin, you knew one thing for certain:

You'd never been more his than you were right now.

[waitimcomingtoo]

Uranus

Pairing: Peter Parker x Avengers!Reader

Synopsis: you fix Peters science project while he’s out on a date with another girl

Masterlist

You walked by Peter’s room and paused in the doorway. The empty bedroom reminded you of where he was tonight and it send a sick feeling down to your stomach. The scent of his cologne lingered in the air as you looked at all the discarded outfits he had left on his bed.

“I’m not cleaning his stupid room.” You decided and walked away. You were barely halfway down the hallway when you turned and sprinted back to his room to start to put things away. You knew it wasn’t your job to take care of him but you simply couldn’t stop yourself from tidying up. You assumed he’d be getting back late from where he was and probably wouldn’t want to clean up all his clothes just to get into his bed. As you folded a pair of his jeans, you looked up into his vanity mirror and sighed.

“You’re so pathetic.” You told yourself through a groan.

“Stop talking to yourself.” Your reflection replied and pointed at you with a scathing finger. You jumped and looked down to see your finger was pointed as well.

“Right.” You mumbled and left his room.

You then went into the living room and saw Peter’s science project sitting on the couch. He had been building a model of the solar system for weeks now for his astronomy class with a little help from you here and there. All you did was hold pieces together after he glued them but he still insisted that he could not have done it without you. You smiled at the memory of the two of you working on it together and picked it up.

“Why would he leave it where someone could sit on it?” You sighed and moved it to the bar counter in the kitchen. You left the living room to use the bathroom just as Thor was entering the room. He stepped onto a bar stool with ease and took a seat on the counter to eat the apple he had taken from a lunchbox labeled “Sam’s: do not touch”. He munched his apple for a moment before feeling something digging into his back. He sat up a little and pulled a small ball out from under him that was painted to look like Mercury.

“Hm. Thats strange. I don’t remember putting that up there.” Thor frowned as he rolled the planet between his fingers. You walked back into the living room and smiled at Thor until you saw what he was holding. Your heart stopped at the same time your feet did and you let out a dramatic gasp that sent you into a coughing fit.

“Thor!” You exclaimed. “You just destroyed Peter’s science project!”

“These tiny colorful balls were his science project? What was it on? Tiny colorful balls?” Thor asked as he stood up to look at the science project he had completed crushed.

“No. It was a model of the solar system. And you just crushed it. How did you not feel that when you sat down?” You whined as more parts of the project fell from Thors jeans and back into the counter.

“Lady Y/n, you must be mistaken. I’ve seen the solar system with my own eyes. And then I had my eye cut out. And then I had my eye replaced and saw the solar system again. Peters little balls looked nothing like it.” Thor told you, making you roll your eyes up to the ceiling and stamp your feet like a little kid.

“I don’t care about your optic history.” You groaned. “Peter’s been working on it for weeks and your giant butt just crushed it in seconds.”

“Thank you. I eat a lot of yams to get these yams.” Thor smiled at the presumed compliment and patted his thigh. You watched him for a moment before letting out a deep sigh.

“Okay.” You was all you could stay in your effort to remain calm.

“I don’t see what all the petulance is about. If he formed one solar system out of tiny colorful balls, surely he can do it again. All the pieces are right here.” Thor pointed out.

“Yes, but that doesn’t erase the fact that you ruined the project he spent weeks working on. He’s gonna be devastated when he sees this. And who taught you the word “petulance”? Have you been watching The Twilight Zone again? I don’t know why you do that. It always scares you.”

“Never you mind.” He wagged a finger. “I do feel bad for the boy. I’ll collect the tiny balls since it was my behind that crushed them and then Peter can glue them back together.”

“He can’t. It’s due tomorrow and right now he’s on…I don’t know. He’s just busy and he can’t fix it tonight.” You sighed and started to collect the scattered pieces of the project.

“Busy doing what? You’re here and his small balls were finished. What else could the boy be doing?” Thor wondered. You paused for a moment and felt that sick feeling in your stomach again.

“He’s on a date.” You said for the first time out loud since Peter told you his plans for the evening. You’d been quietly stewing all day over it and letting it settle in a massive dark cloud over your head.

“Well I’m sure the man he’s with will be understanding that he has to come home to fix his balls.” Thor told you.

“Stop saying balls!” You scolded. “And the date is with a girl, for your information. A very pretty girl from our business class who smells like a vanilla and my broken dreams.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Lady Y/n. I never knew why but I know that small boy means a lot to you.” Thor said sympathetically and put his hand on your shoulder. You gave him a sympathetic smile and patted his hand.

“Seems like a lot of things are broken tonight.” Thor continued. “Your dreams, Peters balls-“

“Say balls one more time.” You said through clenched teeth.

“Or what? You’ll stab me?” Thor challenged you.

“What? No. Jesus Christ. Who hurt you?” You mumbled and pushed his hand off your shoulder.

“My brother. And then he hurt me again. And then my sister hurt me. And then my brother once more before he died before my eyes. Enough about me, why are your dreams broken?”

“It’s complicated.” You sighed. “Can I tell you something personal?”.

“No.” Thor replied and left the room without another word. You shrugged in defeat and wondered why you even bothered.

“Well that was a fine howdy do.” You mumbled and finished collecting the pieces. You laid out all the broken bits of Peter’s project on the kitchen counter and folded your arms. It would be a lot of work for Peter and you had no idea what hour he’d be getting back. As much as you hated the idea of him being on a date, you more so hated the thought of him coming home happy and his smile falling when he saw what had become of all his hard work.

“I need to fix these balls.” You whispered to yourself. You grabbed Saturn and one it’s broken rings and started to see how you could glue them back together.

“No. I can’t do this.” You said out loud. “I can’t fix every little thing in Peter’s life just to make him happy. I’m not his girlfriend. I’m not the one he asked on a date. I’m just a friend.”

You put the pieces down and folded your arms to keep your hands off it. You knew you should walk away, but you couldn’t stop thinking about all the nights you walked past his room and saw him working on the project. He’d put so much effort into it and now it was in pieces on the counter.

“A girlfriend would spend the next few hours working on a project that has no impact on me just to save Peter the trouble. A good friend would feel bad that his work got destroyed and offer condolences when he got home. And I’m a good friend. Not a girlfriend. It’s not my problem. So I’m walking away.” You decided and left the room. You lasted all of three minutes before you ran back into the room with a tube of crazy glue.

“I gotta fix the balls.” You exclaimed and plopped yourself down at the table. Once you organized all the planets and parts of the solar system, you went to Peter’s room to get the sketched out drawing he had made of the project to use as a blueprint. You silently thanked Peter for being so meticulous and followed his sketch to rebuild his project.

Time went by slowly but your hands cramped up quickly as you worked on the model. It was around the time you glued on Saturns 30th moon, you understood why it took Peter so long to complete the project. All the moons and planets looked the same to you so you had to carefully study his drawings and rely on your memory of when you helped him with the project to guide you as you worked. You had to stop every so often to rub your eyes and roll out your wrists to keep them from getting stiff.

You drifted off into sleep at some point when staring at Jupiters moons became a little too mind numbingly boring. Peter got back from his date about midnight and strolled past you on his way to his room. He backtracked when he realized you were asleep at the table and frowned. His completed science project was beside you, save for one missing moon next to Jupiter. His eyebrows knit together in confusion over the sight so he gently shook you awake.

“Hey. You awake?” He asked in a soft tone as he shook your shoulders. You shot up immediately and nearly knocked your head into his.

“I’m not snoring.” You blurted as you pulled the hair that was stuck to your cheek away.

“I know.” He chuckled. “What are you doing here? Why is Ganymede stuck to your face?”

“Why is what?” You asked through a yawn. Peter smiled and pulled the missing moon off your cheek and held it out to show you.

“Ganymede. The largest moon in the solar system.” He told you and put it in its correct spot on the model.

“There is no way you saw a random gray ball stuck to my face and correctly identified it as Gammy meme.” You insisted.

“Ganymede.” He corrected. “And I only know because I labeled them. See?”

Peter pulled the moon back off to show you a tiny G written on the bottom with the word “Jupiter” in parentheses beside it.

“They’re labeled?” You nearly shouted. “Well that would’ve been helpful four hours ago.”

“Four hours? That’s how long you’ve been here? What happened?” Peter frowned and took a seat beside you. You gave him a sheepish smile and looked at the model.

“I’m sorry, Peter. Thor sat on your project by accident.” You admitted. “I’ve been putting it back together ever since. I think I got most of it the way you had it but I never found Pluto. I honestly think it went up his ass and he just didn’t realize.”

“You spent four hours fixing my project?” He asked with a surprised smile.

“Of course I did. I know how hard you worked on this. I didn’t want you to have to start all over.” You told him. He gave you a fond smile and placed his hand on top of yours. Your eyes flicked to your hands and you gulped but said nothing.

“I really appreciate this but you really didn’t have to do this. You should have called me. I could’ve come home and fixed it myself.”

“But I knew you were really excited about tonight. I didn’t want to interrupt your date.” You said without looking at him.

“Well that was very selfless of you. And I hate to tell you this after all the work you did, but the date was bad. I would’ve loved an excuse to leave.” He admitted, making you smile involuntarily.

“It was bad?” You asked and quickly cleared your throat to cover up your smile.

“Woah. Don’t sound too happy.” He snorted.

“What?” You asked in a high pitched voice. “I’m not. Why would that make me happy? But please elaborate anyway.”

“It was bad.” He grimaced. “Like, season 6 of Glee level bad.”

“That bad?” You gasped. “So many forgettable characters. So many odd couple choices.”

“They sang Let it Go. They worked Let it Go from Frozen into the plot and made them sing it.” Peter shook his head.

“That was not the worst for me. The worst was when Mr. Shue rapped Same Love. They let the straight adult rap a song about being gay when the entire cast of queer young people were right there. And wasn’t there a child in the club for some reason? And twins who were lowkey dating?”

“Yep. All of that. And yet, my date was still worse.” He shrugged. You looked down at your lap and smiled a little before quickly dropping it.

“It was that bad, huh?” You asked and tried not to sound too interested.

“So bad.” He sighed. “She was a great girl, don’t get me wrong. We just had no connection whatsoever. She didn’t laugh at any of my jokes and then there were a few times where I thought she was joking so I laughed but she didn’t and then we sat in awkward silence.”

“That’s the worst. I hate awkward silence. I once pretended to forgot the word for “seatbelt” just to keep a conversation going with an uber driver. I kept calling it a strap on.”

“Wait, is that not what a strap on is?” Peter played dumb. “Should we Google it to make sure?”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes. “Keep going. I want to hear more about this awful date with the girl you’ll never see again.”

“There was just no spark. We realized pretty quickly that we didn’t have anything in common. At one point, she asked me if Star Wars was the “movie with the things you can’t feed after midnight”. So I don’t foresee a second date.”

“Wow. She had to have a serious lack of knowledge about two major huge pop culture movies to ask that question.”

“I know. I told her yes and she believed me.” Peter replied, making you laugh. He laughed as well over how ridiculous the whole night had been before stopping to look at you. When your laughter died down and you realized he was staring at you, you smiled shyly and looked over at the project to avoid eye contact.

“Well, I’m sorry it didn’t go well.” You told him. “Maybe the next girl will understand you more.”

“Yeah. I hope so.” He said in a soft voice and never stopped looking at you.

“You’ll have better luck next time. To be honest, I thought the date was doomed as soon as you told me you were going for sushi. You hate raw fish.”

“Because I’m not a seagull.”

“Because you’re not a seagull, yeah.” You laughed. “I think of that every time I eat sushi. I’m no better than those damn seagulls.”

