#but I didn’t care much about the rest of him

[lxvsiick]

YOU CAME TO ME, MY ANGEL | PARK SUNGHOON X READER

SECOND PART TO CALLING ON MY ANGEL (read part one first!)

PAIRING: troublemaker! park sunghoon x good girl! fem! reader

SUMMARY: When the attention on Sunghoon starts to shift because of his smile, Y/n develops a weird feeling in her stomach.

GENRE: imagine, good girl x bad boy, fluff, a little bit of angst if you squint

WORDCOUNT: 4.6k

WARNING: a kissing scene at the end! sunghoon calls y/n "angel"

A/N: ngl, when i was writing this and rereading it over, the want to sleep on a highway was so tempting :D i'm glad you all like CALLING ON MY ANGEL! i was actually surprised by how many people liked it ,, i hope you like the second part! enjoy!

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The afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows of the school hallways, casting soft, golden light on Y/n as she walked with a noticeable bounce in her step. A bright smile lit up her face, and in her hand was a small cone of ice cream, which she licked contentedly. She looked like a sweet angel, her joyful energy spreading around her like sunshine.

Beside her, Sunghoon walked with his hands stuffed in his pockets, his eyes fixed forward, face blank, like he couldn’t care less about anything happening around him. His usual cold, intimidating presence stood in sharp contrast to the warm light she brought with her. The other students in the hall were wary of him, their eyes lowering as they passed, whispers swirling in the air.

“Isn’t that Sunghoon?”

“He looks so scary...”

“What’s Y/n still doing with him?”

The whispers weren’t lost on Y/n. She could hear the murmurs, feel the stares. Her steps faltered slightly, but then she leaned closer to him, nudging him lightly with her shoulder. Her voice was soft, like a secret meant just for him.

"Just ignore them, Hoonie" she said, her smile unwavering despite the growing tension around them. "They don’t know anything about you."

He glanced at her, expression still unreadable, but there was a flicker of something softer in his eyes. A small sigh left his lips as his gaze flicked back to the students.

"I don’t care what they think," he said, his voice low and casual, as if none of it mattered. His eyes briefly caught hers, a quiet warmth under the tough exterior. "As long as you’re next to me, Angel."

At that moment, her heart skipped a beat, the corners of her lips lifting in a shy smile. She always melted a little when he called her that. Angel—his pet name for her—was something so sweet and personal, it never failed to make her feel special.

But the effect of that single word was much bigger than she realized. The students in the hallway, already whispering, suddenly let out audible gasps. Heads turned, and the once-muted whispers escalated.

"He called her Angel?"

"Did you hear that?"

"What is even happening right now?"

The tension in the air was thick, but Y/n wasn’t fazed. She kept her head high, finishing her ice cream with a bright smile, completely unfazed by the reactions of those around them. Beside her, Sunghoon maintained his calm, unfazed by the stir his simple term of endearment had caused.

In that moment, it didn’t matter to either of them what anyone else thought. It was just them, walking together, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

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The sun hung high over the quad as Y/n walked with a couple of her friends, laughter and light conversation filling the space between them. They were chatting about random things—weekend plans, a funny moment from class—when her attention shifted to the other side of the quad.

In the distance, she spotted Sunghoon, his familiar, tall figure walking with his group of friends. As usual, students around them kept their distance, their heads low as they moved out of the way. His group, known for their intimidating presence, had that effect on everyone. The air around them felt thicker, quieter—until she broke it.

Without hesitation, she raised her arm and called out, "Hoonie!" Her voice rang out across the open space, bright and cheerful. She waved at him with a big smile, completely oblivious to the attention she had just drawn.

Her shout cut through the noise of the quad. Heads turned, curious eyes following the direction of her gaze. Sunghoon, hearing her voice, paused mid-conversation. His eyes scanned the crowd before locking onto her. For a moment, his usual cool expression lingered, but then, unexpectedly, his lips curved into a small smile. He raised his hand, giving her a soft wave back.

That single smile—the rare, fleeting expression—seemed to shift the very atmosphere around him. The students, who were accustomed to seeing his stoic, unreadable face, were stunned.

"Did he just… smile?"

"I’ve never seen him smile before…"

"Wait, that’s what he looks like when he smiles?"

Whispers erupted among the crowd as they began to murmur in disbelief. The quad buzzed with low, shocked conversations as people exchanged glances. Some students stood frozen, processing what they'd just seen. For the first time, Sunghoon, the one they'd always viewed as cold and unapproachable, looked human.

"He’s… kind of handsome, isn’t he?" one girl whispered, nudging her friend.

"Yeah, I never noticed before, but with that smile…"

It wasn’t just the smile—it was the way he looked at Y/n, the way his expression softened, just for her. There was something so genuine in that moment, and for many of the students watching, it completely shattered the tough, distant image they had built of him.

The shift in perception was palpable. As Y/n continued walking, her friends giggling beside her, she had no idea that the simple wave and smile had sparked a quiet change. The students who had once feared or misunderstood him were now seeing a different side—a warmer, more human side—thanks to her.

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The next day, the atmosphere around Sunghoon had noticeably changed. Walking side by side, Y/n chattered away about random things as he escorted her to her class. Though her words bounced around with lively energy, his focus never wavered from her, watching her intently, soaking in every detail of her presence.

As they moved through the hallway, something was different. The students, who used to avoid eye contact or shy away when he passed, were behaving… differently. No longer did they lower their heads or shuffle nervously to the side. Instead, some even made brief eye contact and gave short, polite nods of acknowledgment.

"Hey, Sunghoon," a student greeted as they walked by.

He didn’t respond verbally but gave a subtle nod back, his attention still centered on Y/n.

What really caught him off guard was when a couple of girls from another class shyly waved at him as they passed. "Good morning, Sunghoon!" one of them chirped.

Again, he acknowledged them with a small nod but didn't waver from his focus. His priority was always her. The smile he had shared the day before had sparked a shift in how people saw him, but he barely noticed. All he cared about was the angel walking beside him.

Unbothered by the newfound attention, he listened as Y/n talked animatedly about her latest interest. To him, the hallways might as well have been empty, because the only thing that mattered was hearing her voice, seeing her smile.

When they finally reached her classroom, they came to a stop in front of the door. She turned to face him, her eyes bright as she smiled up at him. "Thanks for walking me to class," she said, her tone warm and filled with gratitude.

His lips curled into a rare, soft smile reserved just for her. He raised his hand, gently patting her head in a gesture that had become second nature by now. "No problem, Angel," he said in that low, calm voice of his. "I'll come get you after class so we can go to lunch together."

Her cheeks flushed slightly at the pet name, but she nodded happily. "Sounds good!" she replied with a grin before turning toward the classroom.

As she disappeared through the door, he lingered for a moment, watching her go with a fondness that was impossible to miss. Then, with his usual composed demeanor, he turned and made his way back down the hall, the whispers and greetings of his classmates now background noise to his thoughts of her.

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After Sunghoon left her at the door, Y/n walked to her desk and sat down, pulling out her notebook and pens, preparing for the class ahead. She hummed a little under her breath, replaying the moment he'd patted her head. It was always sweet, the way he had his reserved moments only for her.

The quiet of the classroom was soon interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching her desk. She looked up and saw a group of three girls standing in front of her. Their expressions were friendly, but there was a hint of curiosity glimmering in their eyes. One of them, a girl with short, dark hair, Hana, spoke first.

"Hey, Y/n, right?" she asked, her tone friendly but direct.

She nodded, smiling politely. "Yeah, that's me. What’s up?"

The three exchanged a quick glance before the girl continued, "We were wondering… about Sunghoon. He’s always walking with you. What’s he like?"

Caught off guard by the sudden interest, Y/n blinked, her pen hovering over her notebook. She wasn't used to people asking her about him—most students were too afraid to even mention him in passing. But after yesterday’s smile in the quad, she supposed it was natural for some curiosity to grow.

"Um, he’s…" She hesitated, thinking of how to describe him. "He’s actually really nice once you get to know him. He’s just... quiet around others."

The second girl, with blonde hair tied in a ponytail, Jihye, leaned in a bit closer. "You mean he's not as scary as he looks? I mean, without all the bruises and cuts, he's actually really handsome."

Y/n felt her heart do a little flip at the comment. Handsome? She supposed she’d always known that, but hearing it from someone else felt... strange. "Yeah," she answered, smiling softly. "He’s definitely different when you get to know him."

The third girl, the quietest of the group, Sola, suddenly asked, "So, is he talking to anyone? Or, like... dating someone?" Her eyes widened with curiosity as she leaned forward, clearly eager for the answer.

Y/n froze for a moment, unsure of what to say. She wasn’t dating him, not officially, but the two of them were undeniably close. She could feel the weird sensation bubbling in her chest—a feeling she couldn't quite name. Was it jealousy? But why would she be jealous?

Trying to stay composed, she gave a gentle shrug. "I’m not really sure. We don’t talk about that much."

Jihye sighed in relief. "That’s good. I was hoping he wasn’t seeing anyone because..." She paused and exchanged another glance with her friends. "Would you mind introducing me to him? I’ve been wanting to talk to him, but he’s, well... hard to approach. You seem to know him really well."

The strange feeling in Y/n's stomach tightened into something more distinct—an uneasy knot. She wasn't sure why, but the thought of introducing someone to him, especially a girl who clearly found him attractive, made her chest tighten. Still, she kept her smile soft, trying to hide her discomfort.

"I can try," she said, her voice gentle. "He’s... a bit reserved with new people, but I’ll see what I can do."

The three girls beamed, clearly thrilled by her answer. "Thanks, Y/n! You’re the best," Hana said, before the group finally walked back to their seats.

As they left, Y/n stared down at her notebook, her pen resting idly in her hand. That weird feeling wouldn’t go away, and she didn’t know why. Was she... jealous? She shook her head slightly, trying to push the thought away. It didn’t make sense. But as she sat there, thinking about introducing someone else to him, she couldn’t shake the unease that now lingered in her chest.

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The lunch bell rang, signaling a break in the day. Y/n was still sitting at her desk, lost in thought. The conversation from earlier with the three girls had left her feeling unsettled. She was mulling over their questions about Sunghoon, when a familiar voice broke through her reverie.

"Hey, Angel," Sunghoon called softly from the doorway of her classroom, hands casually in his pockets, his usual blank expression on his face. "You ready for lunch?"

Snapped out of her thoughts, she blinked and smiled up at him, gathering her things before walking over. "Yeah, let’s go."

They walked side by side through the hallways, a familiar rhythm to their steps. But Sunghoon quickly noticed something was off. Y/n wasn’t her usual bubbly self, and her expression was distant, as if she was caught up in her thoughts again.

He glanced down at her, frowning slightly. "What are you thinking about?"

His voice pulled her out of her thoughts, and she looked up at him, blinking. "Huh?"

"You’re quiet today. What’s on your mind?" he asked, his tone soft but curious.

She hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I was just wondering... what do you think about making new friends?"

Sunghoon let out a small, amused snort, his lips quirking into a brief smile. "Don’t care. I’ve got my boys and you. That’s all I need."

Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt her cheeks flush. She wasn’t sure why, but his simple words—so direct and clear—made her feel warm inside. "Oh," she murmured, feeling slightly flustered. "That’s... sweet."

They continued walking, but the knot in her stomach, the one that had been brewing since this morning, tightened as they approached the cafeteria.

After they grabbed their lunches, they made their way to their usual table, where Sunghoon's friends were already gathered. The atmosphere was comfortable, familiar, but the tension inside her didn’t ease.

As they sat down, though, a voice interrupted the peaceful moment.

"Y/n!" came a call, cheerful and bright.

Jihye, from this morning, the one who had asked her about Sunghoon, appeared beside the table with her lunch tray in hand. She smiled widely, as if they were old friends, and without waiting for an invitation, asked, "Mind if I sit with you guys?"

True to her sweet, angelic nature, Y/n couldn’t bring herself to refuse, even though she felt a surge of that strange emotion bubble up inside her. "Uh, sure," she said, offering a polite smile.

The girl didn’t hesitate and took the empty seat—right next to Sunghoon. His friends exchanged knowing glances, but no one said anything.

As they began to eat, Sunghoon's attention was solely on his lunch, but the girl seemed determined to pull him into conversation.

"So, Sunghoon, do you like any sports?" she asked, her eyes bright with interest.

He barely looked up, responding with a curt, "No."

Unfazed, she tried again. "Do you hang out with your friends often after school?"

"Sometimes," he said, his tone flat.

The girl wasn’t deterred by his short answers. She continued asking him question after question, her tone almost flirty, though Sunghoon didn’t seem the least bit interested. His answers grew shorter, and eventually, he stopped answering altogether, merely shrugging or nodding when necessary.

All the while, Y/n sat quietly in her seat, picking at her lunch. Her usual bright energy was dulled, replaced by that growing, unfamiliar feeling in her chest. She wasn’t sure what to call it—jealousy? Frustration? Whatever it was, it made her stomach twist uncomfortably as she listened to the girl chatter away at Sunghoon.

His friends exchanged amused looks, clearly sensing the awkwardness in the air. Jake nudged Jay with a smirk, and he raised an eyebrow.

Finally, the lunch period was almost over, and Y/n couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief. As the bell rang, she quickly stood up, grabbing her tray. "We should head to class," she said softly.

Sunghoon stood as well, ignoring the girl’s lingering presence and focusing solely on Y/n. "Let’s go, Angel," he said, his voice low and calm.

The girl’s face fell slightly, but Y/n hardly noticed. Her mind was too focused on the odd, swirling emotion that had taken root inside her. She couldn’t help but feel like something had changed—and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

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The hum of the engine filled the comfortable silence inside Sunghoon's car. Normally, the drive home from school was filled with the sound of Y/n chatting away about her day, excitedly sharing the details of her classes, her small victories, or even her frustrations. But today was different.

She was quiet—too quiet.

Glancing over at her in the passenger seat, Sunghoon noticed the way she was staring out the window, her eyes distant and lost in thought. Her hands, usually expressive as she spoke, were still in her lap, fingers fidgeting slightly.

His brow furrowed in concern. Something was bothering her, and he could tell.

Instead of driving straight to her house, he took a detour, turning the wheel in the direction of the small park near her home. The moment he pulled into the parking lot and cut the engine, the sudden stillness seemed to snap her out of her thoughts. She blinked and looked around, realizing they weren’t at her house.

"Why are we here?" she asked, her voice soft, almost distant.

Sunghoon turned in his seat to face her, his gaze steady and gentle. "Angel," he began, his tone low and soothing, "what's wrong? You’ve been quiet all day. I know something’s bothering you."

Her lips parted as if to say something, but she hesitated, her eyes dropping to her hands. For a moment, she fidgeted in her seat, unsure of how to put her feelings into words. But Sunghoon waited patiently, his gaze never wavering.

Finally, she sighed and looked back up at him. "It’s... it’s nothing, really. It’s just..." She trailed off again, struggling.

"Angel, you can talk to me," he encouraged, his voice soft.

She bit her lip, then took a deep breath. "Okay. Yesterday, after you walked me to class, some girls came up to me and... they asked me about you."

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.

"They asked me about what you’re like," she explained, her fingers twisting together in her lap. "And then one of them—she asked me if I could... introduce her to you."

At that, Sunghoon frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. "And?"

"I didn’t know what to say," she admitted. "I couldn’t refuse because, well, I didn’t want to be rude. But... I wanted to refuse. I wanted to say no. And ever since then, I’ve had this weird feeling in my stomach, like..." She trailed off, searching for the right words.

"Like what?" he asked gently, his voice calm and soothing.

She sighed, shaking her head. "I don’t know... like I don’t want anyone else to get close to you. It’s stupid, I know, but it just... bothered me."

For a moment, the car was quiet as her words hung in the air. Then, Sunghoon let out a small, playful chuckle. "Angel," he said, a teasing grin spreading across his face, "are you jealous?"

Y/n’s eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed a deep red. "What? No!" she protested, lightly smacking his arm in embarrassment. But her blush betrayed her.

He laughed softly, shaking his head. "You don’t have to lie. It’s okay if you’re jealous. It’s kind of cute, actually."

She groaned and covered her face with her hands, her blush growing deeper. "I don’t know what I’m feeling," she mumbled through her fingers. "Maybe I am jealous. I just... I don’t like the idea of other people wanting to get close to you like that."

His playful grin softened into a tender smile as he reached out and gently took her hand in his. The warmth of his touch calmed her slightly, and she peeked out from behind her hands.

"Angel," he said softly, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand, "no one could ever replace you. I don’t want anyone else but you. I’m yours. Okay?"

Her heart swelled at his words, and she finally dropped her hands from her face, meeting his gaze. His eyes were warm and sincere, full of affection. A small, shy smile tugged at her lips.

"Okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

For a moment, they simply sat there, hands intertwined, the weight of her worries slowly lifting. She felt silly for being jealous, but his reassurance made her feel better—like everything was going to be okay.

With a soft squeeze of her hand, Sunghoon smiled again. "Now, are you ready to go home? Or should we stay here a little longer so you can keep being jealous over me?"

She laughed softly, rolling her eyes. "Let’s go home, Hoonie."

With one last squeeze of her hand, he started the car and pulled out of the park, the tension between them melting away as they drove in comfortable silence.

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The hallways were bustling with students as Sunghoon walked alongside his six friends, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. They surrounded him, their voices a mix of laughter and banter as they discussed their morning classes and plans for later. Though he was in the center, Sunghoon wasn’t really engaging, just listening with a relaxed, blank expression.

Suddenly, Jihye stepped into their path, her bright smile directed solely at him. His friends quieted down, their attention shifting to her as she confidently strode up and stopped in front of him.

He came to a halt, the rest of his friends following suit, and looked down at her with an uninterested stare. His posture didn’t change, still nonchalant, but his eyes gave nothing away.

“Hi,” she greeted, her voice sweet and almost too eager. "You know, you’re not as scary as everyone says you are." She grinned wider. "Actually, I think you’re really handsome."

His friends exchanged amused glances, some of them snickering at the bold compliment. Jake elbowed Jay lightly, trying not to laugh out loud, but Sunghoon remained stone-faced, unmoved by her words.

“Thanks," he said flatly, the word carrying no emotion whatsoever.

Encouraged by what she perceived as an opening, the girl stepped a little closer, her confidence growing. "So, I was thinking... maybe we could hang out sometime? Go on a date?"

The air shifted. His friends went quiet, waiting for his response, some of them already stifling laughter, knowing exactly how this was going to go.

Without missing a beat, Sunghoon looked her dead in the eyes, his voice cold and blunt. "I’m not interested," he said simply, his words like a slap in the face. He didn’t even soften the blow. "And I never will be."

His rejection was firm and absolute, and her face fell slightly, the confident smile wavering.

Before she could even recover, he continued, his tone sharp now. "Stop bothering Y/n about me. Leave her alone."

Jihye's expression soured at the mention of Y/n, and her posture stiffened. Clearly offended, she crossed her arms and glared up at him. "Her?" she sneered. "You’d rather be with someone like her? She’s nothing special."

That was it.

The air around Sunghoon changed in an instant, his relaxed stance becoming tense. He took a step closer to her, his towering figure casting a shadow over her. His jaw clenched, and his gaze hardened into a menacing glare.

“Say that again,” he challenged, his voice low and threatening.

Her eyes widened, clearly taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanor. She swallowed hard but held her ground. “I-I’m just saying—”

He cut her off, his voice ice-cold. "Don’t insult her. Not ever again."

The threat was clear, and she realized quickly that she’d crossed a line. His friends stood silently behind him, watching the scene unfold but not interfering, their faces reflecting the same unreadable expressions.

“You think you can just walk up to me and insult someone I care about? You’re not worth my time, and you’re definitely not worth hers." His eyes narrowed, and he leaned down slightly, his words sharp as a knife. "So, get lost."

Stunned and clearly humiliated, the girl stumbled back, her face flushed with anger and embarrassment. She glanced around at his friends, who were watching her with barely concealed amusement, and then back at him. She opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it and turned on her heel, storming away in a huff.

As she disappeared down the hallway, Heeseung broke the silence with a low whistle. "Man, she didn’t stand a chance, did she?"

Jay laughed, shaking his head. "I almost feel bad for her. Almost."

But Sunghoon wasn’t interested in the jokes. His expression was still hardened as he stared after her retreating figure, but after a moment, he let out a long breath, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

Jake nudged him playfully. "Guess she knows now not to mess with Y/n."

"She better," he muttered, his gaze softening only slightly as he turned away and resumed walking.

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The sun was starting to set as Sunghoon drove through the familiar streets, the hum of the engine a calming presence. Beside him, in the passenger seat, Y/n was happily chatting away, her voice light as she recounted the events of her day. Her words were full of the small details—her classes, something funny one of her friends said, and the little things she noticed on her walk to school.

She was radiant when she spoke, her face lighting up with every new story, and Sunghoon couldn’t help but watch her as he drove, a soft smile tugging at his lips. The world outside seemed to blur into the background; all that mattered was the sound of her voice and the way her eyes sparkled.

As they approached the park, he turned the steering wheel and pulled into the parking lot, the car coming to a gentle stop under the shade of a large tree. They’d been here before, a quiet place where they could steal a few moments together away from everything else.

“Let’s hang out here for a bit,” he said as he turned off the car.

She looked over at him with a smile, nodding as she continued talking, this time about something one of her classmates did during lunch. He leaned back in his seat, one arm resting on the wheel, the other draped casually across his lap as he listened intently to every word she said.

But after a while, Y/n noticed the way he was staring at her—his eyes warm, focused entirely on her, as if she was the only thing that mattered. Her words faltered for a second, a light blush creeping onto her cheeks as she realized he wasn’t just listening; he was captivated.

“What?” she asked, her voice soft and a little shy.

He didn’t say anything at first, just kept staring, the intensity of his gaze making her heart race. Then, slowly, he leaned in closer, his face mere inches from hers. The quiet rustle of the park’s leaves surrounded them, but in that moment, it felt like the world had stilled.

His voice was soft, almost a whisper. “Can I kiss you?”

Her breath hitched, her blush deepening as her eyes flicked from his lips to his eyes. She swallowed, feeling the warmth of his closeness, and after a second, she gave a small, shy nod.

That was all the confirmation Sunghoon needed.

In one smooth, gentle motion, he closed the remaining distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a soft, tender kiss. It was sweet, unhurried, like they had all the time in the world. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she felt her heart swell, her hands coming up to lightly rest on his arm as they shared the moment, lost in the quiet intimacy of the park.

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PART ONE | CALLING ON MY ANGEL

MASTERLIST

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, lxvsiick, 2024

[00kittenz]

── smarty. ( pjs ) 🪷

๑ Jay has had enough of your brattiness for today, there’s only so much he can take.. so he may as well teach you a little lesson, right?

pair: bf!jay ㅊ gf!reader | warnings: smut, angst (??), small age gap (jay is 5 years older), d/s dynamics, bratty!reader, slight ddlg themes, spanking, p.ssy slapping, oral (f. rec), edging, crying, daddy kink, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, reader is implied to be a curvy/thick girly but anyone can read tbh ! | words: 1.7k

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“what’d i tell you about saying things like that?”