“Don’t say that. You’re way better. A seagull would not have done all this for me.” Peter insisted and gestured to the project. You looked over at the solar system you had given too many hours of your life too and smiled as you realized something.

“I had to fix it. I didn’t want you to be stressed.”

“But didn’t this stress you out? Designing this thing gave me gray hair and premature menopause.” Peter replied, making you laugh softly.

“A little.” You admitted. “But I felt better when I remembered why I was doing it.”

“Why were you doing it?”

“Because I’d do anything for you, Peter.” You said simply. You watched his ears turn pink and he turned his head so that you wouldn’t see his smile.

“I’d do anything for you too, you know.” He said in a quiet voice.

“Careful.” You warned him. “You already owe me big time for fixing this unnecessarily detailed solar system. If you tell me you’d do anything for me, you’re really at my mercy.”

“Uh oh. Sounds dangerous.” He laughed softly. You shared another moment of eye contact and smiled softly at each other.

“It’s late. We should probably get to bed.” You suggested.

“You’re right. Thank you again for this.” Peter said and picked up the project. You didn’t know if you were sleep deprived or delirious from working on the project all night but you felt compelled to share every secret you had with Peter.

“Honestly, Peter, I was happy to do this stupid science project because it kept me from thinking about you on your date.” You told him as you got up and rubbed your tired eyes.

“Really? Why didn’t you want to think about that?”

“Because whenever I did think about you on your date, I wanted to throw up.” You admitted. “And then rip out my hair. And then eat my hair and throw it back up. And then kill my self or something.”

“Well,” Peter said slowly, “I see your urge to rip your hair out and raise you the fact that I only said yes to this date because she wears the same perfume as you. And I needed a night off from staring at the ceiling and thinking about what would happen if I just told you how I felt.”

You stopped mid yawn and gave him a confused look. His eyes were darting everywhere except for your eyes and you could see the rosy glow on his cheeks even in the dim light of the kitchen.

“Oh? And how do you feel?” You wondered and crossed your arms. Peter gulped before sitting up straight in his chair.

“I don’t know. Why did me being on a date make you so upset?” He challenged you. You narrowed your eyes at him and he looked nervous but didn’t back down.

“I asked you first.” You shrugged.

“Well I asked you second.” He replied. “And as Aristotle or whoever once said, first is the worst. Second is the best. Third is the one with the hairy chest.”

“Ew, what?” You grimaced. “It’s treasure chest. Third is the one with the treasure chest.”

“That makes no sense. Why would a person in third place, the very last place, be rewarded with a treasure chest? They’re the loser so they get a hairy chest. Now that’s sensical.”

“No it’s not.” You scoffed. “It makes even less sense. If I come in third place, does that mean my chest will grow hair? Or does it mean I will be given a torso with a hairy chest? Or, hear me out, does it imply that my chest is already hairy. And that’s why I came in third.”

“You did what in third?” Peter mumbled.

“Shut up. Can we get back to what we were talking about?”

“You’re right. We should go to sleep.” Peter said and tried to walk past you. You placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place and he gulped.

“Hold up.” You told him. “I’m cashing in that favor you owe me right now. We gotta talk. Sit back down.”

“I’m sat.” Peter said quietly and sat back down in his seat. You pulled your chair up to be across from him and sat down as well.

“I’m going to ask you again and I don’t want to hear another single reference to chests or placement.” You prefaced. “How do you feel?”

Peter scratched the back of his head to spare some time because he knew he was caught. He suddenly got a shy smile on his face suddenly and looked over at his project.

“Can I show you something?” He asked you as he pulled the sun off the center of the project.

“Dude.” You sighed. “I just glued that.”

“I know. And I’ll fix it. But look.” He said and turned the sun over. You looked at him in confusion and leaned forward to see what he was talking about. On the bottom of the sun in Peter’s hand writing were your first and last initials.

“My initials? Why? You smiled in surprise and looked up at him.

“Because the solar system revolves around the sun.” He explained. “But my solar system revolves around you.”

You stayed quiet as he put the sun back on the model and took your hand. A look of skepticism stayed on your face as he looked into your eyes.

“I know I do a good job of hiding it. But there is a piece of you in everything I do.” He said. “There always has been. This was just one of my more obvious ones.”

“Wow.” You said after a beat. “I really should’ve looked at the bottom of these.”

“Yeah. You should’ve.” He laughed and leaned in a little.

“Yeah. I should’ve.” You cracked a smile and leaned in as well. You stared into big brown eyes for a second and decided this was the last night you and Peter were just friends.

“Can I ask you one more thing?”

“Is it about the solar system?”

“No.” You rolled your eyes. “Did you kiss her tonight?”

“I don’t know. Ask me that question again one minute from now.” Peter said as he closed the gap between you and kissed you. You wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer since you’d been waiting for this for a while. And it was everything you imagined it would be. When the kiss started to heat up, Peter slipped an arm around you and picked you up with ease. He hastily placed you down on the counter and you jumped apart when you heard a crunching sound.

You pulled out of the kiss and looked down to see that Peter had placed you directly on top of the science project that you had just spent hours fixing. You both stared at the scattered pieces in stunned silence for a moment before he gave you a sheepish smile. You didn’t smile back and instead stared daggers at him while trying to explode his head using your mind.

“I can fix it?” He said through a nervous laugh. You held your hands up in defeat and hopped off the counter without a word.

“What? That’s how this night ends? Come on.” Peter whined and followed you as you left the room and continued your silent treatment towards him.

“You’re seriously going to walk away after that? We had something going there. Don’t go now.” He whined some more and trotted after you like a puppy.

“Go get something going with the planets I spent the last four hours glueing back together.” You grumbled and held up your middle finger for him to see as he trailed after you.

“Come on.” He half laughed, half groaned. “You can’t send me to bed after a kiss like that. We need to at least talk about it. Let’s go back and…” Peter trailed off when you passed his bedroom and he caught a glimpse of his clean floor.

“Wait, did you clean my room too?” He asked, knowing he had left it a mess before he left for the date. You froze in your tracks for a moment but decided to keep the upper hand instead of admitting to Peter that you were so down bad that you had in fact cleaned his room.

“I don’t know. I don’t have all the answers, Peter. Goodnight.” You said and slammed your door in his face. He barely had time to react before you opened your door back up and grabbed a fistful of his shirt.

“Get your ass in here, loser.”

“Don’t you mean get your anus in here? Because it sounds like Uranus?” He said with a proud smile. You stared him dead in the eyes and didn’t crack even a hint of smile.

“Do you want to come in here or not?”

“I already unzipped my pants, yeah.” He admitted as he dashed through your bedroom door.

Tag List 🏷️

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@whereismytelephone @so-very-asleep

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@hallecarey1 @adayasgeorgia @blackwidowisthebest @imawhoreforu

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@nellabellaa @pinklxmonade @boogywoogywoogy

[reidmarieprentiss]

Lost & Found

Summary: You suffer memory loss after an accident, only remembering your sister, Emily, and not your boyfriend, Spencer.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: car accident, depressive thoughts, fighting, crying, memory loss, struggling with memory loss, showering together, suggestive content (16+), use of Y/N

Word count: 19.6k

a/n: this reminds me of the vow lol my bad but i already wrote it sooo

main masterlist

The sun had just begun to rise over Washington, D.C., casting long shadows across the bustling streets. You were driving to work, your thoughts on the day ahead, when the unthinkable happened. Out of nowhere, a semi-truck barreled down the road, its brakes screaming in protest, unable to halt its deadly path. There was no time to react. The world slowed as the massive vehicle collided with the driver’s side of your car, the sound of metal crunching filling the air like a thunderclap.

—

Spencer Reid sat in a sterile conference room, surrounded by maps and case files in a small town in Missouri. He was miles away from home, yet his mind kept drifting back to you. It had been a little over two years since you and Spencer began dating, and in that time, he had come to rely on your comforting presence. Even though he was away, the two of you made it a point to call each other whenever possible, exchanging stories about your days and sharing a few jokes. Today, he hadn’t heard from you yet, and a nagging feeling tugged at the back of his mind.  

The shrill ring of his phone jolted Spencer out of his thoughts. Hotch was in mid-sentence when Spencer abruptly stood up, excusing himself from the meeting as he glanced down at the caller ID and recognized your best friend’s name. 

“Hey, Spencer! Sorry for calling so early, I just wanted to ask if you knew what Y/N would like for her birthday dinner!” they chirped, their voice a bit muffled from what sounded like some activity in the background. “She’s so picky, you know! Maybe we could make a surprise for her?”

“I...I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to her yet today,” Spencer admitted, his voice nearly shaking. “But she loves Italian food, maybe pasta?” 

“Oh, of course! I’ll start with that, then. Thanks, Spencer!” they replied before hanging up, oblivious to the gravity of the situation.

The call left Spencer feeling hollow, a growing sense of dread gnawing at him. He sank back into his chair, his mind reeling. Moments later, his phone rang again, and he picked it up without even glancing at the screen. This time, the voice on the other end was urgent and frantic, and Spencer’s heart sank as he listened. 

"Hello?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady, though the room was still buzzing around him.

“Spencer Reid?” a calm, authoritative voice inquired on the other end.

“Yes, this is he,” Spencer replied, straightening up slightly as he recognized the tone of someone delivering important information.

“This is St. Agnes Hospital in Washington, D.C.," the voice continued. "I’m calling about Y/N L/N.”

Spencer's heart skipped a beat. The mention of your name brought everything else to a halt, and he felt a wave of apprehension wash over him.

“She has been in an accident,” the voice said, and Spencer could hear the weight behind those words. “You are listed as her emergency contact, how soon can you get here?”

He froze, unable to process the words as they echoed in his mind. “An accident?” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "What happened?"

“There was a collision with a semi-truck,” the hospital staffer explained, their voice professional yet tinged with compassion. “Y/N was seriously injured. She’s currently in surgery, but it’s critical.”

Spencer's mind raced, each word like a punch to his gut. “Is she—” he started, his voice breaking. “Is she going to be okay?”

“We’re doing everything we can, Dr. Reid,” the worker reassured him gently. “But you should get here as soon as you can.”

He nodded, though the person on the other end couldn't see him, trying to gather his thoughts through the haze of shock. The room around him felt surreal, the voices of his colleagues fading into the background.

“Thank you,” Spencer managed to say, his voice shaky with barely restrained panic. “I’m on my way from Missouri, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

As he ended the call, Spencer abruptly returned, shoes pounding against the floor. His teammates noticed the sudden change in his demeanor, their conversations pausing as they turned to him with concern.

“Spencer?” Emily asked, noticing the ashen look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Y/N,” Spencer said, his voice tight with urgency. “There’s been an accident. I need to get home.”

Without waiting for a response, he grabbed his things, already planning his route to the nearest airport in his head. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the urgency to be by your side, to hold your hand, to be there when you needed him most.

“We’ll cover things here,” Hotch assured him, stepping forward. “Go.”

“Thanks,” Spencer replied, his voice holding gratitude and desperation. He turned to leave, his thoughts solely focused on getting back to you, hoping with every fiber of his being that he wouldn’t be too late.

—

Spencer couldn’t remember the flight home. The moments blurred together as his mind replayed the words over and over: life support, coma, severe accident. They echoed in his head, refusing to let him think of anything else. His team had rallied around him, offering words of support and handling the details to get him back as quickly as possible. 

As the plane touched down in Washington, Spencer felt the full weight of the situation crashing down on him. His legs trembled as he stood, a numbness spreading through his body as he made his way through the terminal. 

The hospital was a short drive away, and yet it felt like an eternity. He barely registered the buildings and streets flashing by as he sat in the back seat of a cab, his heart pounding with each passing moment. 

Finally, he arrived at the hospital, a large, imposing building that now seemed more like a fortress. Spencer rushed through the doors, barely acknowledging the bustling activity around him as he focused solely on reaching you. He navigated the maze of hallways with a determination that surprised even him, eventually finding his way to the ICU. 

Your room was sterile and filled with the rhythmic beeping of machines, each sound a stark reminder of your fragile condition. Spencer stopped short at the sight of you lying in the hospital bed, tubes and wires snaking across your body. His heart wrenched at the sight, a profound ache settling in his chest as he slowly approached. 

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. 

He took a shaky breath, feeling the enormity of the situation press down on him. He felt helpless, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest with the assistance of the ventilator, knowing there was nothing he could do to change what had happened. 

Spencer reached out, his hand trembling as he gently took yours. The warmth of your skin was a small comfort, a reminder that you were still there, still fighting. 

“I’m here,” he said softly, his voice breaking as he spoke. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Please, Y/N... please come back to me.” 

The room was silent except for the steady hum of the machines, and Spencer felt a tear slide down his cheek. He brushed it away, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. 

—

The hours that followed were a blur. Spencer sat by your side, his hand never leaving yours as he kept a silent vigil. The nurses and doctors came and went, their words and actions a distant murmur as Spencer focused solely on you. He remembered snippets of conversations, assurances that you were receiving the best care possible, and updates on your condition that offered little comfort. 

In those moments, Spencer clung to hope. He recalled all the times you had smiled at him, the way your eyes lit up when you were excited or passionate about something. He remembered the quiet moments you shared, the laughter and love that had blossomed between you over the past years. 

—

Three Days Later

Spencer hadn’t left the hospital since he arrived. The team had been by his side, offering support and keeping him company, but he barely registered their presence. All that mattered was you, and the hope that you would wake up and return to him. 

On the third day, the doctor came in with a more hopeful expression than before. He checked the monitors, made some notes, and then turned to Spencer with a small smile. 

“There’s been some improvement,” he said gently. “It’s a good sign. We’re going to try reducing the sedation and see how she responds.”

Spencer felt a flicker of hope at the words, his heart clenching with a mix of anticipation and fear. He nodded, unable to trust his voice as he watched the doctor adjust the IV line. They assured him they would keep him informed as soon as your surgery was complete and directed him to the waiting area, where he could collect himself while waiting for more information.

Spencer made his way to the waiting room, his thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. Memories of you together flooded his mind: the quiet evenings spent curled up on the couch, the laughter shared over inside jokes, and the whispered promises of a future together. He sat down, feeling the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him, wondering what the next few hours would bring.

—

The hours stretched on interminably, each tick of the clock echoing loudly in Spencer's ears as he waited in the sterile waiting room. He couldn't bring himself to focus on anything other than the thought of you, lying in surgery, fighting for your life. The antiseptic smell of the hospital, the murmur of other patients and visitors, all faded into the background as he replayed every memory he had of you in his mind, trying to cling to the hope that you would pull through.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a doctor approached Spencer with a solemn expression. "Dr. Reid?" the doctor asked, and Spencer quickly stood, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Yes, that's me," Spencer replied, his voice fullof hope and anxiety.

"The surgery was successful," the doctor said, offering a small, reassuring smile. "We were able to stabilize her, and she's currently in the ICU under observation."

Spencer felt a rush of relief wash over him, though the gravity of the situation was still heavy on his shoulders. "Thank you," he said sincerely, his voice trembling with emotion. "Thank you so much."

The doctor nodded, understanding the depth of Spencer's gratitude. "She's not out of the woods yet," the doctor continued, "but she's made it through the worst part. However, I need to prepare you for the possibility that there may be complications. We won't know the full extent until she regains consciousness."

Spencer nodded, taking in the doctor's words with a mix of relief and apprehension. He felt his breath catch in his throat, knowing that there was still a long road ahead, but grateful for the chance to be by your side as you began to recover.

—

You pulled through, but it wasn't without its challenges. When you finally awoke, the room was filled with the soft beeping of monitors and the faint hum of medical equipment. Everything felt disorienting as you blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights, trying to make sense of where you were and what had happened.

Spencer was at your side, his eyes filled with relief and worry as he watched you stir. He reached out to take your hand, squeezing it gently in reassurance. "Y/N," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "You're awake."

You turned your head slightly, trying to focus on the man before you. He looked somewhat familiar, yet your mind struggled to place him. The last thing you remembered was being 18, living with your sister Emily, and yet here you were, in a hospital bed, with a stranger by your side.

"Who are you?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of uncertainty.

Spencer felt his heart drop at your words, a painful realization settling in. He had hoped that when you woke up, everything would be back to normal, that you would go back to the life you had built together. But the look of confusion and fear in your eyes told him everything he needed to know.

"I'm Spencer," he said gently, trying to keep his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "I'm your boyfriend. We've been together for over two years. You live with me."

You shook your head slowly, trying to wrap your mind around his words. It felt like a dream, a reality you couldn't quite grasp. "No," you said, your voice breaking with frustration and fear. "I live with my sister, Emily. I don't know you."

Spencer felt a wave of sadness wash over him, but he forced himself to stay strong for you. He knew this was a possibility, that the trauma of the accident could have affected your memory, but hearing it from you was a different reality altogether. He took a deep breath, his heart aching with every word he prepared to say.

“Um, no. I—I don’t know how to tell you this, but, uh…” Spencer tried to speak through the tears coming on, his voice trembling. “You are 25 years old, Emily is 38,  and you work as a liaison for the Sex Crimes Unit in the FBI. Emily and I work together in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. We met through Emily, and now you live with me. You were in a severe car accident three days ago, and you may be suffering from amnesia.”

His words hung in the air like a cloud, heavy and dense, as you struggled to process what he was telling you. The hospital room felt colder, the sterile smell more pronounced, as your mind tried to catch up with the information being presented to you. Everything he said felt distant and unfamiliar, like a story someone else was telling, not your own life.

“Amnesia?” you repeated, the word foreign on your tongue. You could feel panic beginning to rise in your chest, the fear of the unknown pressing down on you. “How is this possible? I—I don’t remember any of this.”

Spencer’s heart broke at the fear in your eyes, and he longed to reach out and comfort you. But he knew that, to you, he was a stranger, someone who claimed to know you but didn’t feel real. He had to tread carefully, to give you space to process the situation at your own pace.

“It’s okay,” Spencer said softly, his eyes filled with compassion. “I know this is a lot to take in. You’ve been through so much, and I’m here for you. We can take this one step at a time. Whatever you need, I’m here to help.”

You looked at him, studying his face for any sign of deception or recognition, but all you saw was sincerity. It was both comforting and unsettling. Here was a man who seemed to care deeply for you, yet you couldn’t find a single memory to support his claims. It was like standing at the edge of a vast, unknown ocean, unsure whether to step forward or retreat.

“I just... I don’t understand how I got here,” you said, your voice small and uncertain, the edges of panic sharpening your words. Your eyes filled with tears as you grappled with the enormity of your situation. “Where’s Emily? I want to see Emily,” you added, the tears now spilling over, and you could feel your chest tighten with fear and helplessness. 

Spencer felt a painful twist in his heart as he watched you cry, the sight of your distress cutting through him like a knife. He knew how much you relied on Emily before, but he had been your rock these past years. To not be able to comfort you in your time of need tore him apart. Despite the situation, he felt a glimmer of relief that you still remembered your sister, a familiar anchor in a sea of unfamiliar faces and places.

“She’s at home sleeping. I’ll give her a call,” Spencer assured you, reaching for his phone with a steady hand, though inside he felt anything but calm. He wanted to be the one to comfort you, to hold you and tell you that everything would be okay, but he understood that right now, Emily was the person you needed most. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. You wiped at your tears, feeling both grateful and overwhelmed by the kindness of this man who seemed so determined to help you, even though you couldn’t remember him.

Spencer stepped out into the hallway to make the call, wanting to give you a moment of privacy. The hospital corridor was quiet, save for the distant murmur of medical staff and the occasional beep of machinery. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before dialing Emily’s number. 

“Spencer?” Emily’s voice was groggy but instantly alert as she answered the call, concern evident in her tone. “Is everything okay? How’s Y/N?”

Spencer swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “Emily, she’s awake,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “But she doesn’t remember anything from the past seven years. She thinks she’s still living with you.”

“Oh my God,” Emily breathed, the shock clear in her voice. “Is she okay? What did the doctors say?”

“They think it’s retrograde amnesia caused by the trauma of the accident,” Spencer explained, running a hand through his hair as he spoke. “She’s asking for you, Emily. She’s really scared.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Emily promised, already moving to get dressed. “Tell her I’m on my way, okay? And Spencer... thank you for being there with her. I know this must be incredibly hard for you.”

Spencer nodded, even though Emily couldn’t see him. “I’ll tell her. Drive safely.”

After ending the call, Spencer returned to your room, his heart heavy with the knowledge of how disorienting this must be for you. He found you sitting up slightly, your eyes still red from crying but showing a flicker of hope at the mention of your sister.

“Emily’s on her way,” Spencer said gently, offering you a small, reassuring smile. “She should be here soon.”

You nodded, the knowledge that Emily was coming bringing you a semblance of comfort. But still, questions swirled in your mind, the uncertainty of your situation looming large.

"Thank you, um, what was your name again?" you asked softly, your voice hesitant and tinged with the confusion that clouded your mind. 

Spencer’s heart ached at the question, a painful reminder of the gap that now existed between you. But he managed a gentle smile, determined to be patient and understanding. 

“Spencer,” he said quietly, meeting your gaze with a steady warmth. “My name is Spencer.”

You nodded slowly, trying to commit his name to memory, even though it felt like grasping at straws. There was something comforting about the way he looked at you, a sense of safety that you couldn’t quite explain.

“Thank you, Spencer,” you repeated, hoping that saying his name would help anchor you in this unfamiliar reality. Despite the overwhelming uncertainty, you felt a small sense of reassurance knowing he was there, a steady presence in the storm of your fractured memories.

—

Emily arrived at the hospital within the hour, her eyes filled with concern and determination as she made her way to your room. When she saw you, relief flooded her features, and she rushed to your side, wrapping her arms around you in a warm, reassuring embrace.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Emily murmured, holding you tightly as she stroked your hair. “I’m here, Y/N. We’ll figure this out together.”

You clung to her, the familiar comfort of her presence grounding you in the midst of the chaos. For the first time since waking up, you felt a sense of safety, a reminder of the life you remembered.

Spencer watched the reunion, his heart aching with a mixture of emotions. He was grateful that Emily was there for you, knowing how much you needed her support right now. But there was also a longing, a deep-seated hope that one day, you would remember the life you had built with him, the love that had grown between you.

As you leaned into Emily's embrace, you whispered, “Can you stay with me, please?” Your voice was soft, almost childlike in its vulnerability, and Spencer’s heart clenched at the sound of it.

Emily smiled gently, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face as she nodded. “Of course, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” she said, guilt tinging her words. “I came as soon as I heard.”

“It’s okay,” you replied, offering her a small, reassuring smile. “Peter is really nice.”

The misstep in Spencer's name hit him like a physical blow, and yet he understood. You were trying your best to piece things together, to make sense of the world around you, and that meant trying to fit him into a picture that didn’t quite match the reality you remembered. 

Emily glanced at Spencer, a flicker of understanding in her eyes as she gave him a supportive nod. She knew how hard this must be for him, watching you struggle to recall the love and life you shared. 

Spencer swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing himself to return Emily’s nod with a small, grateful smile. He knew that rebuilding the bridge to your past wouldn’t be easy, but he was willing to do whatever it took to help you find your way back. 

He remained quiet, a gentle presence in the background as Emily continued to comfort you, knowing that while he might not be the one you remembered now, he would do everything in his power to be the one you’d remember in the future.