“i don’t care, it’s true !” you snarled, if it hadn’t been made clear how aggravated you were, it sure as hell was now.

you and jay spent the weekend with his parents at a resort somewhere in jeju. everything was going fine at first, that was until an unexpected guest invited themselves to join your little ‘family trip’. her name was hanna ? halie ? you don’t know and you didn’t care. what fogged your mind for the rest of the trip was how she clung up onto jay like the smoke to dry ice.

what agitated you even more about her was her need to call you out asking you a million questions about your clothing and how she’s so shocked that jay settled down with someone like you. all of her backhanded compliments would rub you the wrong way and she just gave you weird vibes. it’s as if you weren’t “pretty enough” to date him; according to her at least. don’t get it twisted, jay definitely shut all of that down. he wouldn’t let any woman pin you as anything less than you were. a fucking goddess.

“why’re you acting like this? what’d i even do?” he paused. “what haneul does has nothing to do with me.” he continued, eyes focused on the road. he’s become fed up with your constant nagging. maybe it’s just his level of maturity that makes him unable to see it, but he doesn’t understand why you worry so much, it was as if every ‘i love you the most’ ‘you’re my favorite’ ‘it’s only you’s’ didn’t matter. he felt like his words held no weight whatsoever.

“nothing to do with you ? hah, you’re the one who let her bombard our vacation. might i add family vacation.” you sterned, shifting your body closer to the door of the vehicle, looking out the window.

“what did you expect me to do y/n? she’s been a family friend for years now, i can’t just tell her to fuck off and go somewhere else. she’d go crying to my mom about how mean i was to her and that’s just extra drama that i don’t need right now..” he exhaled heavily, glancing at your avoidant figure. when he got no reply from you he left it be, turning up the music to avoid the awkward atmosphere the both of you created.

๑ ๑ ๑

“babe, can you pass me my frames ?” jay dared to ask even though you’d been ignoring him since the incident from earlier.

“y/n.” “please ?” watching as you hadn’t budged even a bit he grew upset. it was already bad enough for him that you were acting like he didn’t even exist, which was fine. though, he wouldn’t just take your constant disrespect.

so he got rid of what seemed to be your main source of attention. your phone.

“what the fuck, jay !” you reached at him. “give me my phone !”

“jay !” he mocked, his voice altering to sound high pitched like yours. “don’t you see that i’m trying put things back together? why do you have to act like such a child.” he was disappointed in you. you were a fully legal adult, yet your actions said differently.

“strip.” jay broke the silence you let fill the room. you were hesitant, and confused, but at least you were actually looking at him now. “you heard me, now.” his brow raised as his mouth slipped a scoff.

were you just gonna let him boss you around ? definitely not. were you feeling intimidated ? yes. but your pride stood stronger than the trouble you’d get into. you breathe heavily finding your way to the door of your bedroom for your dramatic escape; until you felt a tug at your arm and then the softness of your mattress, cosigned with the weight of your built boyfriend.

“i guess i have to do everything myself today, huh ?” jay sounded calm but you knew otherwise, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t let this play out just to see this side of him. ‘cause you did. hell, you felt your wetness dripping past the wall of your ass, the sticky sensation sending your body chills.

the jingle of his belt caught your attention, but before you could even glance at him, your face was meshed with the comforter of your shared bed. you shriek.

“jay— !”

“oh now you wanna talk ? huh, funny.” his hand sent goosebumps throughout your body as he runs his palm over your clothed ass. “it’s a shame you don’t listen. now your pretty tails gonna be all red.” he pinched the fabric of your skirt flicking it upwards onto your lower back.

“ ‘m sorry..” you uttered feeling him tug at your underwear.

now, jay was ignoring you. all you felt was him adjusting your waist, so that your ass sat in the air.

“‘m really sorry..ja—” you pause, shrieking at the leather that came in contact with your silky skin. if you could describe the feel of it, it’s like a slow burn, a slow burning that spread like wildfire everytime he unleashed the branded weapon on you.

discipline is a topic your parents took lightly. yeah, they disciplined you, but it was never a ‘bend over my knee’ type of discipline. more like, every morning you wake up ‘sit in that corner’ type of discipline. jay never went soft on you when it came down to it. he wanted to make sure you never do whatever you’re in trouble for again.

“crying ? what’re you crying for,” jay never pushed aside your emotions, he had to hear you out or his guilt would eat him alive. hearing you sniffle shot a sort of worry in him.

“listen, you put yourself in this situation—” he paused throwing his belt. “you already know what happens when you wanna act like a brat.” he palmed your cunt. he wasn’t going to baby you this time, that’s all he ever did. maybe this was partially his fault too..

subconsciously, you felt yourself grinding on his hand. you were needy, you always were after a punishment, even if he didn’t know. but now, you were on display. there was no way he wouldn’t find out.

“you’re such a fucking slut,” his thumb caressing your entrance, pushing your sweetness through your dewy folds. “already so wet for daddy, hm?” his thumb slid through your sticky walls in a in and out motion. your slick caking his finger everytime he pulled it from inside you.

“please..” was a constant that came from your mouth. you didn’t know what you were pleading for. more ? less ? what was it ? you only knew that he made you feel so good. the look of him drenched you. you wanted him to slut you out. ruin you.

“please ? please what?” he couldn’t help but snort at you. the mere thought that you can get what you want with just a please— scratch that. the thought that you think you can get whatever you want after testing his patience, made him laugh. “please.. forgive me ?”

“i dunno..m” you slurred, you were estatic. just his thumb, making you feel so dumb. it made you feel small, like you were nothing but a tiny spectacle of dust.

“you dunno..? wan’ me to help you find out ?” you were flipped onto your back before you knew it. once you saw the shift in his eyes change, you knew what he was prone to do. the thought itself making you spread your legs wide open.

you even made the mistake of trying to rub yourself. that quickly got disposed.

“you lost your damn mind ?” his hand reached down to slap your weeping pussy.

“baby, i can’t wait.. please!” you whined watching as he kneeled down, face between your begging thighs, hands cupping each pretty chunk of flesh.

“but you can.” “matter of fact, you will.” he blew onto your core. the cold sensation bringing your hips to a jolt. his eyes scanned your smaller figure watching every expression that played out on your face, then down to your breasts. “lift up your shirt, let me see your beautiful body, baby.”

earning yourself a “good little girl.” when you comply.

๑ ๑ ๑

you hadn’t gotten a break since he started his mouth on you. drinking in your first orgasm, then the second. seems like you were now on your third.

“fuck.. jay.” you groaned your hips aching to move in his grasp. you’d try not to breakdown whenever his nose came in touch with your throbbing clit.

“you done ? talk to me baby.” he growled against your heat. his warm breath made you thirsty. he was eating you like it was his last supper. ripping you to absolute shreds.

“i’m gonna come, daddy..” your legs were shaking, your voice was whiney, and you needed an exhale. once he started sucking on your clit your back arched. at him, the feel, and the thought of him, making you feel.

“yeah, you gonna come for me ?”

“yeah.. wan’ come for you..” you spoke through labored breaths. once your moaning got louder, he stopped. he’d love to make you come, third times a charm. but he wasn’t going to. he basically lured you in just to trick you.

“jayy !” “it was right there, i was about to cum !” you childishly whined at the begging sensation between your legs. the quivering feeling making you force your legs closed to suppress the throbbing feel. you felt his hungry stare on you. you knew he wanted you. it’s when you realized this wasn’t an after punishment treat. he was edging you. right after overstimulating you. how cruel..

“aww, look at you ! my pretty girl..” he pouted at you, your sad, twitching state. you were groaning for more as he watched you. pitying you. how could you have thought it was over? after a mere spanking ? silly.

“i guess you really thought huh.” he cackled. “ooh ! should we order room service.. i’m kinda hungry. you ?” he got up to go and search for the phone.

maybe you did deserve this. shouldn’t be acting so damn bratty all the time, even if it’s in your nature to piss him off. now look at you. eyes all watery, and a mess between your legs.

oh well, not his problem.

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green Part 21

CW: discussions of mental health and past temporary character death Masterpost

“Hey Dandelion, do you have everything?” Dick asked as he peered into Danny’s room— or the room that Danny had been using since they moved to this safe house.

Now that they were moving to the Manor, Danny would be getting his actual room with the rest of them in the family wing. For those that had moved out, the Manor wasn’t their only home, but it was still home and their room was still their room. Or at least for Dick and Cass. Jason… Dick knew that it was still harder for Jason.

Thinking about it now, Dick didn’t know if he’d actually ever seen Jason actually sleep in his childhood room again. Jason was always up first, helping Alfred in the kitchen on the rare nights that he stayed over. Once Dick had fond Jason still asleep in the library, book still in hand. Maybe it was something to change. Maybe it could change, now that Danny was there to bring up the conversation.

“Danny?”

“Sorry,” Danny said with a slightly water smile. His little brother was clutching his blue bear, as he almost always was these last few days. “I, um, yeah, I think I have everything.”

Dick sat down on the edge of the bed next to Danny. “But?”

“But?” Danny repeated. His brows crunched up adorably.

Dick leaned over to bump their shoulders together. “But you don’t seem happy. If this is all too soon, we can delay.”

Danny gave a little, unhappy snort. “You all keep delaying for me. I didn’t want to meet Bruce so you kept him away. I didn’t want to tell you things and you all still haven’t made me.”

“We want you to be comfortable and feel safe.”

“I do,” Danny insisted. “I have and I… and I still ran, didn’t I? I was safe and cared for and I ran. And now I don’t want to leave here. That’s so stupid of me!”

“It’s not—”

“It is!” The words seemed to choke Danny. “It is. I trust you! I trust you and Hood and B.B. and I… I still can’t! I want to tell you, but I still can’t…”

Dick wrapped Danny up in his arms, pulling his brother tight against his chest and cradling Danny there as he sobbed. There had been a lot of tears in the last few days, and Dick knew that there would be many more. He didn’t try to shush Danny, just kept him held close until the tears ran out.

“Sorry,” Danny mumbled against Dick’s damp shirt.

Dick took a moment to think of his words. “This family is bad about trauma, which isn’t great because we have a lot of it. But we all know it. And… and you can feel completely safe and still have part of you that’s terrified because of the trauma. That if you speak it or face it or acknowledge it the trauma will suddenly have so much power over you and… and all the worst things that you fear in the dark quiet of the night will be true. It makes you fear that the same people you’re safe with and love you will look at you differently or blame you. And… um…”

He needed a moment to breathe, face buried against Danny’s dark locks, as his own monsters reared up. “And there are people who might. But not… not us. We have been through so much as a family and no mater what we’re still family. And you’re part of that too now, Danny. So it’s okay to be scared or sad or not tell us things, but none of that changes that you’re family. If we argue or get annoyed or cry we’re still family. So don’t be sorry. Please, don’t be sorry for any of it because I don’t want you to be sorry for being family, okay?”

“Okay,” Danny said, breath choked but words still sure. “Okay.”

Dick carded gentle fingers through Danny’s hair. “Look at it this way, you’ve already tamed Damian. That’s a big step in this family.”

Danny’s snort of laughter was slightly lost with the way his was still buried against Dick’s chest. “I don’t think Damian can ever be tamed. He’s like one of those… whatchamacalls it. Those tiny desert cats with the highest kill ratios for predators. Small and kitten shaped but still very wild.”

“Yeah, okay, maybe you’re right. Adorable and stabby is pretty accurate,” Dick agreed. “But it’s going better than it did with Tim! You should ask him about it— actually, you know what, don’t. Don’t ask about it. Water under the bridge. Bloody, bloody water.”

“…what?”

“Yep, never mind! Okay. Let’s double check you have everything,” Dick said, hauling them both bodily to their feet.

When in doubt, distract.

-

Alfred was struck silent when he opened the door. That was not something that happened often and in fact his sharp tongue was something that Alfred prided himself on. But in that moment, he was without words.

Young Daniel looked so distinctly like Bruce at that age, down to the haunted look of desperate hope waging battle against a highly rational mind, that Alfred was thrown back into times past. Back then, even half a decade after past Thomas and Martha’s death, Alfred still had no idea how to handle a child. At least now he had more of an idea.

“Welcome home, Master Danny,” Alfred said and stepped aside to let the newest Wayne enter the Manor.

Master Dick and Master Jason flanked the boy like towering honor guards.

“I am Alfred Pennyworth, and you may call me Alfred, or Alfie if you must. Master Jason certainly seems to prefer it,” Alfred said with a fond look Jason’s way. “If there is anything you need, at any time of day or night, to feel more comfortable here you simply need to ask me. It is my duty and honor to serve this family, which very much includes you.”

“I— ah, thank you, Alfred,” Danny said softly. He was quiet in a different way than young Bruce had been and the Bristol accent was almost shockingly absent, even though Alfred had known it wouldn’t be present.

“Of course. Now, lunch is in about an hour. I thought perhaps you might like to settle into your room a little before the meal,” Alfred said and turned slightly towards the stairs.

Danny obediently fell into step. That behavior was much more like Tim’s had been when he first arrived. Alfred tucked that thought away with the rest.

“You are in the family wing, of course. Master Bruce, Master Duke, and Master Damian are the other permanent residents of the manor. While the others still have their rooms, they come and go,” Alfred explained as they made their way to and up the stairs. “We have put together a room that we hope will be suitable for you, but anything that isn’t to your liking, we can easily change it.”

“We’ll go shopping in a few days too,” Dick said. “We can grab some things then that you might like for the walls and desk.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Danny said quickly.

“Fine’s not the goal, kid,” Jason said. “The goal is to make this home.”

Danny was silent in response to that. Alfred made another mental note to check in with Danny about the room a few times and possibly even to suggest items.

“Master Bruce’s room is at the end of the hall,” Alfred explained when they reached the top of the stairs. “Master Dick’s on the left and Master Jason’s on the right of it. This way we have Master Tim’s and Miss Stephanie’s. While she is not family, there have been enough nights she has stayed over to warrant the space. Miss Cass’, Master Damian’s, Master Duke’s next and this is yours, Master Danny.”

Alfred opened the door to the room with a little bow. As with every room in the manor, it was fitted with a bed, two side tables, a dresser, and a credenza all in the same dark wood. There had thankfully been enough time to paint the walls a two tone blue and bring a desk from one of the other rooms. The star project sat on the desk next to the basic supplies and an air diffuser. Already the room smelled softly of sandalwood. The bed was dressed in blues and creams with an extra, luxuriously soft blue blanket draped across the foot of the bed.

Danny stepped into the room almost cautiously.

Alfred moved back to give Danny room and took an even breath. Danny would settle with time.

“Lunch in an hour,” Alfred reminded the trio of Wayne boys as he took his exit. He’d best made sure that Danny’s first meal here was a fine one. After all, this would be home.

-

Dick entered the library quietly. He might be there to actively disturb Jason, but he didn’t have to be rude about it. Besides, it was nice to see Jason settled in an armchair, curled up slightly around a book. It was easy to see the little kid that Jason used to be like this.

(Dick made himself shake that vision away.)

“So,” Dick started as he settled in, arms crossed, against the back of the armchair across from Jason, “Danny’s first day in the manor seemed to go alright.”

Jason looked up from the book with a soft frown. “Yeah. We’ll see how tonight goes. Worried about nightmares for him. Just since it’s a new place and all.”

“I could see that happening,” Dick agreed. “Luckily we’ll all be close up upstairs if he does have one. You and me will just have to work not to run into each other as we bust out of our rooms.”

Jason’s fingers scrapped lightly against the pages of the book as he fanned them, gaze away from Dick and uneasy.

“Jason—”

“What did you mean about hallucinating?”

Dick’s intended question crashed to a halt against the roof of his mouth as he snapped it closed. What? When had he said…

“Um,” Dick cleared his throat to get rid of the lingering pile up. “What now?”

“When Danny ran, after your panic attack you said you were good, you weren’t at ‘the hallucinating stage yet’.” Jason looked up, pining Dick with that forever green tinted gaze. “What did that mean, Dick?”

It was Dick’s turn to look away as he scrambled to make a new plan of how to approach this. He’d never… how he was after Jason’s death, how it had broken him… that wasn’t something Dick ever wanted to burden Jason with. Bruce’s own lapse of sanity, Tim ending up in the Robin suit, Dick knew how those things weighed on Jason. As if it had been Jason’s fault he died. Dick breathed out a slow, measured breath. Guess there was no avoiding it now.

But Dick wasn’t going to let that information go without using some of it to his own favor. “Fine, I’ll explain but you have to stay and talk through the question I have for you too, deal?”

Jason took a silent moment. “…yeah, fine, deal.”

“Okay. Right. Um…” Dick rubbed his hands together, then circled the armchair and sat lightly down on the edge of the too soft cushion. Had the rich green fabric always been so itchy? “So, it’s nothing major, really, just that I have, before— at just one period actually— when I really stressed and too emotional about things, maybe had some hallucinations. But! But, I knew h—they were hallucinations and not real. It wasn’t like I was listening to the voice telling me to do anything or following after someone who didn’t exist or anything! It was— I dealt with it. It was fine. It hasn’t happened in a long time now.”

“You were hallucinating.”

“Yes.”

“A person.”

“Yes.”

“You could see them and hear them? Jesus, Dick,” Jason said, abandoning his book to rub at his face. “How bad was it? Did they talk back? Did you talk back? Did—”

“Yes! Okay, yes!” Dick exploded out of his chair. “Yes I could hear them. Yes I could see them! Yes he could talk back! Yes I talked back to him! Of course I talked back to him. You… you were gone, little wing. You were gone and I didn’t think— who could have thought you’d come back? You were gone and I know… I know he wasn’t real. I know he wasn’t you, but how I was I going to turn away any chance to talk to you when you were gone? Even when it was just… just my mind being cruel.”

“Me? You were— Dick, you were seeing me?”

The armchair cushioned Dick’s heavy fall back into it.

He shrugged.

What could he say to that? What could he say other than another torn ‘yes’?

“Jesus fucking… Dick.” Jason sounded torn.

Dick didn’t want to look up to see his brother’s expression.

Apparently Jason wasn’t having that because a moment later he was crouched in front of Dick, forcing himself into Dicks view.

“It’s not your fault,” Dick said quickly. Even as Jason’s large, calloused hand came to rest on his cheek Dick kept talking. The words needed to come out. “I just handled coming back from space and the mission to the… to the news badly. And Bruce was in a state. He’d ripped down every photo of you like just seeing your presence would break him and I think it would have! I know you— I know there are issues with you two and I’m not invalidating that, but he was so close to breaking and I was just angry about it all. And then Alfred put up that damn suit in that case like that and all I could— all I could see was the little brother that I’d never gotten to show how happy I was to have… and then I did see you. In a way. It just…”

Dick didn’t realize he was crying until Jason’s thumb wiped a tear away.

“Okay.” Jason took a deep breath. “Okay, so I’m going to need you to repeat part of that.”

“Bruce? Or that I’m sorry? Or—”

“Alfred. Alfred put the suit on display?”

Dick blinked, scattering more tears he ignored. “Yes? Did you— you didn’t know that? Did you think it was— No. Bruce couldn’t even handle seeing a photo of you! I thought Alfred putting that case in the Cave was going to kill Bruce. Drive him to finally let himself be killed like Tim said he was trying to do.”

“Right, fuck that. I’m going down and—” Jason started to stand and then took a knee again quickly and clasped Dick’s face on both sides. “No. No, first, if you ever and I mean fucking ever get to the point of hallucinating like that again you come to me or call me or anything. Do you hear me, big bird? If it gets bad or you think it will you come to me. I’m your little brother. You come to me.”

For a moment, Dick let himself close his eyes. He let himself close his eyes and breathe and take comfort in his little brother being there. “Promise.”

“Okay. Now, I’m going to go smash a case.”

Dick reached out and caught Jason’s hand. “Wait, you owe me an answer.”

“Dick.”

“You said you would! And I promise after we’ll go smash that fucking case together, okay? I’ve always hated it. But a deal is a deal.”

Jason basically deflated as he sat down on the floor at Dick’s feet. He rubbed a hand across his face. Dick felt bad, but he had bared his own soul and payment was due.

“Jay, have you ever slept in your room? Since you’ve been back, I mean. Since you’ve been back, have you ever actually slept a night in your room here?”

There was a long moment of silence where deal or no, Dick didn’t know if Jason was going to answer. Then—

“I can’t, Dick. It’s just— have you seen it? Nothing’s changed! It belongs to a dead kid and I just can’t. I can’t be him anymore.”

“Okay. Tomorrow I’ll clean it out for you.”

Jason’s head snapped to look up at Dick.

Dick shrugged. “This is your home too. Tomorrow I’ll clean it out. I can put it in a bunch of boxes and label it all or—”

“Toss it,” Jason spat and then quickly amended in a softer voice, “Not the books, leave those. And I guess… pack up and notebooks you find and stash them somewhere. You can… if there’s clothing Danny or Damian might like, give it to them. But the rest… toss the rest.”

“Okay, I can do that. And when I take Danny out in a few days you can come too and we’ll out some new things for your room too.”

“Dick,” Jason started, a clear protest. And then he sighed like all the air was let out of him. “Okay. But just like sheets and stuff.”

“Sure,” Dick agreed easily and with a too innocent smile. Before Jason could question it, Dick escaped sideways from the chair. “Now come on, we have a case to smash.”

Jason scrambled up from the floor. “We’re burning the suit after.”

“Of course we are. We’ll torch it on your grave.”

--- AN: Well this was a very dramatic section! Who knew that adding Danny to the family would help the rest of them deal with things! And yep, it's canon that the case with Jason's suit and that damn plaque are Alfred's doing, not Bruce's.

Stay delightful, darlings!

[nerdy-novelist017]

Soaked (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader Reader pt 8)

Hello, my lovelies! Sorry this took forever to write and post but I’ve been very busy with real life (ew) and I’m actually posting this while I’m on vacation. I wrote it on the plane and am posting in the car so please be kind if you see any mistakes hehe 😉

Benny x Bunny Masterlist

Word Count- 4.7k+

Summary- Benny’s never wanted anything as much as he wants to marry you, but with such different lives, you’re not so sure it will be as easy as he claims.

You felt the wind surge around you as Benny accelerated down the main road, his motorcycle roaring beneath you both. The world blurred past in a whirlwind of colors, but all you could focus on was the way your heart lifted, how a thrill of excitement shot through you as you zoomed past the rest of the gang. He did it just because he knew it’d make you giggle. And you did, the sound escaping you in a way that felt so carefree, so full of joy especially as you shot past Johnny and the others, leaving them in your dirt.

The wind was relentless, blowing your hair out of its carefully manicured braid, but you didn’t find yourself caring much anymore. The days spent with Benny had a way of shifting everything you thought had mattered. The things that once held so much weight – social status, gossip, public appearances – no longer seemed as important anymore. With Benny, it was almost like discovering a whole new world. No, not a new world. The same streets passed beneath the tires, the same faces you once worried about still existed. The world was still the same, but it was how he viewed it that felt so different. He didn’t care what others thought about him, didn’t pay attention to their expectations. He lived in his own world, surrounded by others like him that didn’t conform to the societal molds – people that you wouldn’t have even approached just based on their appearance. You never considered yourself a very judgemental person, but because of Benny, you have met and befriended people you could have never imagined.