—

Spencer eventually went home, the weight of the last few days pressing heavily on his shoulders. The hospital had become a second home in the wake of the accident, but now, as he drove through the familiar streets of Quantico, he felt the exhaustion finally catch up with him. 

The apartment was quiet when he arrived, the silence amplifying the absence of your presence. He dropped his bag by the door and stood in the entryway for a moment, looking around the space that had been your shared sanctuary. Everything about it—the framed photos, the little touches that marked your shared life—felt like an echo of the past he was desperate to help you remember.

He made his way to the bathroom, shedding his clothes and stepping into the shower. The hot water cascaded over him, washing away the grime and fatigue, but doing little to ease the turmoil inside. As the steam filled the room, Spencer closed his eyes, allowing the water to drown out the noise in his head for just a moment. 

He thought about you, lying in that hospital bed, trying to piece together a life you couldn’t remember. The thought of your struggle weighed heavily on him, and he wished more than anything that he could simply take away the burden of your amnesia. But he knew that wasn’t possible, and it frustrated him deeply.

Stepping out of the shower, Spencer wrapped a towel around his waist and caught his reflection in the mirror. The face staring back at him was etched with worry and sleepless nights. He knew he needed to rest, to recharge so he could be strong for you, but his mind was already racing with possibilities, with ways to help you find your way back to the life you had known.

Reluctantly, he made his way to the bedroom and sank into the mattress, pulling the covers over himself. 

—

When Spencer awoke, the morning light was filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. He stretched, feeling the knots in his muscles protest at the movement, but he pushed through, determined to make the most of the day ahead.

His mind immediately returned to you and the questions that had haunted him since the accident. He needed answers, a plan, something tangible he could use to help you. Rising from the bed, he quickly dressed and made his way to the library, his thoughts already churning with possibilities.

The library was quiet, a haven of knowledge waiting to be tapped into. Spencer made his way through the aisles, pulling books from the shelves with practiced ease. He found volumes on neurology, psychology, and memory restoration, stacking them on the table as he prepared to dive deep into his research.

Sitting down, Spencer opened the first book, his fingers flipping through the pages with the kind of fervor only a man on a mission possessed. He absorbed every word, every study and theory on amnesia and retrograde amnesia, searching for anything that might provide a glimmer of hope.

He read about the mechanisms of memory, the ways trauma could affect the brain's ability to store and retrieve information. He learned about the potential for memory recovery, the techniques that could aid in jogging the mind back to the present, and the importance of emotional connections in bridging the gaps.

As the hours passed, Spencer lost himself in the sea of information, each new piece of knowledge building upon the last. He scribbled notes in the margins, cross-referencing studies and compiling a mental list of strategies he could employ to help you.

It was a daunting task, but Spencer felt a sense of purpose in the research, a way to channel his love for you into something tangible. He was determined to do everything he could to help you regain your memory, to guide you back to the life you had shared together. 

For Spencer, this was more than just a quest for answers—it was a testament to the bond that had grown between you, a bond he was unwilling to let go of. He was ready to fight for your future, to be there for you in whatever capacity you needed, until the day your eyes lit up with recognition and the memories flooded back. 

With renewed resolve, Spencer closed the book he was reading, his mind buzzing with ideas and possibilities. He gathered his notes, feeling a sense of determination settle over him. He would be there for you, no matter how long it took, until you found your way back to him.

—

Spencer called Emily, feeling a slight tremor in his fingers as he punched in her number. He knew how delicate your situation was, and he didn’t want to risk upsetting you with his presence if it would cause more harm than good. As the phone rang, he took a deep breath, hoping that Emily would have some insight into how you were doing and whether it would be okay for him to visit.

“Hello?” Emily’s voice came through the line, sounding calm but tinged with exhaustion.

“Emily, it’s Spencer,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady despite the nervousness fluttering in his chest. “I wanted to check in and see how Y/N is doing... and if it would be alright for me to come back to the hospital. I don’t want to overwhelm her, but I think I might have found some helpful information on memory restoration tactics.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, and Spencer could hear the soft murmur of the hospital in the background, the distant beeps of monitors and the hushed conversations of medical staff. Emily sighed softly, and he could picture her leaning against the wall outside your room, her hand running through her hair as she considered his request.

“Spencer, she’s been asking about you,” Emily finally said, her voice gentle and reassuring. “I think she wants to start trying to piece things together a little, and having you here might actually help.”

The fragments of your past felt like pieces of a puzzle scattered across the table, and you were trying to fit them together. The memory of just having graduated college and moving in with Emily in Europe while she worked for Interpol was clear in your mind, yet the reality you were living in contradicted that memory in every way. You obviously went to college, got an important job, met someone, and fell in love. That would be nice to remember.

The thought of your life now—a life filled with achievements, meaningful relationships, and moments of joy—was enticing. You felt a sense of longing to reconnect with those parts of yourself, to remember the paths that led you to where you were today. The idea of having accomplished so much, of having people in your life who cared deeply for you, filled you with both curiosity and determination.

You sat in the hospital bed, the beeping of the monitors a constant reminder of the present, and tried to reconcile the gap between what you knew and what was real. There was a sense of urgency within you, a desire to reclaim the life that had slipped through your fingers due to the accident.

As you contemplated this, Spencer arrived, a reassuring presence amidst the confusion. He had a folder in hand, filled with information he’d painstakingly gathered to aid in your recovery. His expression was one of quiet resolve, a testament to his commitment to helping you find your way back.

“Hey, Y/N,” Spencer greeted softly, taking a seat beside your bed. His eyes were warm and encouraging, and you couldn’t help but feel comforted by his presence. “I know this is a lot to take in, but I’ve found some information that might help you remember.”

You nodded, eager to hear what he had discovered. The prospect of understanding more about your life, your achievements, and the connection you shared with Spencer filled you with hope.

Spencer opened the folder, revealing a collection of notes, articles, and studies on memory restoration and retrograde amnesia. “I’ve been looking into different techniques and therapies that could aid in restoring your memories,” he explained, his voice steady and full of purpose.

He began to outline the various strategies he had found, discussing everything from cognitive therapy and memory exercises to more experimental approaches. As he spoke, you listened intently, absorbing the possibilities and feeling a flicker of determination ignite within you.

“I believe that with the right approach and support, we can hopefully help you piece together your memories,” Spencer said, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering sincerity. “I’m here to support you in whatever way you need. We can do this together, one step at a time.”

His words resonated with you, and you found yourself nodding along, feeling a renewed sense of hope. The idea of reclaiming your memories, of rediscovering the life you had built, felt like a light at the end of a long tunnel. 

“Thank you, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice filled with gratitude. “I want to remember.”

—

The hospital released you into Emily’s care. While the medical staff had done everything they could, the journey to regaining your memory would continue outside the hospital walls.

The decision to stay with Emily instead of Spencer hurt him, but it felt like the right choice for now. As much as Spencer wanted to be there for you, he understood the need for you to be in an environment that felt familiar and safe. The last thing he wanted was to push you further away by overwhelming you with too much, too soon.

“It’s okay,” Spencer assured you as you prepared to leave the hospital. His voice was steady, but the flicker of pain in his eyes was unmistakable. “I understand. Emily will take good care of you, and I’m just a phone call away if you need anything.”

You nodded, appreciating his understanding. A part of you felt guilty for not choosing to stay with him, especially considering how kind and supportive he had been. But the gaps in your memory left you feeling adrift, and being with Emily was like holding onto a piece of your past that still made sense. Besides, he was still technically a stranger.

—

The drive to yours and Spencer’s apartment was quiet, Emily navigating the streets with the ease of someone who knew them well. You sat in the passenger seat, watching the city pass by, anticipation and apprehension swirling within you. This was a chance to see the life you had built, to find clues that might help bridge the chasm between the past you remembered and the present you couldn’t grasp.

Arriving at the apartment building, you felt a sense of déjà vu, as if you had been here countless times before, but it was all shrouded in fog. Emily led you up to the front door, her presence reassuring and calm as she unlocked it and gestured for you to step inside.

The apartment was warm and inviting, filled with little touches that spoke of a life shared between two people. You took a tentative step inside, your eyes scanning the space as you tried to grasp any spark of recognition. The furniture, the décor, the scent of your favorite candle burning on the coffee table—everything felt just out of reach.

But it was the photographs that caught your attention, lining the walls and filling the shelves with captured moments of happiness and love. You walked over to a series of framed photos, your heart aching at the sight of the images. There you were, smiling and laughing with Spencer, your faces filled with joy.

There was a picture of the two of you on a hiking trip, arms around each other as you gazed at the camera, the sun setting behind you. Another of you dancing together at what appeared to be a wedding, Spencer’s hand on the small of your back, your face lit with laughter.

And then there was the one that brought tears to your eyes—an image of you and Spencer sharing a tender kiss, your arms wrapped around his neck, his hand gently holding your waist while the other stretched out to hold the camera. The love captured in that single moment was undeniable, and yet it was a memory you couldn’t access, a chapter of your life that felt painfully distant.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as the weight of what you had lost settled over you. You turned away from the photos, covering your face with your hands as sobs wracked your body. The sadness was overwhelming, a deep, unbearable grief for the beautiful life you couldn’t remember.

Emily was at your side in an instant, her arm wrapping around you as she whispered soothing words, trying to calm the storm of emotions that had taken hold.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried, your voice breaking with the depth of your sorrow. “I’m so sorry, Spencer. I wish I could remember. I wish I could—”

Spencer’s expression was filled with compassion and understanding, though his heart ached at the sight of your distress. He longed to reach out and hold you, to reassure you that it was okay, that you would find your way back to him in time. But he knew that the memories were something you had to reclaim on your own.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Spencer said gently, his voice soft and comforting. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

Despite his reassuring words, the pain of not being able to remember was too much to bear. You were inconsolable, and Emily could see that you needed space to process everything, away from the emotional overload of the apartment.

“Let’s go home, Y/N,” Emily suggested softly, guiding you toward the door with a gentle touch. “We can come back another time when you’re ready.”

You nodded, allowing her to lead you away, the tears still streaming down your face. Spencer watched as Emily escorted you out, his heart heavy with sadness. 

—

The following Monday, the next step in your recovery journey was to visit your workplace, a place where you had spent countless hours building a career you could no longer remember. The decision to bring you back into the office was made with the hope that it might jog some of your lost memories, and while it felt daunting, you were determined to face it head-on.

Emily drove you to the FBI headquarters, the massive building both imposing and familiar as you approached. You had been nervous about this visit, unsure of how it would make you feel or what it might stir within you. Your unit chief had been extremely understanding about your situation, assuring you that you had all the time you needed to recover and that your job would be waiting for you if and when you were ready to return. The possibility of never coming back loomed large, but today was about exploring what felt right.

As you walked through the corridors, passing colleagues who greeted you with warm smiles and words of encouragement, you felt a mixture of anxiety and curiosity. The familiarity of the surroundings tugged at the edges of your mind, teasing you with whispers of recognition that were just out of reach.

When you finally reached your desk, something shifted within you. A small sense of familiarity washed over you, grounding you in a way that you hadn't expected. The space was uniquely yours, decorated with personal touches that reflected your personality and interests. The colorful keyboard and mouse pad, the photos adorning your workspace, all felt like pieces of yourself that you were slowly rediscovering.

Emily stood beside you, watching as you took it all in. Her presence was reassuring, a steady hand on your shoulder as you navigated the myriad of emotions swirling within you.

"This is your desk," Emily said gently, gesturing to the array of decorations and mementos that made it uniquely yours. 

You ran your fingers over the keyboard, tracing the familiar keys, and then turned your attention to the photos. There were images of you and Emily from your first apartment together in D.C., snapshots of a time when life felt full of possibility and adventure. Your eyes lingered on the photos of you and Spencer, capturing moments of joy and love that you desperately wished to remember.