That’s one of the things you loved about Benny. He wasn’t like anyone you had ever met before. He was different. And you were beginning to love that too.

He pulled off the main road, stopping in his signature spot in front of the club house. The roar of the rest of the gang pulling up sounded in the distance as Benny helped you off the bike. He held his grip on your hand, lacing his own fingers through yours as he pulled you gently into the bar. You followed him inside where the Vandals’ laughter and chatter soon filled the air. A familiar buzz of camaraderie enveloped the place, and before long, you found yourself seated around the table with a few of the core members. Benny was close – as always – with his arm draped over your shoulder.

“Hey, Bunny,” Cockroach’s voice cut through the sea of noise as he leaned forward and used his beer bottle to point at you. “When are you finally gonna say yes to our boy Benny, here?”

You stiffened slightly, the weight of the question hanging in the air and drawing the attention of the others at the table.

“Oh yeah,” Corky piped up, one eyebrow playfully cocked in a challenge. “He’s been asking, what, 100 times now? What’s the holdup? He’s not getting any younger, ya know?”

Heat filled your face at their teasing. Though Corky’s words were a bit of an exaggeration, they weren’t technically wrong. Since your kiss behind the clubhouse, Benny has asked you to marry him almost every day, sometimes more than once in a day. It had started by him mentioning married life in casual conversation, and you jokingly pointed out that he hadn’t actually proposed to begin with – not traditionally. And you were shocked to see him abandon everything he was doing in the moment to ask you to marry him. You giggled and rolled your eyes at his dramatics, but something deeper inside you caused your heart to flutter nervously. Since then, he’s asked several times, some in passing, a casual remark slipped into the conversation. Other times, he’d pause what he was doing, drop to one knee and grin up at you as if he were waiting for you to give in. But each time you’d laugh it off, brush it aside as him being unserious.

“Maybe I’m just waiting for the right moment?” you replied as you timidly played with the chain of your necklace, trying to deflect the attention.

“The right moment?” Cockroach parroted in disbelief. “He’s been proposin’ left and right for a week. Hell, I’d have said yes after the first time if it were me!”

The group laughed, and you tensed under Benny’s arm, wanting to melt into the floor from embarrassment. Benny squeezed your hand reassuringly, and he leaned, his voice dropping to a low murmur that was only meant for you, “They don’t mean nothin’ by that, you know that.”

You nodded, not trusting your own voice. He was right, you knew that. They didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but the constant razzing – especially with this particular subject – was start to weigh on you.

“Yeah, c’mon, Bunny,” Cal chimed in from across the way, “What’s it gonna take? Benny’s a catch! He’s got the bike, the looks, the . . . mommy’s issues. If you don’t say yes soon, you might lose your chance.”

That playful jab was too much for Benny who stiffened next to you. You expected him to get angry, to blow up like you had seen your father do when he was upset. But instead, Benny leaned forward, eyes narrowing with a playful glint that you had come to adore. The table was buzzing with laughter, but he wasn’t about to let the spotlight stay on you for too long. Without missing a beat, he flashed a grin at Corky, his hand raised as he said, “Alright, alright. But let’s not pretend you all ain’t desperate for a distraction since none of you can keep a bike upright without fallin’ on your asses.”

The table roared with laughter and Corky’s mouth fell open in mock offense. “That was one time! And I had an oil slick!”

Johnny immediately jumped in, “Yeah Corky, an oil slick you created when your bike was leakin’ everywhere.”

Laughter erupted again and you shot Benny a grateful look as the guys started ribbing Corky about his infamous fall. Benny’s eyes met yours briefly, his thumb brushing your hand under the table in a silent message: I’ve got you. Most of the group knew you were shy and did not appreciate being the center of attention in a crowd, and they respected that. However, there were a few class clowns (as Benny called them) who loved to tease you, knowing it could get a reaction without fail. But Benny never let it go on for long, always shutting them down when he recognized your discomfort.

They’ve never teased you about marriage though. You had to wonder if Benny had voiced his irritation to them at some point or if they had picked up on your hesitation organically. Either way, it left you feeling bad. Excusing yourself, you wiggled out of Benny’s grasp as you stood and made your way for the restroom, needing a moment to breathe, to clear your head. But just as you reached the back of the bar, a voice stopped you.

“You ain’t gotta worry about what they say to you,” Funny Sonny stood leaning casually against the bar top as he sipped a glass of whiskey. “That just means they like you, accept you.”

You paused, glancing over your shoulder at the table of rowdy bikers. “I’m just not . . . used to it. All the teasin’.”

Sonny nodded, his disheveled hair falling into his eyes as he grinned. “You’ll get used to it. Won’t be long till you’re the one throwing out the first jabs.”

He said it so nonchalantly, as if it were the most obvious course of action, as if you weren’t from completely different worlds. You furrowed your brows, eyes casting downwards as you admitted, “I’m not so sure about that. I’m not at all like you guys.”

“You don’t gotta be like us to be with us. We’re family here and family means lookin’ out for each other, even the ones who came from different backgrounds,” he said, his voice lowering a register to a bit more of a serious tone.

His words settled over you like a warm blanket, the concept so foreign yet so familiar. Family. You knew what that was, you had one, you were loved by one. But for some reason, it felt like it meant something different with the Vandals. They chose their family, stood by them despite no blood relation. Your parents loved you, you knew that. They showed it in their own ways every day. But by default, they had to love you. With the Vandals, they chose to care for each other, chose to look out for each other. In a way, it almost seemed more powerful, more profound.

Being Benny’s girl didn’t just mean he alone had your best interest at heart. It also meant having the rest of the Vandals on your side too, all of them looking out for you. You weren’t sure if you’ve ever experienced such an intense loyalty before, even from blood relatives. And it left you with a warm feeling in your chest.

When you returned to the table, Benny was already standing as if he were waiting for you. His eyes met yours with a slight unease, almost like he thought you wouldn’t come back, like he thought you were so upset that you’d sneak out the backdoor.

“Wanna go for a night ride?” he asked, his voice soft as his hand extended out for you.

Your heart squeezed at his thoughtfulness. He knew how much you were growing to enjoy the feeling of blazing down the empty streets under a star-filled sky with him. A smile tugged at your lips, and you took his hand without hesitation, nodding.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips as your hand slid into his own. You were vaguely aware of the groans and exaggerated protests from the table about the night being still young, but you didn’t hesitate to follow Benny as he led you to the door. He pulled you along to his Harley, the cool and fresh air a welcome change.

The tension from earlier still lingered as Benny’s hand touched your leg, helping you onto the back of the bike. You wrapped your arms around his torso, pressing your face into his back, finding solace in the familiar scent from his jacket.

He drove you around the city, stars and stop lights shining above, engine roaring below. He eventually pulled off the main drag, heading down a quieter road that led out of town. The blacktop blurred beneath you as he slowed the speed to more of a lazy joyride. He took a familiar turn, stopping at the small pull off area before a bridge. The sound of the engine faded as he brought the bike to a stop, the air filling with crickets’ song. The night’s air was breezy, but a welcome change from the hot, loud atmosphere of the clubhouse.

Benny dismounted first, reaching out to help you down. His touch – lingering longer than necessary – against your arm felt electric, sending a jolt of butterflies to your stomach, his eyes searching your face as if he was trying to read your thoughts. The two of you walked over the concrete bridge, pausing once in the middle. You leaned over the railing, getting lost in the gentle swirl of the water below. But Benny was lost in the sight of you.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice low, the usual playful teasing replaced by something softer and reserved only for you.

With your heart beating hard at his gentle tone, you nodded. “I’m fine.”

He frowned, reaching out to brush a loose strand of hair from your face. “I know the guys can be a bit much. I don’t like when they tease you like that. I didn’t mean for them to make you uncomfortable.”

You couldn’t help but smile a bit at his words, knowing that wanting to protect you was something he took very seriously, even if it meant from his own friends, his own family.

“I know,” you responded softly, leaning your chin on your hand over the railing.

“I’ll talk to them, make sure they won’t raz you like that anymore,” he promised, his expression serious.

“It’s not that. It’s just . . . I don’t know. It’s a lot to get used to,” you admitted gently. Before Benny, you’d never even been in a bar before, never ridden a motorcycle, never stayed out past curfew. He was a completely different experience than you were accustomed to. And now he wanted you to marry, after only knowing him for a few weeks. He wanted to be your husband, your partner for life. Your life felt like a bit of a whirlwind ever since you met him, but you wanted to be certain it wasn’t just fun because it was new.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just stood there, his eyes tracing your features, his hand resting over your own. You could practically see the gears turning in his brain, something in him conflicted. Finally, he released a soft sigh, putting an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in close. “You don’t have to answer them, you know. Hell, you don’t have to answer me. Not till you’re ready.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you breathed in his scent – leather, smoke and something uniquely Benny. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I . . . ”

Benny pulled back slightly, his fingers tilting your chin up to meet his gaze, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “Hey, you don’t owe anyone an explanation, not even me. You’ll say yes when you’re ready. And when that time comes, I’ll be here. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as it was your turn to kid. “How do you know I’ll say yes?”

Benny’s smile was gentle but still roguishly confident. His hand lingered on your cheek, his fingers tracing down the curve of your jaw as if he were mapping every detail of you. “I just know. When you feel it – when it’s real – you just know.”

He said it so simply as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, as if love were the most uncomplicated concept. You didn’t understand that, couldn’t see it that way. You’d seen the love your parents shared and that was beautiful and kind but it was also messy and cruel more often than not. And you understood that your parents were not the only representation of what love and marriage was supposed to be, but it was a constant presence in your life. They didn’t have perfect love, not like what you’d see in the movies or read in books. And you wondered if maybe you were giving too high of expectations for what love was supposed to be, but what you felt when you were around Benny . . . well, it felt exactly like the books described.

The way he looked at you, as if you were the most important thing in the world, made you feel so seen. The way he listened to you as if you were the most entertaining show, made you feel so heard. And the truth was undeniable: you were falling for Benny faster than you thought possible. It was terrifying. Benny was all fire and freedom, a rebel who didn’t play by the rules, who followed his own path with reckless abandon. And you admired that about him, but the thought of stepping into his world permanently felt like stepping off a ledge into the unknown.

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” he asked, pulling you back into the present.

You pulled back slightly, biting your lip in contemplation before speaking your mind, “Don’t you wonder if there are other girls out there that you haven’t even met yet? Girls who are more suited for you?”

He shook his head, his voice light as he said, “Nah, I know you’re the only one for me, kid.”

“But marriage is serious. It’s forever.”

His hand slid down to your hip, turning you to face him fully, his expression solemn. “I never . . . I never thought marriage was real. The way I saw my mom and old man together . . . what they had wasn’t love. And I realized that at an early age. I didn’t think it was something that was real, just a bunch of fairytale bullshit you tell little kids. The girls I’ve been with, girls that may have been more suited for me, have never made me feel what I feel with you, Bunny. This is serious to me too because it proves everything I’ve never believed in.”

Emotion caught in the back of your throat as you pictured the man standing before you as just a boy living in a toxic household, an unloving home. It made you want to hold him tight, to shield him from the rest of the world. The man who held you so gently, who took you for night rides just to cheer you up. The man who came to your bake sale when nobody else did. The man who promised to drive slow so as not to scare you. The man who said he’d follow you all the way to California so that you didn’t have to go by yourself. The man who taught you about his hobbies with eagerness, and listened to yours with attentiveness.

He deserved to be loved in the same way he loved. But the tragic thing was that he didn’t see that, couldn’t comprehend someone loving him like that. He was damaged by his childhood, and you realized that he didn’t think he was worthy of repair. But you’d show him that he was, that he was worthy of everything he never had.

Slowly, you lifted your hands to gently cup his face, and his breath hitched in his throat. There was a shift in his expression – his usual teasing and bravado now replaced with some raw and unguarded as though he was offering you a glimpse into a deeper part of him, one rarely ever shown to anyone.

He pressed his forehead to yours, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “You’re not just some girl to me, Bunny. You know that, right?”

The words sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t playing around now, not hiding behind his usual flirty quips. His sincerity was almost overwhelming. You swallowed thickly. “But what if I mess this up? What if I’m the one who can’t do this?”

Benny’s brows furrowed and he lifted a hand to brush across your cheek, his touch gentle but grounding. “You won’t. You couldn’t, even if you tried.”

“You’re making it sound so easy,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, as if you didn’t quite believe him.

Benny could feel your tremble, the shaky laugh betraying your nerves you were trying so hard to hide. He could sense your heart racing, and he wanted so desperately to be the one to soothe it, to take away the hesitation in your eyes. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, the soft curve of it making his heart ache in his chest. He loved how your lips quivered just slightly under his touch. He loved making you blush, loved teasing you until you looked at him like you were annoyed or completely at his mercy. But this . . . this was different. His touch lingered on your lip, slow and almost reverent as he savored the way you responded to him. It wasn’t about teasing anymore – it was about showing you what you meant to him.

“It is,” he murmured, his voice a little rougher than he intended “It’s easy because it’s you.”

The air between you felt electric as his hand slid down the curve of your neck, his fingers lingering there, feeling the steady thrum of your heartbeat that seemed to match his own wild one. He ducked his head slightly as he whispered, “You’re scared. But you don’t need to be.”

He meant it, more than he meant anything in his life. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes again, searching for any sign of doubt, any sign that you didn’t feel the same way he did. Your eyes – wide and uncertain – met his, and Benny felt the weight of his words over them both.

“How can you be so sure?” you asked, your soft voice almost disappearing in the night.

And how could he explain it, especially since he’s never been good at explaining his feelings? How could he put into words what was so abundantly clear to him? That you made everything – even the most outrageous things – seem possible. That with you, he didn’t feel like just some fuck-up waiting for the next diaster. With you he felt grounded, like he belonged somewhere. Like you saw him for more than just the wild, reckless kid everyone else saw.

“Because you make me sure,” he responded with a gentle, encouraging smile as his hands moved to tilt your chin upwards to him. “You make my life feel like it’s supposed to.”

His gaze moved down to your mouth once more as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, and he simply couldn’t resist anymore. He closed the gap, brushing his lips so softly against your own. The kiss was gentle, tender, but as you responded to his touch, the need that had been simmering inside him for so long flared to life. His hands dropped down to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, smiling into the kiss when he heard your slight gasp.

His heart pounded in his chest as the world seemed to fade away briefly until it was just you and him, just this. He never wanted to stop, never wanted to let you go.

But you did eventually pull away, the need to breathe becoming all consuming. Breathlessly, he pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes remaining closed as he focused on slowing his pulse. His hands remained on your waist, holding you like you might slip away if he let go.

“You see?” he whispered as his lips brushing against your forehead softly. “It’s easy being with you.”

You giggled and his heart soared at the melody. It took everything in him not to pull you back into another kiss, not to hold onto you like you were the only thing that kept him grounded.

His lips still tingled from the kiss, and he could taste the faint sweetness of your breath, the softness of your lips. It wasn’t enough. It never felt like enough for Benny. He wanted more of you. He’d never wanted anything like he wanted you, never craved anyone like he craved you. It was almost unbearable, like every second where he wasn’t touching you was a second wasted.

And yet, he knew you were scared. He could see it in the way you looked down at your shoes, could hear it in the timidity of your voice. It only made him want to protect you more, to make you see that being with him would never be something you had to fear. But he didn’t know how to say that without sounding like he was pushing, without making you feel like you were being rushed into a decision that was as much about you as it was him.

But damn if he didn’t want to make you his.

He opened his eyes and pulled back enough to look at you face again, to really take you in. And my god, the way you were looking up at him with those wide, innocent eyes made his chest tighten. And you didn’t even realize how much power you had over him. One look, one smile, and he was a goner.

Before either of you could speak, thunder cracked off in the distance, bringing you both back to the present, back to the rest of the world. You glanced up at the dark clouds that blew in to cover the stars, wondering how long you had stood on this bridge with Benny.

“Guess we should get back,” you said sheepishly.

“Guess so,” Benny replied with a lazy grin as though the storm could come crashing down and he’d still be perfectly content standing here with you.

“Do you think it’s going to rain?” you asked as you walked to his bike, glancing up at the thick, dark clouds blowing in from the west.

“Nah,” he said as he swung a leg over the bike with that signature confidence that made your heart race. “We’ll be fine.”

Famous last words.

******

By the time Benny pulled up to your house, rain was pouring from the sky like a waterfall, fat and heavy droplets splattering onto the sidewalk. Despite wearing Benny’s Vandals jacket, the rain had completely soaked you. Your hair, which had been meticulously pinned up just hours ago, was plastered to your face, and your dress clung to your body like a second skin.

You didn’t wait for him to shut off the bike before you hopped off and tugged on his sleeve.

“C’mon!” You laughed, tugging on Benny’s sleeve as you ran for the safety of your porch overhang. Your heels splashed through the water pooling on the blacktop, and he followed quickly behind, his warm hands finding your waist to steady you from falling as you both stumbled beneath the overhang.

Breathless and grinning like an idiot, you turned to face him, and you were momentarily stunned by the sight. Rainwater rolled down from his usually swept up hair, sliding down the curve of his cheekbones and falling off his jawline. He only wore a whote t shirt, the wet fabric turning almost transparent as it clung to every ridge, every toned muscle and you blinked before your gaze shot back up to his face. Even as wet as a drowned rat, he still managed to look so effortlessly sexy.

He was grinning at you with that boyish expression, and heat filled your face at the realization that you were just as soaked as he was but definitely not as pretty a sight. You probably looked like a mess — makeup smeared, hair ruined — but he was staring at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

“Not gonna rain, huh?” you teased, quirking an eyebrow at the heavy rainfall just off your porch.

“Just a light sprinkle,” he returned easily, but you noticed he had to bite his bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“Do you wanna come in?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. “To dry off?”

He sobered instantly, his gaze raking over your form before moving to your front door. He’d never been inside your house, never seen where you call home, where you lay down at night and replay your memories of him. There was never really an option for him to be inside your house. He’d never met your parents — despite asking multiple times to meet them, but you couldn’t bring yourself to put neither your parents nor Benny though that. Deep down, you knew your father would never approve of Benny, never give him his blessing. It was a disaster waiting to happen when he found out that you were dating a biker. You begged your mother to keep it a secret to which she obliged, but you knew it wouldn’t be long till he found out.

Benny took a full step back from you, hesitation obvious in his face, his voice low and almost regretful he said. “I—I better not, Bun.”

Normally, you wouldn’t ask again after being denied, wouldn’t be so bold. But you weren’t the same girl you were a few weeks ago before you met Benny. Emboldened by the perfect opportunity to have him inside your home, to share a piece of yourself with him, you stepped forward.

You took a step forward, your voice soft but sure. “My parents aren’t home. C’mon, just to dry off and wait till the rain lets up a little. You can’t drive in that anyway. It’s not safe and I won’t let you.”

Benny released a breath that sounded a lot like a laugh as he shook his head, clearly conflicted by your invitation. And for a moment, you thought he might shake his head and turn away. You thought he might face the rainstorm and leave you behind.

But instead, he nodded and your heart soared at the small gesture. Filled with hopeful energy, you shot him a smile, moving to open the front door and invite him inside your home, inside your world.

-Tag List-

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[reidmarieprentiss]

Red: Part Two

Summary: Spencer is very happy with you, his new girlfriend. You two are experiencing firsts together, making each other happy as can be. But, secrets tend to unravel when you try to keep them from your loved ones. Your past haunts you everyday, Spencer knows that, and yet, he does nothing to let you into his. Falling in love is not for the weak. Neither is being forced out of it.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, fluff, smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: heartbreak, angst, talks of drug use, talks of overdose, past death of parents, sister is an addict, keeping secrets, so much angst, smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut, Spencer's past addiction, drug tests, protective Erin Strauss, weed, alcohol, no happy ending

Word count: 28.9k

a/n: soooo fucking sorry for this one ://// it was never going to have a happy ending ... tbh if you don't want to cry maybe just stick to the first part !! — unedited NEVER be afraid to call me out!!

can't lie i put so many projects on hold just to write this beast -- i worked on it EVERY day

main masterlist

Additional warnings: oral (f & m), grinding, finishing in pants (m), fingering (f), protected PinV

The entire jet was filled with a quiet buzz of curiosity as everyone watched Spencer, who was completely absorbed in his phone, a rare, soft smile playing on his lips. His eyes rolled over the screen, scanning a picture he took of you with a level of care that had the whole team captivated.

JJ finally broke the silence. “Okay, Reid,” she said with an amused grin, leaning forward in her seat. “Tell us what’s going on, or I’m taking your phone.”

Spencer’s head snapped up, startled by the sudden attention. His cheeks flushed pink as he realized the entire team had been watching him, all waiting for an explanation. He fumbled with the phone, quickly pocketing it as if trying to hide something, but the grin on his face gave him away. 

"Uh, it’s nothing," Spencer mumbled, clearly flustered, but the team wasn’t buying it for a second.

Morgan smirked, leaning back in his seat. "Oh, come on, Pretty Boy. This has gone on long enough. Spill."

JJ raised an eyebrow, exchanging a knowing glance with Prentiss. "We’ve all seen that look before, Reid."

Spencer sighed. "It’s… it’s someone I’ve been seeing," he admitted sheepishly, his eyes flicking down to his phone for a moment before looking back at the team.

The jet erupted with teasing laughter and questions, all of them delighted by the revelation.

“Well, Reid, you have to introduce us!” Emily chimed in, a playful grin spreading across her face.

“Yeah, Pretty Boy," Derek added with a teasing smirk. "When can we meet the missus?”

Spencer, for once, didn’t shy away from the idea. In fact, he felt a spark of excitement at the thought of introducing you to the team. He was proud that you were his girlfriend, and the idea of his closest friends meeting you didn’t fill him with the usual nerves. But there was one thing Spencer couldn’t deny—he knew the moment they saw the way he looked at you, they’d instantly know how deeply in love he was. 

And as much as he was ready for the team to meet you, that kind of vulnerability scared him just a little. 

He smiled softly, trying to play it cool. "I’m sure you’ll meet her soon enough," he said, but inside, he was already thinking about how perfect it would be to bring you into his world.

—

“Y/N, darling,” Spencer mused with a soft smile, his eyes twinkling as he watched you across the dinner table. The warmth in his voice instantly caught your attention.

You giggled, squeezing his hand as it rested on the table, your thumb brushing against his skin. “Yes, dear?”

Spencer hesitated only for a second, his tone still light but a little more serious now. “Would you like to meet my friends?”

You paused, your heart skipping a beat at the question. A slight anxiety began to crawl up your throat, and you cleared it, trying to sound casual. “Your—um, your work friends?” you asked, though the weight of the moment hung between you.

Spencer nodded, his eyes soft and understanding, as if he could already sense your nerves. "Yeah," he said, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand reassuringly. "The team. They’ve been dying to meet you."

You swallowed, feeling the weight of the moment settle in. The thought of meeting Spencer’s team made your heart race—not just because they were profilers, but because Rossi would likely recognize you. Maybe even Hotch. It had been years since either of them had seen you, but the possibility hung in the air. You weren’t sure if they’d bring it up, and you certainly weren’t ready to share that part of your life with Spencer. Not yet.

But then, you looked into Spencer’s eyes. The genuine excitement and pride he held for you was undeniable. It was clear he wanted this—wanted you to meet the people who were like family to him. The idea of disappointing him tugged at you, and despite the nerves gnawing at your chest, you couldn’t help but smile softly.

He reached across the table, gently squeezing your other hand too, offering comfort in that simple gesture. His eyes searched yours for a moment, as if sensing something in your hesitation but choosing to let it pass, trusting you to open up when you were ready.

The thought of Spencer’s trust in you helped calm some of the swirling anxiety. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to push aside the weight of your past for now.

You took a deep breath, forcing a small smile. "I’d love to meet them," you said, though you could still feel the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

Spencer’s smile widened, his eyes lighting up. “You’re going to love them,” he assured you, his voice full of warmth. “And they’re going to love you too."

Later that evening, Spencer’s fingers traced gentle circles along your back, his touch soothing as you lay against his chest, both of you perfectly relaxed. The quiet of the evening had settled around you, a comfortable silence, until Spencer broke it with a question that caught you off guard.

“Do you have a job?” he asked.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the sudden bluntness of the question. “What?”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed as he quickly realized how it sounded. “I mean,” he corrected, his voice softer, “you never talk about work, and I—I’ve never seen you go to work. Do you work?”

You smiled, lifting your chin from his chest so you could look up at him, your gaze meeting his. “Yes, I have a job, Spencer.”

He looked down at you with his brows raised, making his chin tuck in a way that was so adorably endearing you had to fight the urge to kiss him right there. “Well, do tell, baby.”

The way he said "baby" sent a rush through you, making your heart skip and your core tighten. The new pet name caught you by surprise, and you could feel your pulse quicken. You wanted to answer his question, but something inside you hesitated. The job you had wasn’t something you brought up often, and certainly not something that most people would take lightly.

You bit your lip, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on Spencer's chest as you considered your answer. “What if you think differently of me?” you teased, giving him a playful look.

Spencer chuckled softly, catching onto your teasing tone. “Depends on how you answer,” he joked back, his eyes twinkling. “But no, I would never judge you.”

You sighed dramatically, feigning annoyance. “Okay… fine,” you said, pausing for effect. “I’m a cybersecurity analyst. I just work from home.”

Spencer's face lit up with curiosity. “A cybersecurity analyst? That’s amazing,” he said, his voice full of admiration. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

You shrugged, still grinning at how smoothly it had gone. “It’s not that exciting,” you replied, feeling relieved that you could finally share a bit of your work with him. "I just stare at a screen all day."

Spencer shook his head, a genuine smile on his face. “I think it's fascinating. But I guess you're right, staring at a screen is definitely something I can relate to." His fingers resumed their gentle strokes along your back, his gaze warm.

“I didn’t mean to keep it a secret,” you said softly, your fingers still tracing patterns on his chest. “I just don’t have that much to talk about. I don’t interact with anyone all day long.”

Spencer smiled, his eyes full of understanding. “It’s okay, Red,” he said, stroking his finger gently down the bridge of your nose in a soothing gesture. “You know, my friend Penelope does something similar.”

“Really?” you perked up, excitement bubbling up at the thought of having something in common with someone in Spencer’s world. Your aunt had never mentioned anyone named Penelope before, but this new information intrigued you. “What does she do?”

“She’s a technical analyst for the BAU,” Spencer explained, a fondness creeping into his tone as he spoke about Penelope. “She handles all the tech and cyber stuff for us—tracking data, finding digital footprints, that sort of thing.”

Your eyes lit up at the mention of her role. “That sounds so cool! Maybe we could exchange tips,” you laughed, already imagining the kind of work Penelope must be involved in.

“I’m so glad you want to meet them,” Spencer said softly, his voice full of relief and excitement. He breathed deeply, the rise and fall of his chest gently lifting you with each inhale. His hand stroked your back, his thumb tracing lazy circles as he looked at you with warmth and affection. “You mean so much to me,” he added, his voice barely above a whisper, like he was letting you in on a secret. “I can’t wait to show you off.”

Your heart swelled at his words, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you. Spencer, who was usually so careful with his emotions, was being completely vulnerable with you now. It made your connection feel even deeper, like you were sharing something truly special.

You smiled, leaning up to kiss him softly, your lips brushing his. “I can’t wait either,” you whispered against his mouth, feeling more at ease about meeting his team.

Spencer chuckled softly, shaking his head, still in disbelief at how elated he felt. The emotions swirling in his chest were too much to hold back, and before either of you could say another word, he closed the distance between you. His lips met yours in a deep, tender kiss, full of all the feelings he hadn’t yet put into words.

The kiss was different this time—more intense, more meaningful. You could feel the depth of Spencer's emotions through the way his hands gently cupped your face, the way he kissed you like he was afraid to ever let you go. It wasn’t just desire, but something deeper, something sweeter, like the connection between you both had finally settled into something undeniable.

Your hands found their way to his hair, fingers threading through the soft curls as you kissed him back just as deeply, wanting him to feel how much you cared too. The room seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped up in each other.

When Spencer finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you catching your breath. His eyes fluttered open, and he gazed at you with such affection that your heart skipped a beat. "I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before," he admitted softly, his voice full of awe. 

You smiled, your thumb gently brushing against his cheek. "Me neither," you whispered back, and in that moment, everything felt right. 

—

Hotch stood across from Erin Strauss, her expression cold and unforgiving as she paced behind her desk. Her gaze was sharp, and Hotch could already tell where the conversation was headed. 

“I’ve reviewed Agent Reid’s file,” Strauss said abruptly, her voice laced with disdain. She stopped pacing and folded her arms. “His performance has been... inconsistent, to say the least. And given his past—” She let the sentence hang, as though expecting Hotch to fill in the blanks.

Hotch’s jaw tightened, but he kept his expression impassive. “Reid is one of the best agents I have. His mind is invaluable to this team.”

Strauss’s eyes narrowed, dismissing his defense with a wave of her hand. “That’s not enough to excuse what he’s been through. His history with drugs, Hotch. We can't ignore it.”

“He’s been clean for years,” Hotch stated firmly, his voice steady though his frustration was clear. “Reid has worked harder than anyone to get past that.”

Strauss leaned forward, her fingers tapping the desk. “I’m not here to argue his work ethic. I’m here because I’m questioning whether Agent Reid can continue to perform in the field without becoming a liability.”

Hotch felt a surge of anger but swallowed it back. “He hasn’t shown any signs of relapse.”

“Not yet,” Strauss shot back. “But the risk is always there. And we can’t afford risks like him, not in a unit as high profile as the BAU.”

Hotch crossed his arms, his posture firm. “He’s earned his place. Whatever you’re insinuating—”

“I’m not insinuating,” she cut him off, her voice icy. “I’m telling you how this is going to go. From now on, Reid will be subjected to mandatory drug tests. Monthly.” She emphasized the last word, her expression hard. “If there are any slip-ups, any signs of relapse, even the faintest suspicion, he’s out.”

Hotch’s gaze darkened. “That’s unnecessary.”

Strauss tapped her fingers impatiently on the desk, her icy demeanor unwavering as she continued to challenge Hotch. “You’re defending him again,” she said sharply, eyes narrowing. “Just like you always do. Every time Reid’s decision-making is called into question, it’s you who steps in to justify it. How many times has he put the team at risk with his recklessness, his… emotional judgments? And every time, you shield him.”

Hotch held her gaze, his face impassive though his patience was wearing thin. “Reid’s decisions are not reckless. He’s a profiler, just like the rest of us. Sometimes we have to make judgment calls, and Reid—despite his past, despite his personal struggles—makes the right ones more often than not.”

Strauss leaned back in her chair, folding her arms, her expression one of disbelief. “Judgment calls? That’s your defense? We can’t afford judgment calls, Aaron. Not when we’re dealing with murderers, terrorists, and serial predators. Reid’s personal issues cloud his judgment, and that makes him a risk.”

Hotch stepped forward, his voice firm but calm. “We work in the field. Every agent makes judgment calls—myself included. We don’t always have the luxury of time or all the facts laid out perfectly for us. Reid has an exceptional mind, and when he’s under pressure, he performs. Yes, he’s made mistakes, but so have all of us. He’s saved more lives than I can count.”

Strauss’ eyes flashed with irritation. “But his mistakes could have cost lives, Aaron. And you know that. How many times has he hesitated, overthought, or even worse, let his emotions dictate his actions? You’ve had to justify his choices to me and other superiors more times than you should have.”

Hotch’s face remained unreadable, but his voice grew harder. “I justify his decisions because they are the right ones. When you’re in the field, in a life-or-death situation, you need someone like Reid—a man who can think faster than anyone else in the room. His ability to process information, to read people, is unmatched.”

Strauss shook her head, her frustration boiling over. “You call it unmatched. I call it unstable. His mind may be brilliant, but it’s fragile. You can’t deny that. And you can’t keep making excuses for him. This is a dangerous game, and the stakes are too high for mistakes.”

Hotch’s eyes narrowed. “He’s not unstable. He’s human. Every member of this team has had to make decisions under pressure, sometimes with incomplete information, and Reid is no different.”

“But he is different,” Strauss countered, her voice cutting through the room. “He’s the one who’s been to rehab. He’s the one who struggles with dependency. And let’s not forget the mental strain he’s been under for years. The rest of your team—Morgan, Prentiss, Rossi—they’re reliable. Reid, on the other hand, is unpredictable.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, but he kept his tone measured. “He’s faced more than most of us could handle, and he’s come out the other side stronger. I trust him with my life, and so does the team.”

Strauss leaned forward, her gaze cold. “I don’t. And that’s why this is non-negotiable, Hotch. Monthly drug tests. If he slips, if there’s even a hint of a problem, he’s out. I will not tolerate another incident where I have to clean up his mess because you think his ‘judgment calls’ are excusable.”

Hotch stared at her for a long moment, the tension palpable. “And what happens when you push him out and lose one of the best agents this Bureau has ever had?”

Strauss didn’t blink. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

The silence hung heavy between them, and Hotch realized no amount of reasoning would sway her.

Hotch left Strauss’s office, the tension from their conversation still lingering in the back of his mind. He didn’t like this any more than Spencer would, but Strauss had made her decision, and now it was up to him to break the news. The whole situation felt like a slap in the face to Spencer’s progress, and Hotch knew the young agent wouldn’t take it well.

Hotch found Spencer in the bullpen, hunched over some files, lost in thought. The usual furrow of concentration on his brow lifted as he glanced up and saw Hotch approaching.

"Hey, Hotch," Spencer greeted with a faint smile, but Hotch could see the weariness behind it. He felt a pang of guilt in his chest as he sat down across from him.

"Spencer, we need to talk," Hotch said, his tone more serious than usual.

Spencer’s smile faded, replaced by a look of curiosity, then mild concern. "What’s going on?"

Hotch exhaled, running a hand over his face before speaking. "Strauss is implementing new protocols. Effective immediately, you’ll be subjected to monthly drug tests."

Spencer blinked, his expression falling into confusion. "What? Why now? I haven’t used in four years, Hotch. I thought all of that was behind us."

Hotch leaned forward, his voice calm but steady. "I know, and I’ve made that clear to her. You’ve been clean for years, and we all see the progress you’ve made. But Strauss doesn’t trust that your addiction won’t resurface. She’s convinced that you're still a liability."

Spencer’s face twisted in frustration, and his hands fidgeted on the desk in front of him. He let out a breath, shaking his head. "I don’t understand. I’ve done everything right. I’ve proven myself. Why does she still think I’m going to screw up?"

Hotch looked at him sympathetically. "This isn’t about you, Spencer. It’s about Strauss’s own perception."

Spencer clenched his fists, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface. "I thought… I thought we were past all of that. Four years clean, Hotch. Four years. And she still sees me as a ticking time bomb."

Hotch’s gaze softened. "I know it’s unfair, and I wish I could change it. But Strauss has the power to enforce this protocol. I fought for you, Spencer. I’ll always fight for you. But this is one battle I couldn’t win."

Spencer leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as he processed the information. The frustration and hurt in his eyes were evident. "Why does she hate me so much?" he muttered, more to himself than to Hotch. "Why am I always the one who has to prove myself over and over again?"

Hotch didn’t have an answer for that. Strauss’s animosity toward Spencer had always been unwarranted, and no matter how hard Spencer worked, it seemed she would never let go of the past.

"You’re not alone in this," Hotch said quietly, his voice firm. "The team knows how far you’ve come. We trust you. And we’ll make sure this doesn’t interfere with your work."

Spencer nodded, though the disappointment was still etched on his face. "I just don’t get it. I’ve done everything I’m supposed to do. Why can’t she see that?"

Hotch reached across the desk, resting a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. "Because people like Strauss only see the risks, not the person. But we see you, Spencer. Don’t let her take that away from you."

Spencer offered a small, grateful smile, though the frustration still lingered in his eyes. He had been through enough, and this just felt like one more hurdle to jump.

As Hotch walked away, Spencer sat there, staring at the papers in front of him. He had thought the worst was behind him—that his addiction, his past struggles, were finally over. But now, with Strauss breathing down his neck, it felt like he was back at square one. And no matter how hard he worked, how far he came, there was always someone like Strauss, waiting to drag him back down.

—

“Spencer!” you screeched from your bedroom, the urgency in your voice sending Spencer into an instant state of panic. He rushed in, his mind racing, worried something terrible had happened.

But when he burst through the door, what greeted him was not a disaster—well, not the kind he had imagined. You were sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by heaps of clothes, wearing nothing but your bra and underwear. The sight made him chuckle, though he was also slightly flustered, his cheeks tinged pink at the sight of you in so little.

“What’s up, Red?” Spencer asked, trying to keep his voice steady despite how his heart raced.

You looked up at him, pouting, clearly distressed. Spencer, in his cozy sweatpants and hoodie, looked perfectly at ease while you were caught in a whirlwind of indecision. “I don’t know what to wear tonight,” you groaned, gesturing helplessly at the mountain of clothes surrounding you.

Spencer chuckled again, stepping further into the room. “Y/N, we’re not even meeting them for…” he checked his watch and raised his brow, “five hours!”

“I knowww,” you whined, your voice petulant as you flopped back dramatically onto the floor. “But I want to make a good impression.”

Spencer couldn’t help but smile at how adorably worked up you were. He crouched down beside you, his eyes warm as he gazed at your scattered wardrobe. “You could show up in a garbage bag, and they’d still love you,” he said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. “Trust me, you don’t need to stress.”

You sighed, sitting back up and grabbing a blouse. “Easy for you to say,” you mumbled, holding the shirt up. “You look good in everything.”

Spencer laughed softly, his fingers brushing against your cheek before leaning in to kiss the top of your head. “You’ll look amazing no matter what you wear. And honestly, they’re just excited to meet the person who’s made me so happy.” 

You looked up at him, his words warming your heart. “You’re really sweet, you know that?”

Spencer smiled. “That’s what you keep telling me.” He glanced down at the pile of clothes again. “Now, let’s figure out what outfit makes you feel as amazing as you are.”

After a lot of playful back and forth, Spencer finally helped you choose an outfit, and you couldn’t be more grateful to have the sweetest man alive by your side. You stood in your room, back in your bra and underwear, having set out the outfit for later, a black dress with red tights, duh. As you got ready, your heart swelled with affection for him—your boyfriend, the man who already seemed to know how to calm your nerves.

Standing in front of him, you ran your hands up Spencer’s chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the soft fabric of his hoodie. With a teasing smile, you tugged gently on the strings of his hoodie, pulling him closer. “Can I show you how much I appreciate you, handsome?” you whispered, your voice playful but filled with sincerity.

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly at your words, his cheeks flushing a light pink. He was always so adorably flustered when you teased him like this. But he smiled softly, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your lips, his hands resting on your waist. “You already do,” he murmured against your lips, but there was no mistaking the way his breath hitched, betraying just how much he wanted you.

“Mm, but I want to really show you,” you breathed softly, your hands dropping to the waistband of Spencer’s sweats. His breath hitched immediately at the sensation of your fingers lightly teasing beneath the fabric, brushing against the coarse hair below.

“Wh—what did you have in mind?” he asked, his voice shaky as he struggled to keep his composure.

You smiled up at him, letting your fingers explore just a little, before you slowly began lowering yourself to your knees. “Well… I could tell you,” you said playfully, your voice dropping to a whisper, “or I could show you.”

Spencer’s breathing became ragged, his chest rising and falling with heaving breaths as he tried to process what was happening. “Oh my god, uh…” he stammered, clearly caught off guard by the sudden intensity.

You firmly grasped the waistband of his sweats then, looking up at him for permission. “Can I?” you asked gently, always making sure he was comfortable.

Spencer didn’t respond right away. His voice was quiet, almost apologetic as he confessed, “I’ve never—no one has…”

You immediately understood, pulling your hands back gently. “Oh baby, we don’t have to,” you said softly, standing up and placing a reassuring hand on his cheek.

Spencer looked at you with gratitude and an apology in his eyes. “Maybe later?” he offered, his tone tentative but sincere. “We… we need to get ready.”

You smiled warmly, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “Of course,” you whispered. There was no need to push or rush anything. You had plenty of time, and you’d always respect his boundaries.

Later, after you and Spencer had finished getting ready, you couldn’t help but feel a bit pent up. Spencer looked good earlier, but now? Now, he looked downright irresistible. His button-down shirt paired with a checkered sweater vest, and those slacks—hugging him just right—had you practically drooling. But with Spencer’s earlier discomfort, you held your tongue, not wanting to push things too soon. 

After a quick kiss and a quiet pep talk, the two of you were outside, hailing a cab to meet his team at the bar. Your nerves were still buzzing. You were excited for Spencer, but the thought of someone recognizing you, of someone saying something, kept you on edge. You wanted to be the best partner to him, especially with how proud he was to introduce you to everyone.

As you approached the table, your nerves flared even more, but you plastered on a confident smile. Sitting around the table were Derek, Emily, JJ, and Penelope, all of whom greeted you warmly, each with their own playful digs at Spencer.

“Well, well,” Derek grinned, leaning back in his chair as he gave Spencer a once-over. “Pretty Boy wasn’t kidding when he said he was smitten.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, smirking as she gave you a friendly once-over. “Wow, Reid. No wonder you’ve been so secretive. I would’ve kept this hidden too.”

JJ nudged Penelope, who had stars in her eyes. “I’m so happy you’re real!” Penelope practically squealed. “I thought for sure Spencer was making you up.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, laughing, as he proudly introduced you to his team, visibly glowing from how much they seemed to like you right off the bat.

You smiled, feeling more at ease, though still a bit on edge as you scanned the room. No sign of Hotch or Rossi—thank god, you thought, allowing yourself a moment to relax.

But just as you were about to take a seat, you heard it—the unmistakable voice from behind you. “Reid, is this your lady?” Rossi’s voice carried through the bar, calm and curious.

You froze, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks as you turned, your breath catching in your throat. As your eyes met Rossi’s, you immediately saw it—the flicker of recognition. Then, as you glanced at Hotch standing next to him, it was unmistakable. They both recognized you.

Your heart pounded as you pleaded with your eyes, hoping Rossi would get the message. Please, don’t say anything.

Spencer, none the wiser, smiled brightly as he introduced you. “Yes! Rossi, Hotch—this is Y/N.”

You extended your hand, swallowing your nerves as you greeted them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

Rossi took your hand, his grip warm and familiar as he gave you a knowing look. But instead of saying anything, he squeezed your hand gently and winked. "The pleasure is all mine," he said smoothly, his voice betraying nothing.

You breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that for now, your secret was safe.

Hotch nodded politely, his expression neutral but his eyes scanning you, clearly making a mental note of the situation. But just like Rossi, he remained silent on the matter.

Spencer, completely oblivious, continued chatting with the group, beaming with pride as he showed you off to the people who mattered most to him. You smiled along, feeling the weight lift slightly, knowing that at least for now, your past could stay buried.

As the drinks flowed and the night progressed, you found yourself thoroughly enjoying the company of Spencer’s team. They were warm, welcoming, and great fun to be around, making it easier for you to relax. Even Hotch and Rossi, after the initial awkwardness, had lightened up, joining in the laughter and the storytelling.

It was a blast hearing them tease Spencer, recounting funny case stories and little moments from their years together. You were especially enjoying the bond you were forming with Penelope, both of you gushing over your shared love for tech and quickly finding an easy rhythm with one another. You felt like you’d made an instant friend.

But with every sip of your drink, your attention kept drifting back to Spencer. He just looked so good, sitting there, his eyes a little hooded from the alcohol, his jaw clenching as he excitedly explained some complex theory to Emily. His hands moved with purpose, fingers waving as he passionately discussed whatever topic he was on. The sight of him like that—so animated, so him—had desire steadily building in the pit of your stomach.

You bit your lip, watching him for a moment before giving in to temptation. Slowly, you slid your hand onto his thigh under the table, your fingers curling around him firmly. Spencer jolted slightly, his conversation with Emily stuttering as he tried to refocus.

He coughed lightly, glancing at you with wide eyes before quickly turning back to Emily, pretending to concentrate on the conversation while clearly trying to ignore your wandering hand.

But you weren’t making it easy for him. You smirked slightly, your thumb stroking slow circles against his thigh, inching closer. You could see the tension in his posture, how he was trying desperately to maintain his composure while you toyed with him.

Spencer stammered again, shooting you a look that was half warning, half pleading, but he couldn’t stop the flush creeping up his neck. His jaw tightened, and he shifted slightly in his seat, clearly struggling to keep it together as your touch continued to drive him wild beneath the table.

Spencer was briefly rescued by an unsung hero—Rossi.

“I’m going to get another drink,” Rossi announced, his tone casual as he looked in your direction. “Y/N, yours is looking light. Care to come with?” The look he gave you left no room for arguing. It was more of a command than an offer.

You nodded and stood, following him to the bar, your heart pounding. Once you were there, away from the laughter and teasing at the table, Rossi’s expression shifted. The warmth he usually radiated had cooled into something far more serious, almost stern.

“He doesn’t know, does he?” Rossi asked, cutting straight to the point.

You sighed, leaning against the bar. “Not yet.”

Rossi’s glare was sharp, filled with concern rather than judgment. “You need to tell him, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was a weight to his words you couldn’t brush off. “Come on, David. It’s not like it’s life or death.”

“No, it’s not,” Rossi agreed, his voice calm but firm. “But it’s going to matter to him. Especially now that you know. The longer you wait, the worse it gets.”

You hated how right he was. You hated that every day you kept this secret, the weight of it grew heavier. “I know,” you admitted, the frustration clear in your voice. “But what if he doesn’t want to be with me anymore? What if it changes everything?”

Rossi’s expression softened slightly, his sternness giving way to understanding. “Spencer isn’t like that,” he said quietly. “But he values honesty. Keeping this from him… it’ll hurt him more than the truth ever will. If he finds out later, he’ll feel betrayed. And you don’t want that, do you?”

You shook your head, staring down at the drink the bartender had just handed you. “No, I don’t.”