One photo, in particular, caught your eye. It was of you and another person, both of you with wide smiles, arms wrapped tightly around each other, faces pressed together in a display of friendship and affection. The bond between you was evident, even in a still image, and you felt a pang of longing to recall the memories associated with it.

“Who are all of these people?” you asked, your voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of sadness.

Emily leaned in, pointing to the photo of you and the person who seemed to be a close friend. “That is your best friend, Noah,” she explained. Her smile was warm, the fondness for your friendship evident in her tone. “You two have been inseparable for years. They’ve been by your side through thick and thin.”

You studied the photo, trying to summon any fragment of memory, but the connection eluded you. Still, it was comforting to know that you had someone like Noah in your life, a constant presence of support and friendship.

Emily then pointed to another photo, this one featuring a large group of people gathered in a spacious kitchen that looked to be part of a grand mansion. The scene was lively and filled with laughter, the closeness between everyone palpable even in a photograph.

“And that,” Emily said, gesturing to the group photo, “is my team. The Behavioral Analysis Unit, at David Rossi’s house for pasta and wine. It’s a tradition of ours to get together and unwind after a long week. You’ve become a part of that tradition too.”

The photo brought a sense of warmth and belonging that tugged at your heartstrings. Though you couldn’t remember the specifics of the event, the image conveyed a sense of community and acceptance, a reminder that you were surrounded by people who cared for you deeply.

You nodded, feeling a mix of emotions—gratefulness for the connections you had forged, sadness for the memories that remained out of reach, and determination to piece it all together. As overwhelming as it was, the visit to your workplace had sparked something within you, a desire to reclaim the life you had lost and reconnect with the people who meant so much to you.

“Thank you for bringing me here, Emily,” you said softly, turning to your sister with gratitude in your eyes.

Emily smiled, her hand squeezing your shoulder reassuringly. “You’re doing great, Y/N.”

—

After spending some time familiarizing yourself with your desk and the environment, you felt a little more grounded. Emily suggested taking a break, and the two of you made your way to the break room for some coffee. The small talk and casual atmosphere provided a sense of normalcy, and you found yourself relaxing into the environment, even if it still felt like you were seeing it all for the first time.

As you sipped your coffee, Emily shared stories about the team, painting vivid pictures of the friendships that had developed over the years. Her words were filled with warmth, and you could sense the deep bond that connected everyone in the unit.

“–and then you and Penelope performed as much of the Rent musical as you could while Spencer took you home from girls' night.”

You laughed, a joyous feeling after all the sadness and confusion you’d been wearing like a cloud. It felt good to feel lighthearted again, if only for a moment, and the image of yourself belting out show tunes with Penelope at the top of your lungs was both hilarious and comforting.

“Was he mad?” you asked, picturing the scene in your mind.

“Quite the opposite,” Emily said, her eyes twinkling with amusement at the memory. “He asked you out the next week at work.”

“That’s so sweet,” you said, a warm glow spreading through you at the thought of Spencer’s patience and kindness. 

“He really loves you,” Emily added, her voice gentle and full of sincerity. 

You looked down at your coffee cup, a mix of emotions swirling within you. “I just can’t believe I’m loved so much by someone I don’t remember,” you said softly, your words carrying the weight of your current reality. 

Spencer hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but as he was walking to the break room, your voice reached his ears, and he froze just outside the door. The sound of your laughter was like music to him, a familiar melody he had sorely missed since the accident. It felt normal to hear you in the building, like it had been before, a sense of déjà vu that was both comforting and bittersweet.

But hearing that last snippet of conversation—that you couldn’t believe you were loved by someone you didn’t remember—was like a punch to the gut. It was a reminder of how much had been lost, how fragile the threads of your connection had become in the wake of your amnesia.

Spencer’s heart clenched with longing and sadness. He wanted to be there with you, to share in the laughter and help rebuild the life you had once shared. Yet, he also knew that the path to healing was not a straight line and that you needed time to find your footing.

With a heavy heart, Spencer decided against going into the break room. He felt it would be too much to face you right then, knowing that he was part of the gap in your memory. He turned on his heel, heading back to his desk with a resolve to give you the space you needed while still being there for you in whatever way he could.

Back in his office, Spencer tried to focus on his work, but his mind kept drifting back to you and the conversation he had overheard. He wished he could do more, be more, to help you remember. The thought of the love you had shared, a love you now couldn’t recall, weighed heavily on him.

—

Over the next few weeks, life became a series of ups and downs, filled with moments of both clarity and confusion. Living with Emily had its comforting moments—her presence a soothing balm to the chaos in your mind. You cherished the time you spent with her, grateful for the bond that had been rekindled. You missed Emily deeply during high school, and living with her felt like a second chance to reconnect and make up for lost time. 

But the reason for your reunion weighed heavily on you. You were so happy to be living with Emily again, until you remembered why. Some nights, the memories—or lack thereof—were overwhelming, and you’d find yourself crying silently into your pillow, grieving for the life you learned about but couldn’t recall. You mourned for the person you once were, the experiences you’d lost, and the love you had built with Spencer, a man who was now a stranger in your life.

In those darker moments, a part of you wondered if a second accident could somehow reverse the damage, though you knew deep down that it wouldn’t work. The thought was fleeting, a desperate whisper in your mind, quickly silenced by the knowledge that the path to healing lay elsewhere.

You wanted to love Spencer, you really did. Everything you’d learned about him painted a picture of a man who was kind, intelligent, and deeply devoted to you. But every time you looked at him, all you felt was a sense of apathy and resentment. It was an unfair burden, one you didn’t want to carry but couldn’t seem to shake. He knew you, but you didn’t know him. He had gotten to know the you that you couldn’t remember, had built a life with a version of yourself that no longer existed. 

Safe to say, you hadn’t spoken to anyone but Emily since that day at Spencer’s apartment. Despite Emily’s best efforts to coax you out of your shell, to encourage you to re-engage with the world, you found solace only in her presence. She would suggest small outings, opportunities to reintroduce you to the life you’d lived—a coffee date with Penelope, a lunch with Noah, a casual dinner with the BAU team—but you declined each invitation with a sense of dread.

—

Emily understood your reluctance, though she worried about the isolation you were imposing on yourself. She was patient, never pushing too hard, but she tried her best to gently encourage you to take those first steps toward reconnecting with your life.

"Y/N," she said one afternoon as you both sat in the living room, the afternoon sun streaming through the windows. "I know it’s hard, but you have so many people who care about you. They’re all here, ready to support you whenever you’re ready."

You nodded, your eyes fixed on the floor. “I know,” you replied softly, your voice tinged with frustration and sadness. “I just... I don’t know how to face them, Emily. It’s like they’re expecting me to be someone I’m not.”

Emily reached over, taking your hand in hers, her grip reassuring. “They’re not expecting anything,” she said gently. “They just want to be there for you, to help you find your way back. And you don’t have to do it alone. I’ll be with you.”

Despite her words, the idea of facing Spencer or any of your friends felt daunting. It wasn’t just about remembering; it was about rebuilding a sense of self that had been shattered by the accident. You felt like a puzzle with missing pieces, unsure of how to fit back into the picture of your own life.

—

One night, as you lay in bed, the weight of it all pressed heavily on your chest. You stared at the ceiling, the darkness a mirror to the emptiness you felt inside. The person you were before the accident seemed like a ghost, haunting the edges of your consciousness, taunting you with glimpses of a life you couldn’t quite grasp.

Tears slipped silently down your cheeks as you grieved for the life you’d lost, for the love that was now a distant memory. It felt like an insurmountable chasm between the past and present, a gap you couldn’t bridge no matter how hard you tried.

You curled up under the covers, wishing for relief from the emotional storm, longing for a sense of belonging that remained elusive. But as much as you yearned for the past, you knew the journey to healing had to start from where you were now—from this moment, with its uncertainties and challenges.

Emily found you the next morning, the traces of tears still visible on your face. She didn’t say anything, simply pulled you into a hug, offering her silent support. You leaned into her embrace, grateful for the unconditional love and understanding she provided.

“I’m here, Y/N,” Emily murmured, her voice steady and reassuring. “Whenever you’re ready to take that next step, I’m here.”

—

On a random Tuesday morning, you regained a glimpse of yourself. It was an ordinary day, the sun barely peeking over the horizon as you padded into the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. Emily was already there, pouring herself a cup and offering you a warm smile as you entered.

"Good morning," she said, her voice carrying the comforting tone you had come to rely on over the past few weeks.

“Did I bring any files home?” you asked, the question slipping out naturally as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “I want to review the Cooper case.”

Emily whipped around so fast she thought she might get whiplash, her eyes wide with shock and a glimmer of hope. “What did you just say?” she asked, her voice almost trembling with anticipation.

“The Cooper case?” you repeated, frowning slightly as you tried to grasp the memory that felt just within reach. “Oh, I wanted to review the evidence for the upcoming trial. I want to make sure that son of a bitch gets locked away.”

Emily’s face lit up with astonishment and disbelief, a slow grin spreading across her features. “Y/N… how do you remember that?” she asked, her voice tinged with awe.

“What?” you blinked, the realization dawning on you like a gentle wave, the fog lifting ever so slightly. “Oh…” you murmured, the pieces clicking into place.

“Oh my god! Oh my god! I remember!” you exclaimed, your heart pounding with excitement and relief.

“Do you remember anything else?” Emily asked eagerly, stepping closer as if to catch every word.

“My, um, my unit chief… her name is, uh, Sarah Freeman!” you said, a smile breaking across your face as more fragments of memory bubbled to the surface. It was like pulling on a thread and watching a tapestry unfold before your eyes.

“That’s amazing! You’re amazing!” Emily cheered, her eyes shining with pride and joy. She grabbed your hands, squeezing them tightly as if to anchor this precious moment in reality. “I’m going to call your doctor! Keep thinking!”

You nodded, your mind racing with possibilities. There was a thrill in the air, a sense of rediscovery that felt like sunlight streaming into a darkened room. 

—

As the days and weeks passed, your world gradually came into sharper focus. You began to remember more and more, and your doctors believed that your brain was finally healing from the trauma of the accident, allowing you to access information that had been temporarily locked away. It was as if the fog that had settled over your mind was beginning to lift, and the memories of your life were emerging from the shadows.

With each passing day, you started seeing people more. The familiarity of their faces and the warmth of their presence became less overwhelming and more comforting. You remembered small bits of Noah, moving in with Emily, a few girls’ nights, and coffee dates with Penelope. Each memory was like a small gift, a piece of the puzzle that was slowly coming together.

Whenever you shared a memory with someone, it was met with tears of joy and hugs of relief. They were all so patient and understanding, celebrating every little moment of rediscovery with you. It was a testament to the love and support that surrounded you, a constant reminder that you were not alone on this journey.

—

With your birthday approaching, the excitement in the air was palpable. Everyone was thrilled that they would at least get to celebrate with you, even if the memories of past birthdays were still hazy. The anticipation of the party, the chance to be surrounded by the people who meant so much to you, filled you with a sense of hope and gratitude.

The only person you couldn’t seem to remember, however, was Spencer. Despite the progress you were making with others, there was an inexplicable block when it came to him. It was as if the memories you shared were trapped behind a door that refused to open, no matter how hard you tried. 

Spencer felt the weight of this exclusion acutely. While everyone else reveled in your regained memories, he remained on the outside, watching as you reconnected with the life you’d once shared. At first, he tried to be patient, understanding that recovery was a complex and unpredictable process. But as time went on and the memories continued to elude you, Spencer began to feel a growing frustration, a simmering resentment that he struggled to contain.