Rossi placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I know it’s scary,” he said softly. “But trust me—Spencer cares about you. He’ll understand. You just have to give him the chance to.”

You nodded slowly, taking a deep breath as the weight of the conversation settled in. You knew what you had to do, but the thought of it still sent a nervous chill down your spine.

Rossi gave you a reassuring squeeze. “Better sooner than later, kiddo.” Then, with a wink, he turned to head back to the table, leaving you alone with your thoughts for a moment. 

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what lay ahead. 

When you returned to Spencer’s side, he didn’t even notice that you hadn’t come back with a drink. Instead, he smiled brightly and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. The warmth of his body instantly soothed you, but the mistake became apparent as soon as you breathed in his scent—clean, warm, and undeniably Spencer. The hunger inside you flared up tenfold, and you had to fight to keep your mind from wandering into dangerous territory.

Derek, of course, seized the moment, grinning mischievously from across the table. “Did Spencer tell you about the time a famous actress kissed him?”

Your eyebrows shot up, intrigued but also curious to see Spencer’s reaction. “What?” you asked with a teasing smile, nudging Spencer lightly. “No, he conveniently left that part out.”

Spencer flushed instantly, his arm tightening slightly around you as he groaned. “Oh god, not this story,” he muttered, glaring at Derek.

“Oh, come on, Pretty Boy,” Derek laughed, leaning back in his chair. “You’re basically a celebrity yourself for that one.”

You looked up at Spencer, eyes wide with curiosity. “I have to hear this,” you said, trying to keep the playful edge in your voice despite how distracted you felt by his proximity.

Spencer sighed, clearly embarrassed. “It wasn’t a big deal,” he said quickly, as if trying to brush it off.

Derek scoffed, shaking his head as if Spencer’s modesty was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard all night. “Not a big deal? Reid here was pulled into a swimming pool. She basically mounted him.”

You laughed, eyes widening in disbelief. “What?!”

Spencer buried his face in his hands, shaking his head in defeat, while Derek grinned like the cat that got the cream. "Yep, and the best part? The paparazzi caught the whole thing."

“There are pictures on the internet!” Penelope chimed in cheerfully, as if offering you a goldmine of information. "I saved them to my phone!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your curiosity piqued even more. “Oh, I have to see these.”

Spencer groaned, leaning back in his seat, his face flushed red. “Please don’t encourage them,” he muttered, though there was a hint of amusement tugging at his lips.

Derek leaned forward, enjoying every moment of Spencer’s discomfort. “Oh no, Y/N, you definitely need to look it up. It’s a classic ‘Reid in over his head’ moment. He’s all wet, confused, and awkward—it’s priceless.”

Penelope nodded eagerly. “He tried to escape, but the actress wouldn’t let him go. She had him trapped!”

You were laughing so hard you had to wipe tears from your eyes. “Oh my god, Spencer,” you giggled, leaning against him. “How did I not know about this sooner?”

Spencer, though clearly embarrassed, finally cracked a smile. “I didn’t think it was relevant,” he mumbled, shooting Derek and Penelope a half-hearted glare.

“Uh-huh, sure,” Derek teased. “Don’t let him fool you, Y/N. She was all over him.”

You giggled, poking Spencer’s side playfully. “Why do I feel like I’m going to need more details later?”

Spencer groaned again, but there was a small, sheepish smile on his face as he squeezed your shoulder. “We’ll talk about it… eventually,” he muttered.

You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning into him again, the tension from earlier melting away slightly as you enjoyed the moment with him and his team. For now, the weight of your secret could wait just a little longer.

The group finally decided to call it a night, but you were buzzing with excitement, eager to get Spencer alone—all to yourself. Both of you had stopped drinking hours ago, switching to water to avoid any hangovers, but the anticipation had been steadily building. 

As soon as you climbed into the back of a cab together, your hand instinctively returned to Spencer’s thigh, your fingers squeezing appreciatively as they traced the thick muscle. You weren't planning on doing anything more, especially in public, but the closeness only fueled the fire inside you.

The cab ride felt longer than usual, the tension simmering between you two in the dim light of the backseat. Spencer seemed to notice it too, his eyes meeting yours in silent understanding. 

But once you had Spencer inside your front door, all restraint vanished. You pushed him against a bare wall with urgency, your hands gripping his lithe waist as your lips found his neck, planting hot, hungry kisses along his skin.

"Y/N?" Spencer gasped, his voice strained with both surprise and desire. His breath hitched as your teeth grazed his pulse. "What’s gotten into you?"

You didn’t answer right away, too focused on the taste of his skin and the way his body responded to every touch. Instead, you kissed your way up to his mouth, pressing yourself against him. Between breaths, you mumbled against his lips, “Hopefully you.”

Spencer let out a low groan, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you even closer. “I’m not sure I can resist you right now,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, already losing the battle against the pull you had over him.

You grinned against his mouth, your fingers threading through his hair as the kiss deepened, the heat between you both simmering to a near-boiling point. “Please don’t resist,” you whispered against his lips, your voice low and filled with need. “You looked so fucking hot tonight.”

Spencer’s breath hitched, and before he could respond, you dropped to your knees in front of him, your hand pressing against the growing hardness in his slacks. The pressure of your touch made him buck his hips forward instinctively, his eyes widening as the sensation shot through him.

“Is this okay now?” you asked, your voice breathy with desire as you looked up at him, your hand still teasing him through the fabric. “Please, Spencer. Please, I need to taste you.”

His mind raced, a jumble of thoughts and emotions, but all of them led to the same conclusion—how could he say no when you asked him like that, when the hunger in your eyes matched his own? He nodded frantically, too overwhelmed to form proper words, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

As your fingers deftly worked to undo his belt and the button of his slacks, Spencer let out a shaky breath, his hands bracing against the wall behind him for support. He was already losing himself to the intensity of the moment, the anticipation building with every second.

Spencer swallowed hard, his nerves apparent as he shifted slightly under your touch. “What, um, what do I do?” he asked nervously, his voice wavering with uncertainty.

You smiled up at him like a vixen, your lips brushing over the now-exposed skin of his thighs, teasingly close to where he wanted you most. His breath hitched as you nosed along the front of his briefs, the friction sending a shudder through him that made him whimper.

Sticking your tongue out, you traced him through the fabric, feeling the heat radiating through it, and looked up at him with playful intent. “Try not to make me gag,” you teased, your voice low and sultry. “Pull my hair if you like… and let me know when you’re going to come.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, the tension and excitement evident in his expression. His grip on the wall tightened as he nodded, trying to follow your instructions, but the way you spoke and the feeling of your tongue against him had him unraveling already.

The moment was intoxicating, your playful control over him leaving him helpless as he tried to hold it together. Every touch, every word, was pushing him closer to the edge, and he could hardly believe this was happening.

As you pulled off the last barrier, Spencer’s briefs sliding down, you couldn’t help but grin like you’d just unwrapped the most perfect present. You’d seen him naked before, but this was different—having his hard cock right in front of you, so close, filled you with an intoxicating sense of control and desire. 

You licked your lips, savoring the moment, leaning down to press a soft kiss against his head, tasting him for the first time. Spencer’s breath hitched, his back instinctively pulling away from the wall as a wave of sensation coursed through him. His hands found their way into your hair, his grip hesitant at first but growing more confident as the pleasure built.

When you finally wrapped your lips around him, Spencer’s entire body reacted, his hands tugging at your hair, a low, guttural moan escaping his lips. He was already a mess, and you’d barely begun.

Pulling back for just a moment, you looked up at him with a wicked glint in your eyes and whispered, “Good boy.”

The praise hit him like a freight train, his hips bucking slightly as he let out a pathetic, needy whimper in response. He was completely at your mercy, lost in the sensation, and he didn’t care how desperate he sounded. Every touch, every word from you was pushing him further under, and he wanted nothing more than to stay in this moment, completely overwhelmed by you.

You leaned back in, taking him into your mouth again, more confident now that you’d seen his reactions. Spencer’s hands tightened in your hair as his body arched, his control slowly unraveling with each passing second. You could feel the tension building in him, hear the way his breath quickened, shaky and unsteady, as he tried to hold back.

Every movement you made seemed to push him further toward the edge. The way you hollowed your cheeks, the small flicks of your tongue, the pressure—everything was driving him wild. His hips bucked involuntarily, but you were ready for it, holding him steady as you took him deeper.

“Y/N…” he gasped, barely able to find his voice. His breathing was ragged now, and he was doing everything he could to hold on. “I’m close…”

You hummed around him in response, the vibrations almost sending him over the edge. He tightened his grip in your hair, his hips stuttering as he let out a broken moan, his body trembling from the intensity of it all.

“God, darling…” Spencer whimpered, his voice barely a whisper as he prepared to ride out the waves of pleasure, his head falling back against the wall. 

Spencer’s breath hitched as you pulled back suddenly, leaving him teetering on the edge without release. His body betrayed him, a desperate whine escaping his lips as he thrashed lightly against the wall, trying to chase the pleasure you’d just denied him. 

You placed a firm hand on his hip, grounding him, while your other hand came up to stroke him slowly, teasingly. "Over so soon, baby?" you asked, your voice laced with amusement, watching his reactions closely. 

“I’m—” he hiccuped, barely able to get the words out, “I’m sorry, it just feels so good.”

You arched an eyebrow, teasing him further. “Thought you weren’t a virgin, Spence?”

His face flushed deep red, his breath ragged and uneven as he struggled to focus. “I’m n—not,” he stammered, his words tumbling over themselves as he tried to speak while your hand brought him back to the brink. “Just hav—ah—haven’t had this before.”

Your strokes were slow and deliberate, torturous in the best way, and you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his tip. “Is it too much for you?” you whispered softly, your voice low and seductive.

Spencer shook his head frantically, biting his lip as he tried to hold back. “No… no, I—I don’t want you to stop,” he gasped, his hands instinctively gripping your hair tighter, his fingers digging into your scalp as he tried to anchor himself. “Please…”

You smiled at his response, watching as he lost himself to the sensations, barely able to hold on as you continued to push him further. “Good,” you murmured, “because I’m not done with you yet.”

Spencer's entire body was trembling under your touch, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as you continued to stroke him with slow, deliberate movements. His head was thrown back against the wall, his chest heaving with the effort it took to hold himself together.

You smirked, watching the way his eyes fluttered closed, completely at your mercy. His desperation was palpable, and it made you want to push him further—to see just how much he could take.

“You look so good like this,” you whispered, your voice filled with both praise and desire. “Completely undone for me.”

Spencer’s hips jerked slightly in response, and he whimpered again, barely able to form words as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. “Y/N, please,” he gasped, his voice shaky. “I—I can’t—”

You leaned in closer, pressing your lips against his hip, kissing and biting lightly as you kept your hand moving at a torturous pace. “What do you want, Spence?” you asked softly, your breath warm against his skin.

Spencer’s voice broke as he whimpered, his words nearly a plea. “You—your mouth, please,” he begged, his body trembling, the desperation in his tone unmistakable. He was so close to the edge, and you could tell he was barely holding himself together.

You smiled softly, relishing the power you had over him in this moment. “Okay, baby,” you whispered, your voice laced with both affection and desire. “You’ve been so good for me… you can have whatever you want.”

Without wasting another moment, and your hand still gently stroking him, you placed a soft kiss on his tip. You looked up at him through your lashes, watching as his entire body shuddered in anticipation. His hands tightened in your hair again after losing their grip, and you could feel how tightly he was holding on, as if letting go would make him lose control completely.

Slowly, you took him into your mouth, savoring the salty taste and the way his body reacted immediately. Spencer’s head fell back against the wall, a strangled moan escaping his lips as his hips instinctively pushed forward, gagging you.

“You’re so good,” he gasped, his voice breathless as he struggled to keep his composure. “So, so good…”

The praise only made you work harder, hollowing your cheeks as you took him deeper, determined to give him exactly what he asked for. Spencer’s body trembled under your touch, and you could feel the tension building rapidly, his breaths becoming shorter and more erratic with each passing second.

“Y/N, I—” he managed to choke out, his hands tightening in your hair. “I’m gonna—”

You didn’t pull away this time. You kept going, your pace quickening and your other hand cupping his balls as you brought him right to the edge, determined to take him all the way.

And then, with a final, desperate moan, Spencer came undone completely, his body trembling as he released into your mouth, his grip on your hair tightening for a moment before he released it completely collapsed back against the wall, utterly spent.

You pulled away slowly, wiping the corner of your mouth with a smirk as you looked up at him. Spencer’s chest was still heaving, his eyes half-lidded and dazed, a blissful smile tugging at his lips.

But then Spencer’s eyes widened in panic, and his face flushed with embarrassment. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—to… in your mouth!”

You giggled, your mouth still full, shaking your head affectionately at his reaction. Then, with a mischievous glint in your eyes, you stuck out your tongue to show him exactly what he had done. Spencer’s face turned an even deeper shade of red, his breath hitching as he took in the sight.

He felt lightheaded, especially when you casually closed your mouth and, in one smooth motion, swallowed. “Jesus,” he breathed, his voice barely audible, the raw intensity of the moment catching up to him.

You grinned wickedly. “Just me, baby,” you winked, laughing as you stood up on slightly wobbly legs, your body still buzzing with the energy of the moment.

Before you could stumble, Spencer’s hands reached out to catch you, steadying you against him. “Whoa, careful, Bambi,” he teased, his voice finally regaining some steadiness.

You narrowed your eyes playfully at his comment, your smile still bright. “I could say the same,” you said, your gaze flicking downward where the hardness of him was pressing into your stomach. “Or should I call you Pinocchio? Again, Spence, really?"

Spencer’s face flushed again, and he laughed awkwardly, his hands tightening around your waist. “I—uh—yeah, sorry about that. It’s just…” he trailed off, looking sheepish as he tried to explain. “You’re kind of… really hot.”

You laughed softly, kissing Spencer sweetly on the lips. But just as you pulled away, Spencer abruptly jerked back, his eyes wide with alarm. “What?” you asked, confused by his sudden reaction.

“You have—me! In your mouth!” he sputtered, looking completely flustered.

You tilted your head, amused by his innocence. “Does that gross you out?” you teased. “Because I think you taste good.”

Spencer flushed even more, which you didn’t think was possible at this point. He stammered, his words tripping over themselves. “I don’t... I don’t know. I’ve just... never thought about it.”

You smiled playfully, shrugging as you turned and sighed dramatically. “Well, you don’t have to kiss me right now, Spence... I guess I’ll just go to bed alone.” Letting your dress fall provocatively from your shoulder, you made your way toward the bedroom, your steps slow and intentional.

Spencer’s mind raced, catching up with the teasing tone in your voice. His heart pounded in his chest as he realized what you were implying. Without hesitation, he scrambled to pull his briefs and pants back up, fastening them quickly before running after you.

“Wait!” he called out, his voice filled with urgency as he reached out to grab your hand, stopping you just before you could disappear into the bedroom.

You turned to face him, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you raised an eyebrow. “Changed your mind?” you asked, your lips curving into a slow smile.

Spencer, still catching his breath, nodded quickly. “I—I’m not letting you go to bed alone,” he said, his voice a mix of determination and longing. “I want to be with you.”

You smiled warmly, pulling him close. “Good answer, baby,” you whispered, pressing your lips to his in a deep, slow kiss, letting him feel how much you wanted him too.

That night, however, the two of you decided to take it slow and just go to bed. You could tell Spencer had done enough exploring for one day, and there was no need to push him further. After all, the night had already been filled with its own excitement.

You handed him a spare toothbrush to keep at your place, something that made Spencer smile shyly. He changed into the sweats he had borrowed earlier, and you both settled into bed, wrapping yourselves in the warmth of each other.

With Spencer nestled against your chest, his head rising and falling gently with your breathing, you kissed the top of his head and sighed contentedly. The moment felt perfect, and you were certain Spencer had already drifted off to sleep when you heard it. The words were so soft, you almost thought you were imagining them.

“I think I'm falling in love with you,” Spencer whispered, his voice barely audible against your skin.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you blinked, unsure if you’d actually heard it. But the warmth of his words lingered in the air, and you knew it was real. You could feel the way his body tensed slightly, like he was scared of what he’d just confessed, but you couldn’t help the wide, beaming smile that stretched across your face.

Your hand gently stroked his hair as you whispered back, “I think I’m falling in love with you, too.”

Spencer’s body relaxed against yours, and for the first time that night, you both fell asleep with the quiet comfort of knowing you were falling in love—together.

—

The next morning, you woke up to an empty bed, your hand reaching out instinctively for Spencer, but finding only cool sheets. A flash of panic surged through you until you heard his voice, faint but audible, coming from down the hall. You couldn’t make out the words, but there was a tension in his tone, a heaviness that made your chest tighten.

You slipped out of bed, still groggy, and padded quietly to the door, opening it just enough to see Spencer standing in the living room. The morning sunlight bathed him in a soft, golden glow, highlighting the slump in his shoulders. He was on the phone, and even though his voice was low, you could tell he was upset.

When he heard the door creak open, he quickly wrapped up the conversation. “Hotch, I gotta go. Yeah. Bye,” he said, his tone clipped as he hung up.

You took a tentative step toward him, concern lacing your voice as you asked, “You okay?”

Spencer turned to face you, and without hesitation, he let his body fall into yours. His chin rested gently on the top of your head as he let out a deep, weary sigh. "Yeah," he muttered, though you could feel the weight behind his words. "Just work stuff."

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, trying to offer him the comfort he clearly needed. “Do you want to talk about it?” you asked softly, not wanting to push but needing him to know you were there.

“Not right now,” Spencer murmured, pulling back just enough to look down at you. His smile was small but genuine, as if he was trying to reassure you that everything was fine, even if it wasn’t. “I was trying to make coffee, but I couldn’t find your grounds.”

You laughed, the sound lightening the mood just a little. “I use disposable pods, silly.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Ahh, that would do it.” 

There was a moment of quiet between you as Spencer leaned back into your embrace, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. Even though he wasn’t ready to talk about whatever was bothering him, you knew he appreciated your presence. And for now, that was enough.

Once the coffee was made and the two of you settled into the comfortable chairs on your deck, the soft morning breeze creating a peaceful atmosphere, you knew it was time. Spencer sat beside you, sipping his coffee, lost in thought but content. The silence between you had been comforting, but there was something tugging at you now, something you needed to share.

You glanced over at him, watching how the sunlight danced across his face, and took a deep breath, feeling your heart pick up pace. Breaking the peaceful quiet, you spoke up softly, “Spencer… can I tell you something? About my past? It’s not exactly happy…”

Spencer’s attention immediately shifted to you, his eyes soft but concerned. He set his mug down on the small table beside him, turning his body slightly to face you. “Of course,” he said gently, his voice calm and reassuring. “You can tell me anything.”

You looked down at your hands, your fingers nervously tracing the edge of your coffee cup. It was hard, the idea of opening up this part of yourself, but if you wanted to move forward, to build something real with Spencer, you knew he deserved to know.

“I haven’t been totally honest with you,” you began slowly, your voice faltering slightly. “It’s not that I’ve lied, but… there are things about my past I haven’t told you.”

Spencer’s expression softened, and he reached out, his hand gently covering yours, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on your skin. “Whatever it is, I’m here.”

You took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of the words you were about to say. Spencer’s hand was still resting on yours, grounding you, giving you the strength to continue.

“When I was thirteen,” you started, your voice low, “I lost both of my parents. It wasn’t... it wasn’t an accident or some freak illness. They both died from drug overdoses.”

Spencer’s brows furrowed in concern, but he didn’t say anything, giving you the space to speak.

“My father had always been an addict. I barely remember a time when he wasn’t using something. He was... abusive. Violent, unpredictable.” You swallowed hard, the memories flashing in your mind like dark clouds. “I lived with my mom most of the time. We tried to keep away from him, hiding from him really. He was dangerous, and my mom did her best to protect us.”

You paused, feeling the lump forming in your throat, but Spencer’s thumb tracing circles on your skin kept you anchored.

“One day, when I was at school, my mom was home. She had called in sick that day, just a flu or something. But somehow, my dad found her. He showed up while I was gone.” Your voice wavered, and you closed your eyes for a second, willing yourself to keep going. “When I came home, I found them both... he had overdosed them. I guess he thought if he was going down, he’d take her with him.”

Spencer’s grip on your hand tightened just slightly, and when you looked up, his eyes were filled with compassion and something else... empathy, perhaps. He didn’t say a word, just let you continue.

“That’s how I found them. Both gone, just... gone.” You could feel your breath hitch as the memories flooded back. “After that, my little sister and I went to live with my aunt. She took us in, gave us a home, but it was never the same. My sister... she couldn’t handle what our father did. She was so young, and it broke her.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, but you wiped it away quickly. Spencer leaned closer, his body almost enveloping you with comfort.

“Where is your sister now?” he asked softly, his voice full of concern.

You shook your head, biting your lip to keep it from trembling. “I don’t know,” you whispered. “She got addicted too, a few years later. I tried to help her, but she was... lost. She ran away when she was old enough, and I haven’t heard from her since.”

Spencer looked at you with a pained expression, his hand reaching up to gently cup your cheek. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he said quietly, his voice breaking slightly. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you, for both of you.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch. “It was... it still is. But I guess I’m just terrified of the past catching up to me, of losing more people to the same thing.”

Spencer’s thumb gently stroked your hand, silently encouraging you to continue.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you wiped the last trace of tears from your eyes. “I love my aunt dearly,” you said, voice soft but filled with warmth. “She’s an amazing woman. Without her, I don’t know where I’d be... I probably would have ended up in foster care, or worse.”

“She did everything she could to help my sister,” you continued. “Took us both in when she didn’t have to, gave us a home, stability. But... my sister refused treatment, refused help. My aunt tried, I tried, but she just... wouldn’t listen. I think... I think she was too broken by everything that happened.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed as he listened, his eyes reflecting the deep sadness he felt on your behalf. “Your aunt sounds like an incredible person,” he said softly. “She must have cared for you both so much.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “She did, and she still does. I wouldn’t have made it without her. She never gave up on me, even when things got really dark. But with my sister...” You trailed off, the pain still fresh despite the years. “She just couldn’t reach her, no matter how hard she tried.”

Spencer’s gaze softened even more, and he pulled you a little closer, wrapping his arm around you protectively. “I’m sorry you had to go through all of that, Y/N. I wish I could take away that pain for you.”

You leaned into him, letting the warmth of his embrace comfort you. “It’s okay,” you whispered, “I’ve learned to live with it. It’s just hard, knowing that no matter how much love we gave her, my sister couldn’t be saved.”

Spencer pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, his voice gentle as he spoke. “You did everything you could. Sometimes... people just aren’t ready to accept help. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t try, or that you didn’t love her enough.”

For a moment, you allowed yourself to just breathe. You hadn’t shared this part of yourself with anyone in such a long time, and Spencer’s quiet understanding felt like a balm to your soul.

“She sounds like an incredible woman, your aunt,” Spencer added, squeezing your hand gently. “And so do you.”

You looked at Spencer with tears welling in your eyes, your emotions on full display. “Thank you, Spencer,” you whispered, your voice shaky but filled with gratitude. His thumb gently wiped a tear from underneath your eye, his touch soft and reassuring.

"Not just for listening,” you continued, “but for being you.”

Spencer smiled at you, a deep, affectionate smile that made your heart flutter. His eyes shone with understanding and care, and in that moment, you felt an overwhelming connection between you two. He leaned forward then, kissing you deeply, a kiss full of warmth and unspoken promises.

"Thank you for telling me," he murmured softly, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

You laughed softly, more at yourself than anything, as you wiped away the remnants of your tears. "Okay, whew, that’s that," you said, trying to lighten the mood. "Now you know. We can stop crying now."

Spencer smiled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His eyes flickered with something more, a desire to share, to open up just as you had. “Do you want to know about my parents?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded your head, giving him your full attention, ready to listen just as he had for you.

Spencer sighed deeply, his gaze far away for a moment, as if gathering the words. “My mom… she has schizophrenia. It started when I was really young, and I spent a lot of time trying to understand her illness. It wasn’t easy growing up, knowing she wasn’t like other moms. She was brilliant though, a professor of literature. She used to read to me all the time, teaching me about everything she loved. That’s probably where I get my love for books.”

You listened intently, your heart breaking a little for the boy he once was, trying to make sense of a world so complex and painful.

“My dad left when I was ten,” Spencer continued, his voice quieter now. “He couldn’t handle it anymore—her illness, the responsibility. He just… left. And it was just me and her after that.”

Spencer’s voice wavered slightly, but he stayed composed. “I spent my childhood trying to take care of her, in my own way. She had episodes, but I didn’t want her to go to a hospital, so I hid a lot of it from people. I thought… I thought I could fix it.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. Spencer glanced at you, his expression softening as he took comfort in your presence.

“I’ve made peace with it now,” Spencer said after a beat. “But it wasn’t easy. There were days I felt like I was drowning, trying to take care of her and go to school, trying to make something of myself.” He paused, then added, “She’s in a facility now, getting the care she needs. I visit when I can.”

You sat in silence for a moment, letting his words settle, understanding the depth of his pain and the strength it must have taken to survive such a childhood.

"Thank you for telling me," you whispered, echoing his earlier words. Your thumb brushed against the back of his hand as you gazed at him with admiration. "You’re a wonderful man, Spencer."

He smiled softly, his eyes brimming with affection as he leaned in to kiss your forehead.

When the coffee was finished and the emotional weight of your stories had settled, you both stood up, moving inside together. There was no need for plans, no pressure to fill the day with anything grand. You simply wanted to be together, to spend the day wrapped up in each other’s presence, doing nothing but enjoying the quiet comfort of your shared company.

—

Spencer’s day had started off on a sour note the moment he walked into the testing facility. The thought of being watched during such an intimate, humiliating process had been enough to make his stomach churn. The presence of the other agent, someone he didn’t know, standing nearby as he tried to perform an already uncomfortable task had only worsened his mood.

By the time he returned to the office, Spencer was tense, his nerves frayed from the ordeal. His team—his friends—were used to his occasional bad moods, but this was different. He hated that the drug tests were a constant reminder of a time in his life he’d fought so hard to put behind him, a scar that Strauss and her protocols kept reopening.

Penelope was the first to try and talk to him, her usual bubbly energy shining through as she asked, “Hey, Reid, how was your weekend? Did you spend it with your girl?”

Without thinking, Spencer snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. “I don’t want to talk about it, Penelope.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, and he could see the hurt flash across her face before she quickly masked it with a forced smile. He regretted it immediately, but in his irritation, he couldn’t bring himself to apologize right away.

Then, Derek, ever the good friend, set a fresh cup of coffee on Spencer’s desk—a simple gesture of kindness. But when a bit of the coffee spilled over the edge onto his papers, Spencer’s patience snapped again.

“Can you not?” Spencer bit out, glaring at the small mess. “It’s everywhere now, Morgan.”

Derek raised his hands in surrender, clearly not wanting to poke the bear. “Alright, alright, take it easy, pretty boy.”

Emily, sensing Spencer’s volatile mood, wisely kept her distance. She’d seen him like this before and knew better than to engage when he was on edge.

JJ, always the nurturer, tried her best to offer a soothing presence. “Spence, are you okay? You seem a little... off today.”

But instead of the comfort she usually brought, her words only stoked the fire. “I’m fine, JJ. Can everyone just stop asking me how I’m doing?”

Her eyes widened, taken aback by his harsh tone, and Spencer immediately felt a pang of guilt. He didn’t mean to lash out, especially at JJ, who was only trying to help. His apology came quickly, but it did little to ease the tension.

“Sorry,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of his frustration pressing down on him. “I just... I’m not in a great place right now.”

Hotch had been watching from his office, observing how Spencer was struggling to keep it together. He knew better than most what Spencer was going through, but it was clear today wasn’t a day Spencer should be in the office.

He walked over to Spencer’s desk, his expression firm but understanding. “Reid, go home.”

Spencer looked up, surprised. “I have work to finish—”

“You can take it with you,” Hotch interrupted, his voice leaving no room for argument. “You need some space. Go home, get some rest. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Spencer didn’t fight it. He nodded, collecting his things, knowing that Hotch was right. He wasn’t doing anyone any good by staying, and his snapping at the people who cared about him only made him feel worse.

As he left the office, Spencer felt a weight lift slightly from his shoulders. But the humiliation of the morning still gnawed at him, and he wondered how long this protocol would hang over his head like a dark cloud.

Things only got worse when you texted Spencer on your lunch break, sharing a silly story about a printer mix-up at work. Normally, Spencer would find your anecdotes charming, loving the way you broke them up into several texts as if you were telling the story in person. But today, the constant pinging of his phone was too much for his already frayed nerves.

He stared at the screen, watching the notifications pile up, the sound seeming louder and more grating than usual. The tension from the day—the frustration, the stress, the hidden weight of what he was dealing with—made every ping feel like it was vibrating directly into his skull.

Instead of waiting for more texts to come through, he called you. It wasn’t out of anger, but a desperate need to silence the noise and prevent the headache he felt creeping up.

“Hi, baby!” you answered, your voice bright and cheery, though you sounded a little surprised. “I didn’t realize you were on your phone. Sorry if I was texting too much—”

“I’m home. Hotch let me leave early,” he huffed, his voice sharp and tense, though he hadn’t meant for it to sound so irritated.

“Oh…” you paused, a little concern creeping into your voice. “Are you alright? Are you feeling sick?”

Your genuine worry, which normally would have soothed him, only felt like another weight on his chest today. He wasn’t angry with you, but the frustration that had been building all day finally spilled over.

“I’m fine,” Spencer snapped, his tone harsher than he intended. “I just… I’m having a bad day, okay?”

The line went quiet for a moment. He immediately regretted his words, knowing you didn’t deserve the brunt of his frustration. You hadn’t done anything wrong, and here he was, snapping at you over something as small as a few text messages.

“I’m sorry, Spencer,” you said softly, the lightness in your voice replaced with a gentle, understanding tone. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

He sighed, the guilt crashing down on him. You had no idea what he was really dealing with—he hadn’t told you about the drug tests, about Strauss's constant scrutiny. He didn’t want you to worry, didn’t want you to think any less of him, so he kept it all to himself. But now, it was spilling over into how he treated you, and he hated that.

“No, I know. I’m sorry,” Spencer replied, softer now, trying to reign in his frustration. “It’s not you, I just… today’s been rough.”

There was a pause again, your voice gentle when you finally spoke. “Do you want me to come over? We don’t have to talk about it. I can just be there.”

Spencer hesitated. The truth was, part of him wanted you there. He always felt better with you around, your presence grounding him in ways he couldn’t explain. But today, he wasn’t sure if he could handle being around anyone, even you. Not when he felt so close to snapping at the slightest thing.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “Maybe… I just need some space right now.”

Your understanding was immediate, though he could hear the slight tinge of hurt in your voice. “Okay, I get it. Just know I’m here if you need anything, alright?”

“Yeah,” Spencer muttered, closing his eyes and trying to push away the guilt and frustration swirling inside him. “Thanks, Y/N.”

When the call ended, Spencer sat in the quiet of his apartment, feeling the weight of his bad day pressing down on him. He knew he should tell you what was going on, but the shame and embarrassment kept him silent. He wanted to feel better, wanted to stop snapping at the people he cared about, but today everything felt… wrong.

—

Rossi stood in Strauss’s office, the door closed behind him, his arms crossed over his chest as he regarded her with a frustrated expression. He had been simmering over this decision for days now, but he knew he had to say something. It was eating at him.

“You know, Erin, I think you went too far this time,” Rossi said, his voice low but firm. “Having Spencer drug tested every month? It’s uncalled for. The kid’s been clean for years now. He’s proven himself.”

Strauss didn’t look up from the file in front of her, her expression unreadable. “David, you of all people should understand why this is necessary.”

“I told you in confidence,” Rossi said, stepping closer to her desk, his voice gaining an edge. “Because of us. Not so you could turn around and use it against him. You think I don’t see what you’re doing?”

Strauss finally lifted her eyes to meet his, her expression calm and collected. “I’m trying to protect her.”

Rossi let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “You’re punishing him for something that hasn’t even happened. He hasn’t slipped up, and I don’t think he will. He’s stronger than you give him credit for.”

“He’s a liability,” Strauss said firmly, not backing down. “And I’m not going to sit by and wait for him to make a mistake that costs us all more than we’re willing to pay.”

Rossi clenched his jaw, frustrated by her unwillingness to see reason. “You’re not protecting her or the Bureau, Erin. You’re making it harder for him to succeed. You’re putting a target on his back.”

Strauss crossed her arms, her expression unyielding. “Sometimes, David, tough decisions have to be made. Whether or not you agree with them.”

Rossi sighed, knowing the conversation was hitting a dead end. “I just hope you realize what you’re doing before it’s too late.” He gave her one final look, disappointed but unsurprised, before turning on his heel and leaving her office, the tension lingering long after he was gone.

—

Spencer stood there, looking so tired and worn down, and your heart clenched at the sight of him. You could tell he was struggling, and the weight of whatever was on his mind was pressing heavily on his shoulders. You stepped closer, gently touching his arm.

“Spencer?” you asked softly, your voice full of concern.

He looked at you, his gaze softened by exhaustion, and he sighed deeply, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m sorry for how I was yesterday… I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

You shook your head, stepping aside to let him in, your hand reaching for his as you pulled him through the door. “You don’t have to apologize, Spencer. But what’s going on? You’ve been so quiet. I’ve been worried.”

He gave a small nod, his eyes downcast as he stepped into your apartment, letting the warmth of your presence surround him. You led him to the couch, and he collapsed into it with a heavy sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck as if trying to ease the tension that had built there.

“I… I just had a really hard day,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Work stuff. It’s… it’s complicated, and I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”

Your concern deepened, but you didn’t want to push him. You could see in his eyes that he was holding something back, something that was clearly eating at him, but if he wasn’t ready to share, you would respect that. You just wanted to be there for him, however he needed.

You nodded softly, sitting down beside him and taking his hand in yours, your thumb brushing gently over his knuckles. “Okay. You don’t have to talk about it,” you said gently. “But I’m here. And if you want to just… be, we can do that too.”

Spencer’s shoulders seemed to relax a little at your words, and he let out a small breath, his fingers squeezing yours tightly as if holding on to you was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I just… I just want to be with you,” he said quietly, his eyes finally meeting yours, the vulnerability in them breaking your heart. “I don’t want to think about anything else right now. I just want to be here with you.”

You gave him a gentle smile, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “Then we’ll just be,” you whispered.

He closed his eyes as you kissed him, letting out a long, shaky breath as he leaned into your touch. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, letting him rest his head on your shoulder. For a long moment, you just held him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours.

“Thank you,” he murmured after a while, his voice barely audible, but the emotion behind it clear. “For being here.”

You stroked his hair softly, your heart full of love for the man in your arms. “Always, Spencer,” you whispered. “I’m always here.” 

And though the weight of his hidden struggles lingered in the air, for now, it was enough to just be together.

The laughter that filled the room later was like music, and for the first time in what felt like days, Spencer felt light again. You were both sprawled out on the couch, popcorn forgotten as Spencer had successfully wrestled you under him, his hands expertly tickling your sides. Your uncontrollable giggles filled the room as you squirmed beneath him, trying to bat his hands away.

“Spence!” you squealed, your voice rising in playful desperation. “Stop! I can’t—” 

He laughed, his own amusement bubbling up as he leaned down, pressing quick, ticklish kisses along your neck and cheeks, making you squirm even more.

“What?” he teased, pretending not to hear you, his voice lighthearted and mischievous. “Can’t hear you over all this squawking in my ear!”

Your laughter came out in breathless bursts, and you managed to shove at his chest lightly, still giggling as he finally gave you a moment to catch your breath. Spencer grinned down at you, his face flushed from laughter, his earlier heaviness completely gone, replaced by a playful glint in his eyes.

"Truce?" you gasped, still trying to stop your own giggles, your hands grabbing onto his arms to steady yourself.

Spencer tilted his head, pretending to think it over for a moment before nodding, his lips quirking into a smirk. “Alright. Truce. But only because you begged so nicely.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled up at him, your heart swelling at how much lighter and carefree he seemed now. Whatever weight he had been carrying earlier was gone, at least for the moment, and you couldn’t help but feel proud that you had been the one to help lift it. 

He stayed on top of you for a moment longer, both of you catching your breath, the warmth of his body comforting against yours. He leaned down and kissed your forehead softly, his voice gentle as he murmured, “You always know how to make me feel better.”

You smiled up at him, brushing a hand through his hair. “I just like seeing you happy,” you said softly. “You deserve it.”

For a moment, Spencer didn’t say anything, just looking at you with a kind of quiet admiration that made your heart flutter. Then, with a playful smirk, he rolled off you, tugging you back up to sit in his lap. “Alright, I’ll stop tickling you,” he said, eyes glinting with amusement, “for now.”

You glared and pointed your finger in his face, making him cross his eyes like a dork. “Tickle me again, and I’ll... I’ll…”

“Yeah? Go on, honey,” he teased, his smirk growing wider as his hands continued to rub your hips.

Flustered by his confidence, you blurted, “I’ll spit on you.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Is that the best you got?”

You leaned in, lowering your voice as your eyes locked on his. “Careful, baby… sounds like you might actually want that.”

Spencer's smirk faltered slightly, his eyes widening in surprise before he laughed nervously. You could feel the shift in energy between you, the playful banter taking on a new, teasing intensity.

“Wha—no,” he stammered, trying to recover, but the playful glint in your eyes had him flustered.

You leaned in closer, your hands resting on his chest as you whispered in a low, sultry tone, “Mmm, you sure about that?”

Spencer’s breath hitched slightly, his hands instinctively tightening on your hips as he tried to keep his composure. “You’re… you’re just trying to get a rise out of me,” he finally managed to say, his voice a little breathless, but there was no hiding the way his body reacted to your proximity.

You grinned, feeling empowered by the effect you had on him. “And it’s working,” you teased, your lips brushing against his ear as you gently let your hips grind on his.

Spencer swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to yours, filled with affection and playful frustration. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

You giggled, sitting up straight and giving him a satisfied look. “Maybe,” you said sweetly, “but you like it.”

He sighed dramatically, still flustered but clearly loving every second of your teasing. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

Spencer’s hands slipped from your hips, wrapping around your waist instead as he pulled you closer. “But if you threaten me with spitting again,” he whispered, his voice dropping to a mock-serious tone, “I might have to get you back.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And how exactly would you do that?”

He smirked, leaning in closer so his lips were just inches from yours. “I guess you’ll have to find out,” he murmured before kissing you deeply, the playfulness of the moment fading into something more tender and intimate.

“You want to show me?” you whispered against his lips, nipping softly at Spencer’s lower lip, sending a shiver down his spine.

He groaned in response, the sharp, sweet pain igniting something inside him. But as much as the dirty talk stirred him, he hesitated. Spencer wasn’t as experienced as his playful words suggested, even though he'd picked up more than a few lines from the books he'd read — including a couple of romance novels that had taught him a thing or two.

Still, feeling the heat between you, Spencer nodded, leaning in for a kiss. This one wasn’t gentle or tentative, but filled with passion, tongues meeting, teeth grazing lips, and it set off a fire in both of your bellies. 

Your hands gripped at his hair, pulling him closer as his hands moved up your sides, exploring every inch of you, unsure but eager. The kiss deepened, both of you giving in to the moment, feeling the intensity grow between you. It was uncharted territory for him, but he was more than willing to learn with you.

Feeling bold, Spencer let his hands slide down to cup your ass, squeezing tentatively. The whimper that escaped your lips as his fingers dug into your flesh sent a surge of pride through him. He was still a little unsure, but that reaction told him he was on the right track.

But then you pulled back slightly, your eyes glinting with mischief. “Is this what I get? I might have to threaten you more often…”

Something primal seemed to take over Spencer at your teasing words, and before he knew it, his hand came down in a sharp, quick slap against your ass. The sound echoed around the room, but it was your loud, unrestrained moan that had his pulse racing.

His eyes widened, both with shock at his own actions and the reaction it had caused. “You like that?” he asked, his voice thick with a mixture of curiosity and raw desire, unable to believe what had just happened — and how much it seemed to affect both of you.

You met his gaze, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice husky with need. “I do.”

Spencer swallowed hard, realizing he might have just unlocked something new between the two of you — something he was more than ready to explore.

Spencer pulled you back in, capturing your lips in an even deeper kiss, his tongue teasing yours while his hand came down with another sharp slap to your ass. The moan that left your mouth vibrated against his, making his head spin as you ground down on his growing bulge, the heat between you two intensifying by the second.

You both moved together in a desperate, frenzied rhythm, as if the space between your bodies was too much to bear. The need for more overwhelmed both of you, pushing the tension higher, the air thick with desire.

Spencer’s hands gripped your hips tightly, guiding your movements as he let out little grunts and groans, lost in the sensation. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, he threw his head back, pulling you down harder into him, his whole body shuddering as he finished with a deep, guttural groan. 

Panting heavily, his fingers still dug into your hips, he slowly came back down from his high, his forehead resting against yours as both of you caught your breath. The heat between you still simmered, but the moment of release left both of you tingling and a little dazed, wrapped in the intimacy of the moment.

You looked down at him with a playful smirk, unable to resist teasing him just a little. "Spence... did you just come in your pants?"

Still breathing heavily, he nodded, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Yup."

You let out a laugh, shifting slightly on his lap, causing him to groan at the sudden movement against his sensitive cock. "Oops, sorry, baby," you said with a mischievous grin, sitting back on his thighs. "I didn't realize you were so close."

Spencer leaned his head back on the couch, his eyes closed as he tried to steady his breathing. The angle gave you a perfect view of his sharp jawline, and you couldn't help but admire how utterly spent—and gorgeous—he looked in that moment. "I didn't either," he admitted with a small chuckle, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Lots of pent-up emotions, huh?" you teased, letting your finger trail lightly over the wet spot on his pants. He twitched at the sensation, quickly grabbing your wrist and gently pushing your hand away. He lifted his head, playfully glaring at you, though there was no malice in his gaze, only affection.

"Not funny," he muttered, trying to stifle a smile.

You giggled, leaning down to kiss his cheek, unable to resist teasing him one last time. "Maybe not for you... but I find it pretty adorable."

“Adorable? Last time you said it was hot,” Spencer pouted, his expression turning to one of mortification as the realization hit him. “Oh my god, I’ve done this twice. Maybe I am a virgin.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your heart melting for him. Leaning in, you kissed him gently, hoping to ease his mind and distract him from his embarrassment. “It’s hot and adorable, Spence,” you whispered against his lips, your tone soft and reassuring. “And, trust me, very flattering.”

But Spencer still looked unsure, his brows knitting together in uncertainty. You could see his mind working, trying to make sense of it, and you knew he wasn’t fully convinced just yet.

With a sultry smile, you leaned in closer, your breath warm against his ear. “Do you want to see how hot I find it? How hot I find you?” Your voice dripped with desire, and Spencer’s breath hitched, his eyes widening as he nodded dumbly, ready and willing to follow your lead.

You took his hand in yours, guiding it down the front of your sleep shorts, pressing his fingers against the undeniable evidence of your arousal. His eyes widened even more as he felt just how wet you were for him, his lips parting in a quiet gasp.

“That’s how much I liked it,” you whispered, watching his reaction closely. Spencer’s mouth fell open, his fingers instinctively pressing deeper, causing a soft moan to escape your lips.

“Oh wow, wow, you're really wet,” Spencer said in awe, his voice full of innocent surprise.

You let out a soft laugh, biting your lip as you ground down on his hand. “I know, baby. You really turn me on.”

His eyes widened even more, his mouth dropping open as he took in the full extent of your arousal. “No, you’re soaking my hand, darling,” he murmured, the way he said that sending shivers down your spine.

A moan slipped from your lips as you instinctively ground down on his fingers, seeking more friction. “Oh fuck,” Spencer breathed, his eyes dark with lust. “Are you riding my hand?”

You nodded, dazed and overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through you. His fingers stayed inside, moving ever so slightly as you rocked your hips, riding him. The sensation was too much and not enough all at once, and the sound of his breathless voice only made you want more.

Spencer’s eyes flicked back and forth between your face and where his hand disappeared into your shorts, mesmerized by the sight and the sounds you were making. "I can't believe I'm making you feel this good," he whispered, more to himself than to you, the awe in his voice making you shudder in delight.

“Spence, this feels so good, my god, but… my knees are cramping,” you complained breathlessly, your body trembling from the sensation.

Without missing a beat, Spencer immediately pulled his hand away, giving you the space to move. You let out a soft whine at the sudden loss, and he smirked down at you. “Well, do you want to move or not?”

Rolling your eyes, you climbed off his lap and sprawled out on the couch, looking up at him expectantly. You were ready for whatever came next, your body still humming with anticipation. But Spencer did something completely unexpected.

Instead of wiping his hand off, as you had assumed he would, you watched as his gaze flickered down to the wetness covering his fingers. His brows furrowed slightly in curiosity, as if he were studying it. Before you could say anything, Spencer did the unfathomable—he brought his fingers to his mouth, slowly sliding them past his lips.

A deep, low moan escaped him as he tasted you, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as if he were savoring the taste.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, absolutely floored by the sight. Your heart raced, heat rushing through your body as you watched him, your own arousal building even higher. You couldn’t believe how much this innocent man was making you lose control.

“Fuck,” Spencer murmured when he finally pulled his now-clean fingers from his mouth, his eyes dark with lust. “You taste amazing.”

The look on your face must have been one of pure shock because Spencer quickly followed up with a concerned, “Was that okay?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Shut up right now and kiss me,” you said, your voice urgent and breathless.

Without missing a beat, Spencer leaned down, crashing his lips onto yours. The kiss was electric, fueled by the raw intensity of the moment. You could taste yourself faintly on his lips, which only made you hungrier for him. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and Spencer let out a low groan as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing against yours as if he couldn’t get enough.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt this level of desire, but with Spencer, everything felt heightened, like every touch and every kiss was sending shockwaves through you.