—

The night of your birthday party arrived, and Emily had invited everyone important to you: the BAU team, Noah, your unit chief, and colleagues. The apartment was filled with laughter and music, the air buzzing with the joy of celebration. You moved through the crowd, receiving hugs and well-wishes, feeling more like yourself than you had in months.

The party was a joyful affair, filled with the warmth of friends and loved ones, each of them eager to share in the celebration of your continued recovery. You spent time with everyone, enjoying the opportunity to catch up and reconnect. 

You found yourself talking to Derek Morgan, recounting a small memory that had surfaced earlier in the day—a humorous moment from a case your units had worked on together. Derek’s laughter echoed through the room, a rich, joyful sound that drew the attention of others nearby. 

Spencer overheard your conversation with Derek and felt the frustration within him build past his boiling point. It was like a dam breaking, all the emotions he had tried to keep in check spilling over into an overwhelming wave. The exclusion, the constant reminder that you remembered everyone but him, finally pushed him to the edge.

Unable to contain his feelings any longer, Spencer stormed past you, his shoulder bumping into yours as he made his way toward the front door. The suddenness of his actions caught you off guard, the usually sweet and gentle Spencer now a storm of emotions.

“Spencer?” you called after him, confused by the abruptness of his departure. You quickly excused yourself from Derek and followed Spencer, determined to understand what had upset him.

You found Spencer in the hallway of the building, his back turned to you as he tried to compose himself. But when he turned around, you saw the angry tears in his eyes, the hurt etched across his features. It was a side of Spencer you hadn’t seen before, and it unsettled you.

“Spencer, what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice gentle but firm, wanting to understand the source of his pain.

He took a deep breath, his emotions churning within him. The question felt like a catalyst, igniting the frustration and hurt he had been holding onto for so long. And then, finally, he exploded, the words tumbling out in a torrent of anger and anguish.

“Why, Y/N?” Spencer’s voice was raw, filled with desperation and resentment. “Why do you remember everyone but me? Do you secretly remember me but don’t know how to break it off, so you keep pretending you don’t know me?”

His accusation hung in the air, sharp and cutting. It was a blow that took your breath away, the depth of his pain evident in every word. Spencer’s eyes bore into yours, searching for answers, for some explanation that could make sense of the exclusion he felt so deeply.

“I’m not pretending, Spencer,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, the shock of his words settling over you like a heavy fog. “I wish I could remember. I want to remember you more than anything.”

Spencer’s expression shifted, hurt and frustration warring within him. He turned away, running a hand through his hair as he tried to gather his thoughts. “It just feels like... like I’m the only one left out,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I watch you remember all these moments, all these people, and I keep hoping that one day you’ll look at me and just... know.”

His words hung in the air, each syllable a reminder of the distance that had grown between you—a distance neither of you wanted, but couldn’t seem to bridge. It was like standing on opposite sides of a vast chasm, reaching for one another but never quite able to touch.

“You think this is easy for me?” you shot back, your voice rising with each word. “Do you think I wanted to get hit by a semi and lose my memories? No! I want it all back, I want my life back.” You took a step closer, the intensity of your emotions propelling you forward. “Do you know how much it kills me that you know a version of me that I don’t? You want her back, and so do I, but Jesus Christ, Spencer! I’m not her, I can’t just be her, I’m fucking trying, okay?”

The hallway seemed to close in around you as you stood there, the weight of your words hanging heavy between you. Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise at the raw honesty in your voice, the depth of your struggle laid bare before him.

“I know you’re trying,” Spencer said, his voice softening even as his frustration simmered beneath the surface. “But it’s so hard to watch you remember everyone else and not me. It feels like I’m losing you all over again, every single day.”

"I’m losing myself too!” you replied, your voice breaking with emotion. “Every time I remember something, it’s like I’m meeting a stranger who’s supposed to be me. It’s terrifying, and I don’t know how to make it better. And it doesn’t help when I’m constantly reminded that you’re disappointed in me too.”

Spencer ran a hand over his face, his own anger and hurt warring with the compassion he still felt for you. He wanted to say the right thing, but his emotions were tangled, pulling him in different directions. The frustration that had built up over the weeks finally met the compassion he still felt for you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the fight leaving his voice as he took a step back, trying to regain control. His eyes softened as he looked at you, the anger giving way to vulnerability. “I know it’s not fair to put this on you. God, I’m not disappointed in you, I’m just... I’m scared, Y/N. I’m scared that I’ll never get you back.”

The vulnerability in his words pierced through your own defenses, the rawness of his confession echoing the fears that had plagued you both. It was as if the anger that had fueled the argument had stripped away the layers, leaving only the truth of your shared fears and insecurities.

You sighed, your own anger giving way to a wave of exhaustion and sadness. The argument had drained you both, leaving behind a hollow ache that you couldn’t ignore. “I’m scared too,” you admitted, your voice trembling as you spoke. “I’m scared that I’ll never be able to remember the love we had, that I’ll never be able to be the person you fell in love with.”

Spencer's eyes met yours, and you could see the struggle within him—the longing to reach out and bridge the gap between you, the desire to hold onto the love that had once been so strong and certain. “You’re still the person I fell in love with,” he said softly, his voice tinged with desperation. “I know it’s hard to see right now, but you are. And I don’t want to lose you, even if it means starting over.”

His words hung in the air, a lifeline thrown across the chasm that had opened between you. You took a deep breath, the weight of his words. 

“Can I ask you something?” Spencer spoke up, his voice laced with vulnerability. His eyes held yours, searching for an answer he seemed afraid to hear but needed to know nonetheless.

“Of course,” you replied, curious about what was weighing so heavily on him. You wanted to reassure him, to offer some comfort amid the storm of emotions that had engulfed you both.

“Do you find me attractive?” Spencer’s question was simple, yet it held a complexity of emotions—self-doubt, insecurity, a desire for reassurance.

“Spencer… what?” you asked, taken aback by the suddenness of his inquiry. You hadn’t expected that question, and yet, as you looked at him, you realized how important your answer would be.

He shifted his weight, his gaze dropping for a moment before returning to yours, the raw honesty in his expression clear as day. “Do you think that I am attractive? Even now, that you don’t remember me?”

You considered his question carefully. Spencer was undeniably an attractive person—his features were striking, with a gentle kindness in his eyes and a quiet strength in his posture. There was an undeniable allure to him, a magnetic pull that you felt even in your current state of confusion. 

You imagined seeing him in a bar or a crowded room, where his presence would stand out, where you would undoubtedly look twice. His intelligence, the way he carried himself with quiet confidence, and the kindness in his eyes were all qualities that would draw you in.

“Yes,” you replied honestly, your voice steady and sincere. “Yes, Spencer, I find you attractive.”

Spencer let out a small breath he seemed to have been holding, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he absorbed your answer. There was a flicker of relief in his eyes, a subtle shift that spoke volumes about how much your opinion mattered to him.

“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice a blend of gratitude and something deeper, something that felt like hope.

You took a step closer, wanting to close the distance between you. “Spencer, it’s not just about looks,” you added, wanting to make him understand. “I may not remember everything, but I can see the person you are. The way you care, the way you’ve been so patient with me… that’s what makes you truly attractive.”

His lips curved into a tentative smile, the tension in his features easing as your words reached him. It was a smile that held the promise of new beginnings, a shared understanding that even in the absence of memory, there was a foundation upon which you could rebuild.

Spencer nodded, a small chuckle escaping him as he rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture you found endearing. “I guess I just needed to hear it,” he admitted, his vulnerability laid bare in that moment.

You nodded, reaching out to take his hand in yours. “We’ll figure it out,” you said, your voice filled with determination.

Spencer's fingers intertwined with yours, his touch gentle yet reassuring. The simple act of holding hands felt like a small victory, a step toward rebuilding the connection that had been so abruptly severed.

“You couldn’t possibly remember this,” Spencer said with a wry smile, “but I don’t usually touch people’s hands. It’s actually safer to kiss; fewer germs are spread that way.”

You let out a laugh, the tension between you dissolving into a moment of lightness. It was the first genuine laugh you'd shared since the accident, and it felt like a breath of fresh air. 

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” you replied, raising an eyebrow with a teasing grin. “But if that’s a line, it’s not working.”

Spencer chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “It’s not a line, I promise,” he said, a hint of mischief in his tone. “Just one of those strange facts about me you’ll probably hear more about as you get to know me again.”

“Good to know,” you said, your smile softening into something more sincere. “But for now, hand-holding is just fine.”

—

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter and joy, a celebration not just of your birthday but of the progress you had made and the hope that lay ahead. Surrounded by friends and loved ones, you felt a sense of belonging, a reminder that even in the midst of adversity, there was a community that held you close.

As the night drew to a close, you and Spencer stood together on the balcony, the city lights twinkling in the distance like stars. It was a moment of quiet reflection, a chance to breathe and appreciate the small victories that had brought you to this point.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” Spencer said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that resonated deep within you. 

You turned to him, your heart full of gratitude and the promise of what was to come. “Thank you, Spencer,” you replied, your words laced with sincerity.

—

“Y/N! Spencer is here for you!” Emily called out from the living room, her voice carrying through the apartment with an excited lilt that made you smile.

You were in your bedroom, putting the finishing touches on your outfit, excitement and nervousness fluttering in your stomach. Today marked your fifth date with Spencer, a milestone that felt both exhilarating and significant as the two of you continued to rebuild your relationship from the ground up.

The past few weeks had been a journey of rediscovery. You and Spencer had taken it slow, giving each other the space and time needed to navigate the complexities of your situation. Each date had been a new beginning, a chance to learn about each other all over again, and it had been going well—better than you had dared to hope.

You’d spent hours talking about everything and nothing, sharing stories and memories that both filled in the gaps and created new ones. There were still moments of hesitation and uncertainty, but they were gradually being replaced by laughter and warmth, a growing sense of familiarity that felt like home.

Taking one last look in the mirror, you adjusted your necklace and took a deep breath, feeling a thrill of anticipation for the evening ahead. You made your way to the living room, where Emily was chatting with Spencer, her eyes lighting up with the kind of mischief only a big sister could muster.

“Hey, Spencer,” you greeted him with a smile, feeling the familiar flutter in your chest that had become a welcome sensation. “Ready to go?”

Spencer turned toward you, his face breaking into a warm smile that made your heart skip a beat. He looked dapper in a casual blazer and slacks, an outfit that struck the perfect balance between relaxed and stylish.

“Wow, you look amazing,” he said, his eyes filled with admiration as he took in your appearance. "If I had known you were going to look this stunning, I would have worn my best suit."

You laughed, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. "Oh, please, you look great," you replied, meeting his gaze with a teasing grin. “Besides, I think we match perfectly. You know, two fashion icons taking on the city."

Emily watched the exchange with a satisfied smile, clearly pleased to see the chemistry between you and Spencer reigniting. She gave you a playful nudge, her eyes sparkling with encouragement. “Have fun, you two,” she said, ushering you toward the door. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes at Emily’s antics, before turning back to Spencer. “Shall we?” you asked, extending your hand toward him.

Spencer took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze that sent a reassuring pulse of connection between you. “We shall,” he replied with a grin, leading you out the door and into the evening that awaited.

—

The drive was filled with easy conversation, the kind that flowed naturally and effortlessly between you. You chatted about everything from work to your favorite TV shows, reveling in the comfort of each other’s company.

“So, where are we going tonight?” you asked, curious about the plans Spencer had made for your date.

“It’s a surprise,” he said cryptically, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “But I think you’re going to love it.”

“Really?” you said, raising an eyebrow with a playful smirk. “Are you sure it’s not just another one of your ploys to impress me?”

Spencer chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Would it be working if it was?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” you teased, giving him a flirtatious glance as the car continued through the city.

Eventually, you arrived at a charming little restaurant tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It was the kind of place that exuded warmth and intimacy, the cozy ambiance inviting you in as soon as you stepped through the door.