This was the filthiest, sloppiest, most passionate kiss either of you had ever shared with anyone. The intensity was palpable, your bodies pressed together so tightly it felt as though there wasn’t enough room in the world to contain the desire between you. You couldn’t get enough, your hands tugging at Spencer’s hair, sliding under his shirt to scratch his back, pinching his nipples, reveling in the way he responded—moaning into your mouth, his own hands gripping you with a hunger that mirrored yours.

It was hard to tell how long you kissed—minutes or hours, time seemed to blur—but eventually, Spencer pulled back, gasping for breath, his chest heaving. His eyes roamed over you, taking in the sight of your hair spread out like a halo on the couch, your chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, your eyes darkened with lust and, though neither of you had said it yet, a glimmer of what could only be described as love.

“Darling,” he panted, his voice rough and thick with need, “can we go to your bed? I want to treat you this time.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You were up in a flash, pulling your beautiful, sweet boyfriend with you, his hand wrapped in yours as you rushed toward your bedroom. You’d never moved so fast in your life, eager for what was to come, for the pleasure he promised.

Once in the bedroom, Spencer's hands wasted no time. He immediately tugged your shorts and underwear down, discarding them in a flash before pulling off your shirt with the same eagerness, leaving you completely bare before him. His eyes roamed over you with pure admiration, awe evident in every part of his expression.

“Did you get more beautiful?” he asked breathlessly, the sincerity of the compliment making you feel flushed.

You playfully slapped his chest, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Shut up,” you teased, leaning up to kiss him as your hands found the hem of his T-shirt, pulling it over his head. But just as you reached for his pants, Spencer gently pushed you back down onto the bed.

“This is about you, my love.”

The words hung in the air, sweet and heavy with meaning. My love. It was new, but it felt right—natural, even. Before you could respond, Spencer pushed you onto the bed and lowered himself to your chest, his lips closing around one of your nipples. His mouth was soft, tender, at first, but then you felt his teeth sink in, sharp enough to make you gasp, a promise of the mark he was leaving behind.

Your back arched, pressing your body further into him, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you as you lost yourself in the feel of him—of his mouth, his hands, his love.

Spencer’s mouth continued its exploration, alternating between your breasts and sending warm pulses of pleasure through your body. His attention to detail was incredible, every touch, every kiss feeling like a deliberate act of worship. He took his time, caressing you as though you were the most delicate and precious thing in the world. The intimacy of it all overwhelmed you, a mixture of tenderness and building desire swirling inside.

When his soft kisses finally began to descend down your stomach, a light giggle escaped your lips—it tickled, playful and gentle. But that laughter vanished the moment his lips found your inner thigh, sucking a mark into your sensitive skin. Spencer’s large hands gripped your thighs, spreading them open wide for him, his touch reverent but firm.

“Spen—Spencer,” you panted, glancing down at him. His big, beautiful brown eyes met yours, glazed with determination and lust, but also something tender. He kept his gaze locked on you as he kissed along your thigh, making your breath hitch. "Have you... done this before?"

He paused, releasing your thigh from his mouth with a small, almost playful pop. “No,” he admitted honestly, “but I have read plenty about the acts of cunnilingus, and I think I will be able to satisfy you. As long as you communicate with me, okay?”

The honesty in his voice, the seriousness of his intent, sent another wave of heat rushing through you. Spencer reached for one of your hands, which had been gripping the sheets so tightly. He held it gently, reassuring you, grounding you. You nodded eagerly, your breath coming out in shallow pants, giving him permission to continue.

And without further hesitation, Spencer dove back in, his kisses now dangerously close to your core. The anticipation was electrifying, and you could already tell—he was going to be good at this. Very good.

And good he was. The second Spencer's tongue touched you, it was like fireworks exploded behind your eyes, sending electricity shooting through your veins. The intensity of it all nearly overwhelmed you, especially when you heard his voice, low and mumbled against you. 

“Eyes on me,” he said, the words vibrating against you.

You forced your eyes open and looked down, the sight nearly sending you over the edge. Spencer, his head buried between your legs, met your gaze with intense eye contact as his tongue continued to explore you. The sensation, paired with the way he moaned into you, made your whole body tremble. It was impossible to deny how much he enjoyed it, the way he tasted you straight from the source, his pleasure evident in every sound and movement.

As phenomenal as it was, you still craved more stimulation. And Spencer had asked you to communicate, so you squeezed his hand, your voice shaky. “Baby?”

He hummed into you, the vibration making you whine and twitch involuntarily. “Can you... unghh—can you find the clit?”

Spencer chuckled softly, clearly amused but also eager to show that his knowledge wasn’t just theoretical. Almost immediately, he hit the target, causing your body to jerk at the sudden burst of pleasure.

“Go–good,” you gasped, your voice thick with need. “Now suck.”

And he did.

Spencer didn't need to be told twice. The second you asked, he focused his attention on your clit, enveloping it gently between his lips. A low moan escaped his throat, vibrating against you as he began to suck softly, testing the waters. Your body jolted at the sensation, your back arching as an involuntary gasp tore through you.

"Yes, just like that..." you whispered breathlessly, your grip tightening on his hand, the other fisting the sheets as waves of pleasure rolled through you. It was overwhelming in the best way, and Spencer wasn’t just doing well—he was doing phenomenally. His tongue flicked and swirled as if with practiced precision, the moans he let out making everything ten times more intense.

You could feel yourself getting closer, the tension building rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter in your core. Every flick of his tongue, every pull of his lips was bringing you higher, faster. It was as if he knew exactly what you needed, and the connection between you both in this moment felt almost sacred.

Your legs began to tremble, and your breathing grew more erratic. "Spence, I’m—oh my god, I'm so close," you whimpered, your hand instinctively moving to tangle in his hair, gripping tight as the pleasure threatened to push you over the edge.

Spencer hummed in acknowledgment, his eyes still locked onto yours, unwavering, making the moment even more intense. His grip on your hand tightened as if encouraging you to let go, to surrender to the pleasure completely.

And when his tongue applied just the right amount of pressure, his lips sucking gently but firmly on your clit, that tension finally snapped. Your body convulsed, a guttural moan escaping you as the orgasm crashed over you, waves of ecstasy leaving you trembling and gasping for air.

"That's it," Spencer murmured, his voice low and raspy, sounding both proud and a little in awe as he watched you unravel under him.

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, looking down at him with a dazed smile. He hadn't pulled away yet, still gently caressing your sensitive skin with the softest of kisses, making sure you were coming down from your high as gently as possible.

“Spencer...” you managed to breathe out, your voice a mix of disbelief and pure satisfaction. You hadn’t thought it possible, but he had completely exceeded your expectations.

He grinned up at you, his mouth still glistening with evidence of your release. “I guess the reading paid off, huh?” he teased, his voice full of affection and just a hint of smugness.

You chuckled weakly, your whole body still tingling with aftershocks. "Oh, it definitely paid off..."

“Earth to Y/N,” Spencer teased, coming up beside you, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. His warm breath tickled your skin as he added with a soft laugh, “Are you alright?”

You blinked out of your daze, still recovering from the incredible experience, and turned to look at him with wide, astonished eyes. “Anytime you need a study buddy," you said, your voice filled with awe, "anytime, you call me."

Spencer chuckled, his cheeks tinged pink as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. "I'll keep that in mind," he replied with a wink.

After you returned to earth, Spencer gently helped you up and led you to the bathroom, drawing a warm, soothing bath. He carefully eased you both into the tub, your back resting against his chest, the comforting warmth of the water surrounding you. The intimacy of the moment was in the simplicity of it—just the two of you, cocooned in the peaceful, quiet space.

As you both settled in, the conversation flowed naturally, a mix of everything and nothing. Spencer told you more details about his extensive schooling, sharing amusing stories about his early university days, while you, in turn, told him about how you ended up adopting Poof, your beloved cat.

At one point, Spencer furrowed his brow, realizing something. “Speaking of, where is Poof?” he asked, looking around as if your mischievous cat might suddenly appear. “I feel like I haven’t seen him in a while.”

You giggled, your hand absently stroking Spencer's leg beneath the water as you explained. “Oh, he’s become the building cat," you said with affection in your voice. "The townhouses are connected by fire escapes in the back, and Poof likes to explore. He moves back and forth between the different houses. I guess you’ve just been missing him.”

Spencer chuckled softly, resting his chin on your shoulder, clearly intrigued. “A little adventurer, huh? Well, hopefully, I’ll catch him in action one of these days.”

You smiled, leaning back more into him, feeling completely at ease as the two of you basked in the comfortable rhythm of your conversation and the quiet warmth of the water.

—

Spencer sat stiffly in the chair across from Chief Strauss’ desk, his hands folded in his lap as he waited for whatever new torment she had in store for him. He was sure his tests were clean, they always were. But he also knew Strauss had been gunning for him for years now, and this meeting was likely just another way to shake him down, to keep him on edge.

As he stared at the piles of neatly stacked papers on her desk, Strauss held up a finger, signaling for him to wait as she answered an incoming call. Spencer huffed internally, trying to push down the frustration bubbling up inside him. But when she answered the phone, something about her tone caught his attention.

"Chief Strauss," she said, her voice all business at first, but then, to Spencer’s shock, a smile broke out across her face. "Oh, hi, Red, how are you, dear?"

Spencer’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing slightly. Red? It couldn’t be…could it? His mind raced, desperately trying to make sense of it. The name, the affectionate tone—it sounded eerily similar to the nickname you had mentioned your aunt called you. But that was just a coincidence, right? 

Strauss continued her conversation, oblivious to Spencer’s sudden change in demeanor. "Yes, yes, of course. I’ll make sure it gets done. Oh, and how is little Poof doing?"

Spencer's heart stopped. Poof? No. There was no way this could be a coincidence now. His mind raced as he pieced it together. Red … Poof …Your aunt. His eyes widened in realization, but he kept his face neutral, trying not to betray the wave of shock crashing over him.

Strauss glanced at him briefly as she continued her conversation, still smiling. Spencer's thoughts were spinning. Was your aunt Erin Strauss?

Spencer was spiraling, his mind whirling with disbelief as Chief Strauss hung up the phone, turning her attention back to him. He was trying to maintain composure, but it was like everything around him was crumbling. She had called you Red. She had mentioned Poof. It was all too much.

“So, Reid,” Strauss began, clasping her hands on the desk in front of her. Her tone shifted back to business. “How have you been managing? With the recovery, I mean. I understand the tests have been clean, but I want to know how you’re really doing.”

Spencer’s jaw tightened. His nerves were already shot, and now with this revelation about you weighing on him, he couldn’t hold back. His voice came out sharper than he intended.

“Why does it even matter?” Spencer snapped, glaring at her. “You’ve been waiting for me to slip up, to fail. You never believed in my recovery from the start.”

Strauss raised an eyebrow, her expression hardening. "I’m trying to protect you, Reid, as much as I’m trying to protect others from you."

Spencer's stomach twisted. “Protect me? From what exactly? You’ve been gunning for me ever since I admitted to my addiction. You hate me.” His voice shook, his frustration bubbling over.

Strauss took a deep breath, her face softening, but her words cut deep. "I don’t hate you, Spencer. But I know what addiction can do to a person, to a family."

Spencer narrowed his eyes, his voice thick with suspicion. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"My sister and her husband," Strauss said, her voice wavering slightly, "they died from drugs. Overdosed. My niece is an addict too, lost to us."

Spencer felt a chill wash over him, and his voice dropped as he asked, "Y/N’s parents?"

Strauss swallowed thickly, nodding, her eyes momentarily flicking away from his. "Yes. And do you think I’m going to stand by and watch her get hurt again? Watch another person she cares about spiral into that life?" Her gaze locked back onto Spencer’s, now filled with a fierce determination. "No, Spencer. I’m not going to let you ruin her life like her father did."

The words hit Spencer like a physical blow, leaving him breathless. His heart raced, anger and guilt twisting together painfully in his chest. This threat—Strauss’s belief that he was a danger to you, that his history with addiction made him a risk—was like a punch to the gut.

"I’m not him," Spencer whispered, his voice barely audible. His hands clenched into fists on his lap. "I’m not going to hurt her."

Strauss’s gaze softened slightly, but her tone remained firm. "I hope you’re right, Reid. But I can’t afford to take chances when it comes to her. Not after everything she’s been through. So, yes, the drug tests stay. And if I see one misstep, I won’t hesitate to remove you from this team, or from her life."

Spencer felt his anger boil over, his fists clenched as he leaned forward in the chair. “You can’t stop me from seeing her, we’re both adults. You have no right to interfere.”

Strauss leaned back in her chair, calm in the face of his anger. Her voice was low, but it cut through the room with precision. “Does she know about your addiction, Spencer?”

The question hung in the air like a ticking time bomb, and Spencer froze. His face told her everything she needed to know—he hadn’t told you. 

Strauss’s lips curled slightly, not in triumph but in grim acknowledgment. “Then you better not mess up,” she said, her voice cold and menacing.

Spencer stood up abruptly, the air feeling suffocating in her office. He was furious—not just with Strauss, but with himself. He knew he’d been holding something back from you, just as you had from him. He hadn’t told you about his past, hadn’t opened up about his addiction, the demons he fought to keep buried. And now he was in this twisted position, where your aunt knew more about him than you did.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

He stormed out of Strauss’s office, his heart racing, feeling cornered in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. He was upset that you hadn’t told him who your aunt was, hadn’t trusted him with that part of your life. But deep down, he knew he was no better. He had held back too—out of fear, out of shame.

As he left the building and stepped out into the cold air, Spencer’s mind whirled. He had to talk to you. He had to come clean before everything unraveled. You both deserved the truth.

—

You knocked on Spencer’s door that evening, a bottle of wine tucked under your arm and a loaf of fresh French bread in your hand. You’d spent the afternoon preparing his favorite pasta dish, hoping for a quiet, cozy night together after the busy week you both had. When Spencer opened the door, you gave him a warm smile.

“Hey, baby,” you greeted, leaning up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. 

But the look on Spencer’s face made your heart drop. His eyes were dark, his expression serious. The atmosphere was heavy, and you could tell immediately that something was wrong. 

“When were you going to tell me that Strauss is your aunt?” he asked, his voice steady but laced with frustration. 

You froze, the smile fading from your face. “What?”

“I found out today,” Spencer continued, stepping aside to let you in but not looking at you. “From her, actually. I thought... I thought we were being honest with each other.”

You sighed, setting down the wine and bread on his kitchen counter, turning to face him. “Spence, I was going to tell you. I just… I got scared.”

“Scared of what?” His eyes searched yours, looking for an explanation that could make this better, that could ease the confusion and frustration swirling in his mind.

You ran a hand through your hair, fidgeting slightly. “Scared because you work for her. I didn’t want things to get complicated or messy between you two. I didn’t want you to think I was keeping it from you on purpose.”

Spencer’s face softened slightly as he processed your words, but he still didn’t seem fully convinced. “Why wouldn’t you just tell me, though? I wouldn’t have cared about who your aunt is, I care about you.”

You took a deep breath, stepping closer to him, reaching for his hands. “I know, Spencer. I know. I just… I didn’t want things to get weird at work for you. And honestly, I didn’t know how to bring it up. I’ve been afraid of how it might change things, I didn’t want to add more stress.”

Spencer’s shoulders relaxed a little as he listened to your explanation. He squeezed your hands, a silent gesture of understanding. He could see the sincerity in your eyes, the hesitation that wasn’t born out of deceit but out of fear of complicating things for both of you. 

“I get it,” Spencer said softly after a moment. “I just… I don’t want us to keep things from each other. It’s important to me that we’re open.”

You nodded, squeezing his hands back. “I promise. No more secrets.”

Spencer smiled slightly, his frustration easing. He let out a deep breath, feeling the tension leave his body. For a moment, he considered telling you about his past—about the addiction, the drug tests, everything that Strauss had thrown at him earlier. But when he looked into your eyes, remembering the way you spoke about your family, the raw pain in your voice, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet. He didn’t want to burden you with it, not when things were finally starting to feel right between you.

“Let’s just... enjoy dinner,” Spencer finally said, a small smile playing on his lips as he pulled you closer into a hug. “I’m sorry for bringing it up like that. I should’ve waited.”

You sighed in relief, burying your face in his chest. “No, I’m glad you did. I don’t want to keep anything from you either.”

You both held each other for a moment longer, letting the tension fade as the warmth of your embrace brought back a sense of normalcy. Spencer kissed the top of your head before stepping back and heading into the kitchen, ready to move forward, even if some things were still left unsaid—for now.

—

Just a few weeks later, Spencer finally had a full weekend off, he decided it was the perfect opportunity for a little getaway. He packed up everything—yourself, Poof, and plenty of supplies—and whisked you away to a cozy Airbnb nestled by the lake. 

You could hardly contain your excitement, bubbling over at the thought of spending uninterrupted time with your two favorite guys. Spencer had asked you to drive while he took charge of navigation, and the car ride was nothing short of a delight. 

“Turn left here, darling,” Spencer instructed with an air of confidence.

"Are you sure it’s not right?" you teased, feigning confusion as you gripped the wheel.

Spencer let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head with mock exasperation. “I’m positive. I do have an eidetic memory, you know.”

“Well, if we get lost, I’m holding that memory of yours accountable!” you shot back playfully, a smile spreading across both your faces.

When you finally pulled up to the lake house, you couldn't help but gasp. It was picturesque—a beautiful, quaint cabin surrounded by towering trees, with the glistening lake stretching out in the background. 

The look of pride on Spencer’s face at your reaction made your heart swell. You were completely and utterly in love. As you stood there, taking in the stunning view and the sheer thoughtfulness of his planning, you felt like this weekend was the right moment to finally tell him how you truly felt.

That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you and Spencer moved seamlessly through the cozy kitchen, putting together the perfect comfort meal of grilled cheese and tomato soup. Poof danced happily around your feet, always at the ready for any fallen scraps. The two of you playfully bumped hips, stole soup-covered kisses, and teased each other in the warm glow of the cabin’s lights.

After dinner, which was full of laughter and mock arguments over who could make the better grilled cheese, you cleared the table together, setting up a chessboard for a battle of wits. You knew Spencer was a prodigy, but still, you had hope. The first few rounds were... well, an obvious defeat. But then, to your surprise, you managed to win. Once. Twice. And then three times in a row! What you didn’t know was that Spencer was letting you win, his resolve crumbling at the sight of your frustrated pout. He’d pretend to mull over a move for far longer than needed, before “accidentally” making a poor choice that would lead to your victory.

Eventually, you’d had enough of the mental sparring, and Spencer’s kisses grew softer and deeper. Together, you moved outside to the wooden deck, wrapped up under a blanket, the stars reflecting in the lake’s glassy surface. The night air was crisp and fresh, a gentle breeze brushing your cheeks as you cuddled closer. 

Spencer pointed upward, tracing his finger along the sky, excitedly talking about constellations, their names, and the myths behind them. But you weren’t looking at the stars—your eyes were on him, captivated by the way his face glowed in the moonlight, his passion lighting up every word he spoke.

Without thinking, feeling overwhelmed by the moment and the deep love that filled your chest, you whispered, “I love you.”

The words felt like they hung in the air, sparkling and true under the canopy of stars.

Spencer’s face lit up as he tilted down toward you, and in that moment, it seemed as if the stars had all come to rest in his eyes, twinkling brightly with wonder and adoration. His voice was soft but filled with an almost childlike excitement, the kind reserved for a Christmas morning surprise, “Really?”

“Really,” you assured him, voice steady, your gaze never wavering from his, allowing the truth of your feelings to shine through. 

He swallowed, searching your eyes as if trying to imprint every detail of this moment into his mind. “You love me?” he asked again, needing the confirmation, the words sounding so surreal to him.

“I love you, Spencer Walter Reid,” you declared, each word measured and intentional, and you watched as joy transformed his features, his eyes closing briefly in overwhelming happiness.

The next thing you felt was Spencer’s lips on yours, pressing gently at first, the kiss filled with all the tenderness and unspoken words you’d both kept hidden until now. It was sweet, slow, and beautiful, and you could feel Spencer trembling slightly, as if holding back everything he wanted to say with his lips alone. He pulled back just a breath, letting his forehead rest on yours as he whispered with a trembling smile, “I love you too.”

And then he dove back in for more—kisses deeper, breaths heavier. Your hands tangled in his hair, his fingers tracing the contours of your back, pressing you closer until there was no space left between you. What started as slow and sweet quickly turned heated, and Spencer’s kisses grew hungrier, his tongue tasting every part of your mouth, his hands wandering further down.

It was only when you felt the cool night air on your exposed skin that you giggled and gently pulled back, breathing heavily against his lips. “We’re outside, baby,” you murmured, your voice a mix of breathlessness and warning.

Spencer hummed, the sound vibrating through his chest, and with a playful smirk, he pulled you to your feet, not letting your lips part from his. “Then we’d better get inside,” he said, his voice low and urgent, the promise of more lingering in the air as he led you toward the warmth of the cabin, hands intertwined, the night just beginning.

As you were guided along by Spencer's eager hand, your laughter filled the small cabin, echoing off the wooden beams of the cozy bedroom. The room itself was warm, glowing with the soft hues of amber light from the fireplace, its crackling flames adding to the perfect atmosphere. The bed looked irresistibly inviting, its blankets perfectly rumpled in a way that made you want to dive right in. But what really made the room perfect was Spencer—his face lighting up in a way you’d rarely seen before, his exaggerated wink playful and filled with the purest joy. 

When Spencer sat on the edge of the bed and stretched his arms out for you, you wasted no time stepping into his embrace, your body molding perfectly into the space between his legs as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, leaning into the warmth of him. He buried his face in your chest, his voice muffled but filled with emotion as he mumbled, “I love you so much.”

You smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head as you teased softly, “I love you more.”

Spencer shook his head immediately, hair brushing your chin and sending little shivers down your spine. “Not possible,” he declared, his voice firm, like he was making a statement that was undeniable.

“Oh, I don’t know, baby,” you taunted lightly, trying to stifle the grin that was spreading across your face. But Spencer pulled back, his eyes locking with yours in a way that made you feel like the only person in the world. 

A look of challenge danced across his features, his brows lifting as he quirked a smirk at you. “You don’t believe me?” he asked, voice deepening with a teasing edge.

You shook your head, biting your lip to keep from laughing, a playful glint in your eyes. And in a flash, Spencer’s face morphed into one of mischievous determination. “Oh, you little—” he began, his voice dripping with affectionate frustration as he quickly flipped your positions, pushing you back onto the bed and towering over you.

“Spencer!” you squealed in laughter, propping yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him as he tossed his shirt aside without a second thought, revealing his smooth chest. He leaned over you, caging you in with his arms on either side of your head, and his face was so close you could feel the warmth of his breath fanning across your lips.

“Shh,” he whispered with a smirk, “I have to show you how much I love you.” And with those words, you knew that every second of this weekend together would be filled with a love so fierce, so genuine, that it was going to be impossible not to fall for him all over again.

Spencer's mouth moved eagerly down your neck, his lips trailing soft, warm kisses that made your skin tingle in their wake. He nipped at your earlobe, tugging it gently between his teeth, and the sensation drew a light, breathy moan from you, your back arching ever so slightly into him. The sound seemed to spur him on, and he continued his descent, pausing to suck gently on your pulse point as his hands explored your sides, fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your waist.