“Wow, this place is lovely,” you said, taking in the dim lighting, the soft music playing in the background, and the delicious aroma of Italian cuisine wafting through the air.

Spencer smiled, clearly pleased with your reaction. “I thought it might be a nice spot for us to relax and enjoy some good food,” he said, leading you to a table by the window that offered a view of the city lights twinkling in the distance.

“So, any more memories come back recently?” Spencer asked gently, his tone curious yet considerate, as if he knew the subject was still delicate.

You nodded, feeling a flicker of excitement as you recounted some of the fragments that had returned. “I remembered a trip I took with Emily last year to the beach. We ended up getting caught in a rainstorm and had to take cover in this little café, where we spent the afternoon playing board games. It was such a fun day.”

Spencer listened intently, a smile tugging at his lips as you spoke. “That sounds amazing,” he said, his eyes filled with warmth and understanding. “You know, we had a similar rainy day adventure once. It involved an umbrella, a very wet cat, and an impromptu rendition of Singin’ in the Rain in a park.”

“Did we now?” you replied, a playful twinkle in your eyes. “Are you sure you weren’t just trying to get me to fall for your charming rendition of a classic?”

“Guilty as charged,” Spencer admitted with a laugh, his gaze meeting yours with a sincerity that made your heart flutter.

“Tell me, though, did we kiss in the rain?” you asked, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

Spencer blushed, a charming pink spreading across his cheeks. “We might have…”

“How scandalous!” you replied, feigning shock, but the playful glint in your eyes gave you away.

“You were the one who initiated it!” Spencer shot back, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Oh yeah, am I just supposed to believe you?” you teased, leaning back in your chair with a smirk. “You could be making it all up just to impress me.”

“Well,” Spencer said, a hint of mischief in his voice, “it is supposed to rain later. We could test out the theory.”

“Spencer Reid, you dog!” you exclaimed, laughing at the thought of dancing in the rain with him.

You shared a laugh, the sound mingling with the gentle hum of the restaurant around you. It felt like the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you in your little bubble of happiness.

—

After dinner, you and Spencer strolled through a scenic path in the park, hand in hand. The night was pleasantly cool, and the stars dotted the sky like scattered jewels. The conversation between you flowed effortlessly, a blend of teasing and genuine connection that made the evening feel special.

“I thought it was supposed to rain?” you mused aloud, glancing up at the sky.

“Are you disappointed it’s not?” Spencer asked, a playful edge in his voice as he followed your gaze.

“Are you going to kiss me anyway?” you replied with a teasing smile, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

Spencer froze up for a moment, caught off guard by the boldness of your question. A myriad of thoughts raced through his mind, each one tangling with the next. 

He had been nervous to make any moves on you ever since you’d started dating again. What if you didn’t like how he kissed anymore? Or his scent, or taste? What if you two didn't have rhythm anymore? The fear of these possibilities had kept him in check, cautious and tentative.

“What’s going on in that big brain?” you asked, your voice gentle and full of curiosity. You squeezed his hand, bringing him back to the present. Your touch was reassuring, a reminder that the connection between you was as strong as ever.

Spencer shook his head slightly, chuckling at himself. “Just... overthinking, as usual,” he admitted, meeting your eyes with a sheepish grin. “I’ve just been worried that maybe things aren’t the same between us.”

You tilted your head, regarding him with a soft smile. “Spencer, nothing about you could ever disappoint me. We might be rebuilding things, but I think that’s what makes it exciting. We get to discover everything all over again.”

He nodded, his apprehension slowly melting away as your words resonated with him. The sincerity in your voice was like a balm, soothing the insecurities that had plagued him.

“And besides,” you added with a playful twinkle in your eye, “I think we both know we’ve still got that spark.”

Spencer laughed, his tension finally breaking as he took a step closer. The warmth of your presence enveloped him, and he realized how much he had missed these moments with you—the teasing, the laughter, and the unspoken bond that seemed to transcend the gap of memory.

“You’re right,” Spencer said, his voice softening as he gazed into your eyes. “I’d be more than happy to kiss you, rain or no rain.”

You smiled up at him, your heart fluttering with anticipation. As he leaned in, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you beneath the starlit sky.

When Spencer’s lips met yours, it was like coming home. The kiss was gentle at first, a tentative exploration of the familiar territory that quickly blossomed into something deeper. His lips were soft and warm, and the familiar scent of his skin surrounded you like a comforting embrace. 

All the previous worries melted away as you found your rhythm together, the familiarity and connection more than you could have hoped for. Spencer’s kiss was tender but charged with an intensity that made your heart race, a reminder of the passion and warmth that had always been at the core of your relationship.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, feeling the subtle tension in his muscles beneath your fingertips. Spencer responded in kind, his hands finding their place on your face, drawing you into him as if he was afraid to let go. 

The kiss deepened, and it was as if time had stopped, the world around you fading away until only the two of you remained. Lips slotted together perfectly, tongues gliding in a slow, sensual dance that sent shivers down your spine. 

You felt Spencer’s teeth gently nipping at your bottom lip, a playful gesture that made you gasp softly against his mouth. The small sound seemed to spur him on, and you could feel the gentle pressure of his hands pulling you even closer, until there was no space left between you. 

In that moment, everything felt right—the way his lips moved against yours, the warmth of his touch, and the gentle thrum of your heartbeat syncing with his. It was a moment of pure connection, a dance of lips and breath and emotion that left you both feeling dizzy and alive. 

You could feel the tension and uncertainty of the past few weeks melting away, replaced by a deep sense of belonging and peace. As you finally pulled back, you looked into Spencer’s eyes, seeing your own emotions reflected back at you—the warmth, the longing, the hope that you both shared.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless but smiling, the shared moment leaving a lingering warmth that seemed to wrap around you both.

“Wow,” you murmured, gazing up at Spencer with a soft, genuine smile. “That was... perfect.”

Spencer chuckled, relief and joy evident in his eyes. “I’d say it was pretty amazing,” he agreed, still holding you close.

You both lingered there for a while, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment, the cool breeze whispering through the trees, the world feeling just a little bit brighter.

—

As you continued your stroll through the park, the clouds did open up, and the rain did come, soaking both you and Spencer. The unexpected shower was a sudden thrill, droplets of water cascading down your hair and cheeks, drenching your clothes in moments. The rain brought a fresh, invigorating scent to the air, wrapping around you like a cool embrace as you and Spencer burst into laughter.

“You said you wanted rain,” Spencer quipped, looking at you with a playful glint in his eye, water droplets clinging to his hair and eyelashes.

“I did, didn’t I?” you giggled, brushing a lock of wet hair out of your face. You both sprinted toward his car, shoes splashing through puddles, the sound of your laughter mingling with the rhythm of the rain.

You reached the car, breathless and exhilarated, climbing inside and closing the door behind you. The heated air enveloped you both in a welcome warmth, and you shivered slightly, feeling the chill of your soaked clothes. 

Spencer turned on the car’s heater, and soon the air filled with warmth, contrasting the rain still pelting the car roof outside. You shared a look of amusement, the shared adventure bringing a delightful sense of connection.

“I don’t want to go home, but I’m uncomfortable,” you admitted, glancing down at your soaked clothes with a bemused smile. 

“We could… go back to our—my apartment and change. Maybe watch a movie?” Spencer suggested, his voice soft and inviting, a hint of hesitation in his words as if worried you might say no.

You met his eyes, the warmth in them offering reassurance. “I’d love that,” you replied, your heart fluttering with the anticipation of spending more time with him.

—

Spencer drove you both back to the apartment, the windshield wipers swishing rhythmically as the rain continued its steady drumming against the car. It was your first time returning to the apartment since the night you’d cried there, overwhelmed by the weight of memories you couldn’t quite grasp. But now, the thought of revisiting felt different, less daunting and more like a step forward.

As you entered the apartment, you paused to take it all in again—the familiar scent, the little touches that made the space feel like home. Spencer watched you with a gentle smile, allowing you to explore at your own pace, offering silent support as you reacquainted yourself with the surroundings.

“Do you want to take a shower?” Spencer asked, breaking the comfortable silence. “All of your stuff is still in there.”

“Um, sure. Thank you,” you replied, grateful for the chance to shake off the chill of the rain.

You made your way to the bathroom, feeling a sense of nostalgia as you stepped inside and closed the door behind you. The shower was just as you remembered it, a familiar haven of warmth and comfort.

The water was soothing as it cascaded over you, washing away the rain and the lingering remnants of the day’s adventure. You felt a sense of relaxation settling in, a quiet moment of peace as you let the warmth envelop you.

But then, as you turned too quickly, your foot slipped, and you fell onto your tailbone with a startled yelp. 

“Ow!” you exclaimed, wincing at the sudden jolt of pain.

“Y/N?? Are you okay?” Spencer’s voice called out from the other side of the door, filled with concern.

“Yeah! I just fell,” you called back, trying to keep your tone light despite the embarrassment.

“I’m coming in,” Spencer announced, the worry evident in his voice.

“Wait, Spencer, no—” you began, but he was already in the bathroom, eyes wide as he took in the scene.

He saw your naked form on the ground of the tub through the clear glass, his expression filled with worry and, perhaps, just a touch of awkwardness.

“Spencer!” you exclaimed, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment and amusement.

“What happened? Are you hurt? Did you hit your head?” he asked, his concern overriding any sense of propriety.

“I’m fine, I’m naked!” you replied, laughing at the absurdity of the situation even as you tried to cover yourself.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Spencer said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I forget. I’ve seen you naked many times.”

“That is so weird,” you teased, rolling your eyes playfully.

Spencer laughed lightly, his eyes twinkling with warmth. “I don’t think so,” he said, his voice softening into something more tender.

“Can I see you then? Even it out?” you asked, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

“What?” Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, his cheeks flushing a delightful shade of pink.

“I’ve seen you naked before, right?” you continued, your playful tone belying the genuine affection in your gaze.

“Well, yes, but it’s different,” Spencer stammered, trying to maintain his composure.

“So it’s okay for you to see me, but not for me to see you?” you challenged, a teasing lilt in your voice. “Come get in the shower and help me up.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, then his expression softened into a smile, affection and delight playing across his features. “Alright,” he said, his voice filled with laughter. “Just this once.”

He quickly shed his clothes and joined you in the shower, his presence a comforting warmth amid the steam and water. With a gentle touch, he helped you up, his hands steady and reassuring as he held you close.

“Thank you,” you said softly, meeting his eyes with a smile. 

Spencer’s gaze was warm and tender, his hands lingering on your waist as he smiled back at you. “Anytime,” he replied, his voice a gentle promise. 

Your eyes couldn’t help themselves as they wandered downward, taking in the sight of him. The realization that you were both standing there, unashamedly bare, brought a new kind of awareness that was both amusing and endearing.

“Y/N!” Spencer laughed. “Eyes up here.”

“I'm sorry,” you said with a playful smirk, your eyes darting back up to meet his. “It’s human nature, after all.”

“I know,” Spencer replied, shaking his head with a chuckle. “But at least pretend to be subtle.”

“You’re quite large,” you teased, unable to resist the opportunity to keep the mood light. “Are you a grower still? Or always a shower?”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed a deep red, his hands instinctively moving to cover himself as he groaned, “Oh my godddd.”

“Answer the question, and I’ll shut up,” you promised, a sweet smile playing on your lips as you looked at him with mock innocence.

With a sigh of resignation, Spencer removed his hands, his expression a mix of bashfulness and humor. “Still a grower,” he admitted, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

“Lucky me!” you exclaimed, your tone full of playful triumph.

Spencer shook his head, his laughter infectious as he declared, “Not anymore, this was great. Goodbye!” He made a half-hearted attempt to step out of the shower, clearly feigning an exaggerated exit.

“Not so fast!” you interjected, grabbing his arm and pulling him back gently, your own laughter bubbling up as you did so.

His eyes met yours again, and the playful banter settled into something softer, a mutual understanding that transcended words. The silliness of the moment gave way to a quiet intimacy, the kind that came from truly seeing one another and finding joy in simply being together.

As the water continued to rain down, you and Spencer stood there, wrapped in each other’s presence, feeling a sense of comfort and safety that went beyond the physical. 

You both eventually turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, towels wrapped snugly around you. The steam-filled bathroom felt like a private world where the rest of the day’s worries faded away.

—

Once dried and dressed in cozy clothes, you settled into the living room, the aroma of freshly brewed tea wafting through the air as you curled up on the couch together. The rain had stopped outside, leaving a soft patter of droplets against the windows, the perfect backdrop for a cozy movie night.

Spencer draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “So, what’s our viewing pleasure tonight?” he asked, his voice filled with a relaxed contentment.

“I was thinking something classic,” you suggested, snuggling into his side. “Maybe a bit of Casablanca?”

“Casablanca, it is,” Spencer agreed, reaching for the remote with a smile.

As the movie played, you found yourself not only immersed in the storyline but also in the warmth of Spencer’s presence beside you. The shared laughter, the gentle teasing, the comfortable silence—it all felt like home.

—

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you wake up, you find yourself nestled in the bed, no longer on the couch. The room is softly lit with the early morning sun filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow over everything. Spencer is still sound asleep next to you, his arms wrapped around you in a protective embrace. His breathing is steady and calm, and you watch him for a moment, feeling a rush of affection for this man who has been so patient and kind through everything.

Wanting to do something kind for him, you slowly and carefully extricate yourself from his embrace, trying not to wake him. You slip out of bed, pulling on his robe as you head to the kitchen to make some coffee, a small gesture of appreciation for the many times he’s been there for you.

As you move about the kitchen, the familiar routine of making coffee brings a sense of comfort. You smile to yourself as you measure out the coffee grounds and water, the rich aroma filling the air. It feels good to be doing something for him, even if it’s just a small gesture.

When Spencer finally wakes up, the smell of freshly brewed coffee lures him from the cocoon of blankets. In his sleep-delirious haze, he doesn’t realize anything has changed, and he instinctively walks into the kitchen, still half-asleep, and wraps his arms around you from behind.

“Morning, Spence,” you say softly, feeling the warmth of his embrace as you continue to stir the coffee.

“Mmm, good morning, baby,” he mumbles into your hair, his voice thick with sleep.

“I made your coffee, just how you like it,” you say with a smile, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the little surprise you’ve prepared for him.

“Black, seven teaspoons of sugar?” he asks, his voice carrying a note of playful suspicion.

“Precisely,” you reply, leaning back to kiss his head where it’s nestled against your neck. You love the way his hair feels soft and slightly tousled from sleep, the familiarity of the moment wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

Spencer hums contentedly, the combination of your affection and the promise of coffee stirring him more fully awake. You hand him a steaming mug, and he takes a grateful sip, savoring the sweet warmth.

“Thought we could call Diana today, check in on her progress,” you suggest casually, remembering the conversations you’ve had about keeping in touch with his mom.

Spencer’s mind is still catching up to the morning, the mention of his mother registering slowly. “Okay, that’s a good id–wait… what?” His eyes widen as he pulls back slightly, looking at you with surprise and hope.

“Diana, babe? Your mom? I haven’t talked to her in a while, and I wanted to see how she was doing,” you say, turning to face him, your own excitement bubbling beneath the surface.

“Y/N, are you messing with me?” Spencer asks, his voice a blend of disbelief and anticipation, as if he’s afraid to hope too much.

“No… Are you okay, Spence?” you ask gently, reaching up to touch his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin. 

“Spence? My coffee preference? My mom?” Spencer’s eyes search yours, an array of emotions flickering across his face. “What are you not telling me?”

You smile, unable to contain your excitement any longer. “Oh, I woke up this morning with a few memories of our time together.”

Spencer’s eyes widen, his expression shifting from confusion to pure joy. “You remember?” he asks, voice filled with a hopeful wonder that sends a warm thrill through you.

“Bits and pieces,” you admit, nodding as you set your own coffee down on the counter. “It’s like little snapshots coming back, but they’re there. And you were in them.”

His face lights up with a brilliant smile, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners and sends warmth flooding through you. “That’s amazing, Y/N,” he says, pulling you into a tight embrace, his arms enveloping you completely.

You melt into his hug, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. It’s a moment of connection and triumph, a small victory in the long journey of reclaiming the life you once shared.

“I’m so happy,” Spencer murmurs, his voice muffled by your hair but no less filled with emotion. “I’ve missed you—every version of you.”

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze with a smile that mirrors his own. “I’ve missed you too, Spence. I can’t wait to see what else comes back.”

Spencer leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. His touch was a gentle reassurance that you were exactly where you were meant to be, a soothing balm to the uncertainty that had lingered since the accident. The warmth of his lips against your skin sent a wave of comfort through you, a reminder that love was a constant, waiting patiently to be remembered.

“I love you,” Spencer murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with sincerity and a gentle vulnerability. “Can I say that now? Is that okay?”

His eyes searched yours, seeking not just permission but a confirmation that the love you once shared was finding its way back, stronger and more resilient than before.

“Only if it’s okay for me to say I love you too,” you replied, your voice soft but filled with the depth of emotion that had grown in your heart. 

The words were a quiet declaration, an acknowledgment of the bond that had endured through the haze of forgotten memories and the challenges of the past. It was a promise of the future you were eager to explore together, a future built on the foundation of love and understanding.

Spencer’s smile widened, his eyes sparkling with a joy that mirrored your own. “Then it’s more than okay,” he said, his voice warm and full of affection.

You both stood there for a moment, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the morning, the aroma of coffee mingling with the soft light filtering through the kitchen. It was a simple moment, yet it held the weight of everything you had been through together, a testament to the resilience of love and the power of memory.

“Come here,” Spencer said, pulling you into another embrace, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that spoke volumes.

You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting reminder of the life you were rediscovering together. In that embrace, you found not just comfort but a sense of belonging that had been waiting for you to come home to.

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

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[temiizpalace]

☆┊WILL YOU MARRY ME? ..FOR THE FOOD OF COURSE

SUMMARY: a friend on the inside told you that this restaurant gives out free food to guests who propose.. well what better way to get free food than to get your crush in on this?

CHARACTERS: all (+RSA and ROLLO)

WARNINGS: none

NOTES: ignore the fact it’s a ton of highschool students getting proposed to

reader gender is not mentioned, reader could be yuu

THINKS ITS STUPID ; YOU PROPOSE

so let him get this straight. you want to fake a marriage proposal with him just to get a free dinner at a fancy restaurant? are you joking? why would you want to go through the hassle? he could literally cook or get someone to cook you a meal twice as good! also for free! you’re so lucky he likes you too. i mean what. anyways, reluctantly, he agreed to the plan.

as you got on one knee, he couldn’t help his heart from pounding. it’s fake, the boy reminded himself, trying to suppress his painfully obvious heartbeat. you slide the ring on his finger, the applause around him being the only to pull him out of lala land. at first he thought it was dumb, but next time, he wouldn’t mind doing this again so long as you don’t go back on your word.

he forgot about the food and barely ate.

ace, riddle, leona, azul, jamil, idia, sebek, rollo

HESITANT, BUT AGREES ; HE PROPOSES

proposal? like, marriage proposal? oh. oh seven. SERIOUSLY— wait, no, a staged one. whoops. haha, you got him. gosh darn it.. you want to do this with him though? you could’ve asked anyone else! what an honor it is to pretend to marry you.. it’s like a dream come true! sort of. hold on, what if he gets carried away? jeez, it makes him nervous just thinking about it.. can he do this? is this morally correct? well you asked him first.. okay, he’ll do it!

the ring box rests in his pocket, waiting for your signal before he can ask for your hand. as he got on his knee, he could feel his hands tremble, begging not to screw up or accidentally drop the ring. his eyes meet yours, as did the audiences. the heat in his cheeks rose immensely as he uttered the four magic words, your acceptance gaining cheers from the crowd. that.. that felt good. he’ll definitely propose to you again! but the next time he does, it won’t be for show.

he was sad when he remembered this was fake. the food didn’t taste good anymore.

deuce, cater, trey, jack, ruggie, epel, malleus, silver

HE GETS REALLY INTO IT ; HE PROPOSES

there was no convincing involved at all. the moment you said “let’s fake a proposal” he already agreed. and please let me tell you how into it he got. he went through rehearsals, wrote down heartfelt poems, and even got all dolled up just for the occasion. he showed up to your door with a bouquet of flowers, lifting your hand to brush against his lips, escorting you by the arm to his transportation, just the whole thing. like damn you’re not even in public yet. relax.

at the restaurant, he grabbed your hands suddenly, turning you to face him. he began to go on about how much he loved you, and how much your moments together meant to him. he lowered himself onto one knee, pulling the velvet box out of his pockets. you are presented with a REAL ring (not the fake one you offered, nono), with a glittering stone on top. this was an act, yet even you believed it was real for a moment. you accept his proposal before he suddenly pulled you in with his lips nearly against yours.

he pulls back, the sounds of tears from the waiter and compliments from other customers being the only sounds made in the moment. he plays it off like it was nothing, yet you felt yourself overheating at his bold acts. if this is how far he’ll go for an act, imagine how far he’ll go for the real thing.

ate his meal like nothing happened. you were the one who couldn’t eat.

jade, vil, rook, lilia che’nya

YOU HAD HIM THE SECOND YOU SPOKE ; YOU PROPOSE

yes. you didn’t even need to finish your sentence, it’s a yes. he’ll do it. ohhh propose! sure! he’ll do it right now! what? later? okay! wait, just pretend? ah. he sees now. while a little disappointed that this was just for a free meal, he’ll still do it. it’s basically real if you act like it is, right? whatever! you asked him to do this, meaning you must like him enough right? he’s excited now just thinking about! don’t worry about anything, he’s got it all figured out!

or he thought he did. you grab his hand as you wore a charming smile on your face. you spoke of fond memories you had of him and moments you’ve had together (that didn’t actually happen) which just gave him butterflies. he was such anice outgoing and cheery person, yet, this is the first time he just can’t find the words. as you asked for his hand in marriage, he felt his heart skip a beat before accepting gracefully. as you both hear your congratulations, finished your meal, and left the restaurant, he refused to take the ring off of his finger. he’ll wear it forever. it’ll look very nice with the real one he got you when it’s his turn to propose.

pookie please take the ring off it made a dent in your finger

floyd, kalim, neige

YOU HAD HIM AT FREE FOOD

free? food? now those are words ruggie likes to hear in the same sentence. AND ITS A FANCY RESTAURANT? sign. him. up. there’s proposal involved? cool. while he’s also really into that, he seemed more interested in what kind of foods they give out for free yknow what im saying?

will it be authentic sunset savanna dishes? scalding sands dishes? foods from the shaftlands? cmon, just spit it out. it’s not that he doesn’t care! you actually did catch him off guard with that proposal bit. he’s just really excited for the food part. when he saw the restaurant, he could already tell the food was going to be good.

as the proposal goes along, yada, yada, yada, the dinner is presented on the table. was he in heaven? did he die? cause holy crappp.. getting to become his crushes fiancé while also eating good was his idea of paradise! and this was just one restaurant that did this? what about the others? you can’t just leave em hanging! when you guys actually propose to each other, he’ll definitely want to do it in another fancy restaurant.

ruggie

A/N: hey guys im back (god damn that’s a lot of tags)

date published: 8/16/24

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