When his hands found the hem of your top, he slowly pushed it upward, his palms grazing your ribs, sending shivers through you. You let out a sigh, already feeling yourself melt under his touch, and obediently raised your arms so he could remove the fabric entirely, leaving you bare from the waist up. Spencer's eyes darkened with desire, and you could see the way his lips parted slightly as he took you in, your form illuminated by the soft glow of the room.

“No bra?” he asked, a teasing edge to his voice, though his gaze was nothing short of reverent as it roved over your body. One brow quirked up in curiosity, his lips twitching in a smirk.

You laughed, a breathy, contented sound, shrugging as you met his gaze. “I’m on vacation.”

Spencer's smirk widened, and he nosed his way down between your breasts, inhaling deeply as if savoring your scent. His lips brushed against your skin in a whisper of a kiss. “I knew it was a good idea bringing you here,” he murmured against your skin, his voice husky with want and affection. 

And as he continued his exploration of your body with his mouth and hands, you were filled with warmth and a sense of belonging, knowing that this was exactly where you were meant to be—with him.

The sensation of Spencer’s mouth on your skin sent sparks throughout your body, your breath hitching as his lips closed around your nipple, sucking gently. You arched your back instinctively, pressing yourself closer to his mouth, wanting more, needing more. He hummed contentedly, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure right through you. 

His tongue swirled around the sensitive bud, switching between flicking and gentle sucking that had you gripping the sheets beneath you, your fingers twisting into the soft fabric as your eyes fluttered shut. Every movement was slow, deliberate, and filled with devotion, as if he was determined to savor every second of your pleasure. 

As he worshiped your breast, his free hand trailed down your side, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, fingers feather-light against your skin. You could feel the warmth of his touch through the thin fabric of your shorts, and when his fingers brushed the waistband, your hips bucked upward, desperate for more contact. 

Spencer’s lips left your breast with a soft pop, his breath warm and ragged as he whispered against your skin, “You taste so good... I could do this forever.”

His words, filled with awe and passion, made you moan in response, threading your fingers through his hair and holding him close to you. And you didn't want him to stop; you wanted every touch, every kiss, every second of his attention to be on you, completely and utterly lost in the moment together.

Spencer’s lips found yours again, kissing you deeply, hungrily, as if he was trying to pour all the love he felt into every brush and caress. You sighed into his mouth, your own hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, if that was even possible. And then, as if reading your mind, you felt his hand venture downward, fingers slipping under the waistband of your bottoms, and you gasped at the intimate touch, the sensation so electric it made your toes curl.

“Fuck,” Spencer breathed against your lips, his voice heavy with awe and desire. “You’re so wet.”

The sound of his voice saying those words sent a shiver straight through your core, and you whined softly, squirming under his touch, desperate for more. Your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking his fingers, trying to guide him where you needed him most. “Spence, baby,” you whined again, your voice breathy and pleading as you pressed kisses to his jaw, “please...”

His eyes met yours, dark and full of hunger, and he gave you a little smirk, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. “Tell me what you need, darling,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over yours as his fingers teased just outside your lips, keeping you on the edge of wanting. “Let me hear you say it.”

Your breath hitched, his teasing making you ache with longing. “I need you, Spence,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I need you to touch me, please.” 

He hummed approvingly against your mouth, giving you a tender kiss before letting his fingers dip down, finally giving you what you so desperately craved. His touch was slow, deliberate, but his eyes never left yours, wanting to see every reaction as his fingers entered you.

You had anticipated the gentle, lingering touches from the last time, but Spencer had other plans. The tenderness was gone in an instant, replaced by an urgent, almost primal need to make you fall apart in his hands. The pace he set was relentless—his fingers moved in and out of you hard and fast, pushing deeper each time, and the sensation of his palm rubbing against you with every thrust was electrifying.

“Spencer—oh god!” you cried out, gripping the sheets beneath you in a white-knuckled grasp. He wasn’t just touching you—he was consuming you, each movement of his hand pulling you closer and closer to the edge, a chaotic frenzy that left you breathless. Every stroke sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, leaving you trembling beneath him.

His lips crashed against yours in a hungry kiss, all tongue and teeth, as he groaned into your mouth. “I love watching you like this,” he whispered against your lips before sucking on your lower one, his voice a low, heady drawl. “Falling apart on my fingers...”

The overwhelming sensation of Spencer’s fingers moving within you, the roughness of his palm pressing against you just right with every thrust, made you see stars. Your back arched off the bed, desperate for more, nails digging into his back, dragging red lines down his skin. You could barely speak, your words spilling out in choked, breathless cries. “Spencer—fuck—”

He leaned down, his mouth right at your ear, his breath hot as he spoke, voice dripping with husky intensity. “Does that feel good, baby?”

You nodded fervently, unable to form coherent words as you surrendered to the relentless pleasure. “Uh huh,” you managed to pant out, a whimper escaping your lips as your hips bucked wildly to meet the rhythm of his hand. 

His grin was wicked as he watched you unravel beneath him, knowing exactly how his touch was driving you to the edge. His fingers never faltered, pushing deeper and faster, and the friction of his palm rubbing against your sensitive skin was enough to make you tremble. “I can feel you tightening up around me,” he murmured, voice low and dripping with lust. “Are you gonna come for me, love?”

You let out a desperate, needy moan, the pressure building to an unbearable peak, and all you could do was nod frantically, your eyes squeezing shut as the coil inside you tightened, ready to snap. “Yes, yes, I’m—I'm so close—”

You felt dizzy with the rush of it all, the world around you spinning as he drove you further toward that cliff of pure, euphoric release. You weren't sure how long you could hold out; your body felt on fire, the pleasure bordering on overwhelming. Each breath was a gasp, each moan louder than the last, and all you could think about was how badly you needed to fall over that edge. “Spence—I’m gonna—I can’t—”

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice rough and laced with raw desire. “Let go, Y/N. Come for me, right now.” His pace quickened even further, and you knew you wouldn’t last a second longer. And you didn’t, completely unraveling at his words, your body arching up into his as waves of pleasure surged through you. Your moans filled the room, raw and unrestrained, and he never stopped, his fingers working you through the intensity of your release.

You trembled beneath him, your legs shaking as the last waves of your orgasm washed over you. Spencer looked at you, eyes filled with pride and wonder, like he’d never seen anything more beautiful than you coming undone because of him.

Slowly, he withdrew his fingers, gently caressing your trembling thighs as you caught your breath. He brought his fingers to his mouth, his eyes locked on yours as he cleaned them off with his tongue, tasting you again. The sight sent a renewed thrill through you, and all you could do was reach up and pull him down for a hungry kiss, needing to feel him against you, to taste yourself on his lips.

“Thought you couldn’t finish like that?” Spencer teased, his voice low and playful, recalling the first time he'd touched you like this.

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head in pure bliss. “I didn’t think I could,” you admitted with a grin. Then, in a teasing tone, you added, “Have you been practicing? Should I be worried?”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, and he quickly looked away, suddenly bashful. “N-nope. I just—uh, did some... research.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to hold back another laugh as you saw the shyness in his eyes. “Research, huh?” you asked, leaning in closer. “What kind of research, Doctor? Did you... watch porn?”

Spencer’s blush deepened, and he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Maybe... a little,” he admitted in a soft mumble. “But only to—to learn, for you,” he added quickly, his eyes meeting yours with genuine sincerity.

You couldn't help but laugh softly, a warm, affectionate sound as you reached out to run your fingers through his hair. “Oh, my sweet genius,” you teased gently, cupping his face and turning him back to look at you. “You did all that research just for me? That’s so... adorable.”

His eyes finally met yours, a mixture of pride and lingering shyness in his expression. “It worked, then?” he asked cautiously, almost as if he needed reassurance.

“Oh, it definitely worked,” you replied, grinning widely before leaning in to kiss him sweetly. “And for the record,” you murmured against his lips, “if you want to keep up the research, I’m all for it.”

Spencer chuckled softly, his earlier nerves melting away as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. “In that case,” he said, a playful gleam in his eye, “I have a few more things I could show you.”

“Oh yeah?” you teased back, raising an eyebrow and grinning. “Whatcha got for me, big boy?”

The nickname made him blush a deep pink, but he just rolled his eyes in that familiar, affectionate way before letting his hands roam down to your hips. With gentle care, he slipped off your bottoms, leaving you bare before him. You stayed silent, feeling a mixture of excitement and anticipation flood through you as Spencer stood and began to remove the rest of his clothes.

The moment his pants came off, you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips, your eyes widening at the sight before you. “Spence?” you breathed out, your voice filled with both surprise and desire.

He grinned sheepishly, clearly trying to play it cool, but you could see the boyish excitement behind his eyes. Then, as if remembering something important, he reached down into his pants pocket and pulled out a small foil packet, holding it up with a charming smile and revealing a condom.

“I thought... I’m ready,” he said, his voice steady but filled with tenderness.

Your smile softened at his words, and you felt your heart swell with warmth and affection. “Yeah?” you replied sweetly, opening your arms to him. “I’m ready too.”

Spencer crawled back onto the bed, moving into your embrace, his body fitting perfectly against yours. His breath was warm against your skin as he leaned in closer, and with so much love in his voice, he whispered, “I want you to be my first.”

Your hand caressed his cheek, your thumb gently brushing against his soft skin. “Hopefully your last too,” you whispered back, sealing your words with a deep, passionate kiss, your bodies melting together under the glow of the soft lamplight.

“Do you need help putting the condom on, baby?” you asked, your voice sweet and full of kindness.

Spencer's cheeks flushed a light pink as he shook his head. “I, uh, I might have practiced,” he admitted sheepishly.

You couldn’t help but giggle, your heart swelling with even more affection. “How is it possible to keep loving you more and more every second?” you asked, the sincerity clear in your voice.

Spencer chuckled, leaning in to kiss you deeply, letting his lips linger against yours for a moment before he pulled back. He focused intently on rolling the condom on, and you found the way he bit his tongue in concentration absolutely endearing. It was a small detail, but it only made you fall deeper for him. 

When he finished, he looked back up at you, his eyes filled with that gentle, earnest love you’d come to know so well. “How do you want me?” you asked softly, wanting to make this perfect for him, for both of you.

Spencer’s gaze softened even more, and his hand came up to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “Just like this,” he murmured, his voice low and full of warmth. “I want to see you, all of you.”

You gave him a reassuring smile, opening your legs and wrapping them around his waist, pulling him closer. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you, your bodies close and your hearts even closer.

As Spencer’s tip teased through your slick folds, you couldn't help but let out a high, keening sound, the sensation electrifying. Spencer’s own response was a low groan, the vibration of his voice adding to the intensity between you. 

His brow furrowed slightly as he tried to keep control, feeling how ready you were for him. “I’m... probably not going to last long,” he admitted, his voice laced with nervousness and excitement.

You reached up to cup his cheek, pulling his gaze to yours, offering the softest smile. “I don’t care, Spence,” you said, your voice steady and full of love. “I just want to be with you.”

Spencer’s eyes softened even more, and he nodded, more to himself than to you, as if to reassure his own nerves. Slowly, carefully, he lined himself up, and with a gentle, deep breath, he began to push in. 

The feeling was overwhelming for both of you — he was entranced by the heat and tightness enveloping him, and you were spellbound by the fullness of having him inside you for the first time. You both let out soft gasps, your hands finding his as you squeezed tightly, tethering each other through the rush of emotion and sensation. 

He paused for a moment, buried to the hilt, his forehead resting against yours as you both breathed together, as one. “You feel… unbelievable,” he whispered, his voice full of wonder, as if he couldn't believe this was really happening.

“Fuck, baby, I’ve never been this full,” you moaned, your voice thick with pleasure and awe at the way he stretched and filled you so perfectly. 

“Shit, Y/N,” Spencer groaned, his hips already making shallow, instinctual thrusts as he tried to hold himself back. “You can’t say that—” he panted, feeling your words shoot straight through him. “This will be over way too fast.” He looked down at you, the flush of his cheeks meeting the pink of his lips, and the way his face was contorted in bliss made you tighten around him. You couldn’t help it. The way he was falling apart so easily was the hottest thing you'd ever seen. 

“Fuck!” he shouted, his control slipping as he pounded a fist into the pillow beside your head, burying his face against your neck for a moment. “Can I—can I move?” His breath was ragged and desperate. “I need to move. Please.”

You nodded frantically, needing him just as much, your hands sliding down his back to grip his hips, urging him to let go. “Fuck me, Spence,” you whispered right against his ear, your voice soft yet commanding. And that was all the permission he needed. 

He started moving, pulling out just enough to feel the drag of your walls before thrusting back in, his rhythm quick and needy. He was lost in the feeling of you, and each movement sent waves of pleasure through both of you, driving him closer to the edge with every stroke.

Spencer’s hips moved steadily, finding a rhythm that left both of you breathless. He surprised himself, really, the way his body instinctively knew how to take care of you, how to give you everything he could in each thrust. The intensity between you built, hot and fast, with every roll of his hips, with every gasp and moan that filled the small, cozy room.

You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, anchoring him to you like you never wanted to let go. Your arms wrapped around his neck, bringing his forehead against yours as the pleasure built between you, the closeness of your bodies only deepening the connection you felt. “I love you,” you whispered right into his ear, your voice trembling as you said the words that were so true and so filled with emotion it made your eyes sting with happy tears.

Spencer’s eyes fluttered shut at your words, his breath hitching before he responded, “I love you too, darling.” And then he kissed you—deeply, passionately, like you were his entire world and nothing else mattered. His lips moved with urgency, soft and fervent, as his pace quickened, thrusting deeper and more desperate, as if he was pouring everything he felt into you, wanting you to feel every bit of his love with each motion. The world outside seemed to fade away, and it was just the two of you, wrapped in love and warmth and the sweetest kind of bliss.

Spencer's mind was racing, but finally, his instincts kicked in, sending him a signal—an idea of exactly what you needed. He wanted to make sure that you felt everything, that he was giving you all the pleasure he could. With a slight adjustment, he pulled back just enough to slide a hand down to where the two of you met, his fingers deftly finding your clit and rubbing in quick, steady circles.

“Oh!” you cried out, your whole body jolting with the sudden burst of pleasure. Your back arched high off the bed, presenting your chest to Spencer like a gift he was eager to receive. Without a moment’s hesitation, his mouth found your breast, wrapping his lips around your nipple and sucking, the combination of sensations sending sparks down to your very core.

The feeling was overwhelming—Spencer’s hips driving into you in a rhythm that felt just right, his fingers working you to the brink, and his mouth hot and wet on your sensitive skin. Your moans filled the room, your fingers burying themselves in his hair, pulling him closer as your entire body trembled, the edge of release so close you could almost taste it.

“Oh my god—oh, god!” you screamed, your voice breaking as the pleasure built to its peak. “Fuck, I’m gonna come!” And then it hit—your core clenched around Spencer with such intensity that he nearly lost his rhythm, almost slipping out of you as your body reached its climax. 

And if Spencer thought you felt amazing before, now? Now, with your release, everything felt heightened, your walls fluttering around him, tightening and then loosening in waves that left him gasping. The slickness of your arousal made every thrust so much easier, so much more electric, that it sent shockwaves through his entire body. It wasn’t long before the overwhelming sensation tipped him over the edge, and his pace grew erratic, desperate, until he reached his own peak.

“Oh, fuck,” he panted, his voice strained with pleasure as he thrust one last time, burying himself as deeply as he could. “Shit, baby, fuck, I—I’m coming,” he stuttered, his eyes squeezing shut as he let go, every muscle in his body tensing before his release washed over him in shuddering waves.

His head fell to the crook of your neck as he finished, holding you close, both of you breathless and trembling in the aftershocks, your bodies slick with sweat and blissed out from the intensity of it all. Spencer stayed there, still buried inside of you, both of you just holding each other in the soft glow of the room, relishing the warmth, the closeness, the love.

The rest of the weekend passed in a blissful haze, wrapped in kisses, long cuddles, and moments of intimacy that made you feel closer than ever. Spencer shared his own stories, some quirky, some heartfelt, while you let him into corners of your past that had remained sealed for years.

One evening, as you were snuggled into his chest, the comforting scent of him surrounding you, you whispered something that had been tugging at the edges of your mind all weekend. “Aunt Erin started the nickname Red…” you murmured, your voice soft against the rise and fall of Spencer’s breathing. He said nothing but tightened his arms around you, letting you know he was listening. 

“But Mom and Dad called me Red too,” you continued, voice cracking slightly at the memories. “For Mom, it was a term of endearment, something she shared with her sister. It felt special... warm.” You paused, taking in a deep breath. “But for Dad… it was manipulative. He used it like some sort of charm, thinking if he called me by a special name, I’d forget everything—the pain, the anger—and welcome him back with open arms.” You swallowed, feeling the lump in your throat. “And then my sister... she started using it too. Only when she needed something—money, a place to crash. For a long time, it was tainted for me, a reminder of everything I wanted to forget.”

Spencer’s thumb stroked soothingly over your arm as you spoke, his quiet presence grounding you. “But you… you revived it for me,” you said finally, looking up into his warm, understanding eyes. “When you call me Red, it feels like it means something good again.” 

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as he whispered, “I’ll always make sure it means something good. I promise.” 

You let out a shaky breath, a mix of relief and contentment washing over you. In that little lakeside haven, all that existed was the two of you and the love you shared—everything else just melted away.

—

The trip was exactly what both of you needed. A chance to unwind, to just be together without the pressures of everyday life. When you returned the next day, Spencer was quick to ask if you could drop Poof off at your place and then come back to his apartment. He claimed it was just in case he got called away for a case in the middle of the night and needed to be near his things. But you knew better—it was really because he loved the way his sheets smelled like you when you were gone.

You didn’t argue, though. After all, the feeling was mutual, and you cherished any excuse to be wrapped up in Spencer’s space. So you made the trip back home, feeding Poof, and then promptly returned to his place to settle in for a relaxed night. The morning came too quickly, and he left for work with a gentle kiss pressed to your forehead and a spare key taped to the fridge with a note: “For whenever you need it. –S.”

Later, after you finally pulled yourself from the cozy bed and began to get ready for your day, you found yourself wandering around Spencer’s apartment, making coffee and searching for your favorite sweatshirt of his—the one that was ridiculously oversized, the one you loved to wrap yourself up in. Usually, it was draped over the back of the couch or hanging near the door, but today it was nowhere to be seen.

Thinking it might have just ended up back in his closet, you made your way there, rummaging through his neatly hung clothes. And there it was, folded on a shelf like it had been waiting for you. You reached for the familiar fabric, feeling the comforting softness in your hands, but as you moved it, something else caught your eye—a small box tucked away behind the stack of sweaters.

Your stomach twisted into knots when you read the label: Dilaudid

No. No, no, no. You felt your blood run cold, and for a moment, you were on autopilot. Hands trembling, you reached for the box and placed it on the bed, the world around you narrowing to just that single object. When you opened the lid, a flurry of papers greeted you—hospital discharge summaries, case files, rehab forms, and NA slips—all bearing Spencer’s name. Each one a piece of a puzzle you didn’t know existed, each one revealing a part of Spencer you had never seen before.

Your breathing grew shallow as you flipped through them, the weight of their contents heavy in your hands, in your heart. You knew what all of this meant; you'd lived through the nightmare of addiction with your own family. And then, as if that wasn’t enough to send your world spiraling, you found it—an unopened needle and a vial of Dilaudid. Enough to kill someone, enough to hurt, enough to drag someone back into the darkness you'd spent your whole life trying to escape.

Your world felt like it had tilted on its axis, everything you knew and trusted suddenly thrown into question. One thing you knew for certain—you couldn’t spend another second in Spencer’s apartment. You needed space to think, and every second you stayed in the apartment, surrounded by the echoes of this newfound reality, the more suffocating it felt. 

Quickly, you collected your things—your bag, your phone, absolutely not the sweatshirt that now felt so wrong to hold—and with a trembling hand, you grabbed the key Spencer had left on the fridge. As you locked the door behind you, a cold finality settled in, but then you just stood there, staring at the little gold key in your hand, paralyzed by indecision.

Do I leave it? Take it? Do I even want to come back here? Could there possibly be a good reason for why Spencer had kept this from me, for why he had hidden this massive part of himself? Your thoughts spiraled, but you couldn’t find a single strand to cling to.

Finally, shaking your head, you made your decision. You slid the key under the door, hearing the tiny scrape of metal on wood as it disappeared into the apartment you had thought was your safe place. And then you ran, down the stairs, through the lobby, to your car. You didn’t let yourself feel anything until you were back in your own home, the door shutting behind you like the closing of a chapter you didn’t know if you could reopen.

Sliding down to the floor, you hugged your knees to your chest and sobbed. All the memories came rushing back—the nights of worry, the fear of losing someone to the relentless pull of addiction, the feeling of not knowing what each day would bring. Even if Spencer wasn’t using now, even if this was something from his past, it didn’t stop the memories of your family from crashing over you like a tidal wave, dragging you under.

Poof, sensing your distress, padded over to you and rubbed his warm body against you, a small comfort in the chaos. He curled up in your lap, purring as you wrapped an arm around him, trying to steady your ragged breathing.

After what felt like hours, when the tears had finally slowed to silent streams, you wanted to call Aunt Erin, to demand answers, to understand. But the thought of telling her how you found out—of potentially risking Spencer’s job and livelihood—made you hesitate. And so you stayed there, on the floor of your apartment, crying softly as Poof purred in your lap, the comforting vibration of his presence the only thing grounding you in that moment.

—

Spencer had been looking forward to this moment all day—the idea of coming home to you, imagining what it would be like to share a space, to fall into that soft domesticity he craved so much. He fumbled with his keys, finally getting the door open, and stepped inside. “Y/N?” he called out, his voice echoing slightly in the empty apartment. No response. Maybe you were napping? “Darling?” he tried again, a little louder this time, hoping to hear your sweet voice drift in from another room.

The silence felt heavy, like something was wrong, but Spencer tried not to jump to conclusions. He wandered to the bedroom to change, figuring he could call you and ask if you were just out running an errand. But when he walked in, he immediately saw it—the box. It sat wide open on the bed, papers scattered as if someone had frantically sifted through it. 

All the air seemed to leave the room in that moment. Spencer’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat heavy and frantic, echoing in his ears as if the walls themselves were closing in. He rushed to the bed, hands shaking as he tried to close the box, to somehow undo what had been done. But it was too late. You had found it. You knew.

Fumbling for his phone, he tried calling you, hand slick with sweat as he pressed your contact and held it to his ear. The line rang, and rang, and rang until your voicemail picked up. “Hey, it’s Y/N, leave a message and—” Beep. 

He tried again, then again, desperation mounting with each missed call. “Y/N, please call me back. Just—just call me back, okay?” Each voice message grew more frantic, more pleading as he left you one after another, interspersed with shaky, jumbled texts trying to explain, trying to beg for a chance to talk.

Eventually, when it was clear you weren’t going to answer, Spencer felt his heart sink to depths he hadn’t known existed. You had shut him out. He was drowning in his own panic, guilt clawing at his insides like a living thing, and he felt like he had nowhere to go—no way to reach you, no way to make this right.

Swallowing thickly, and feeling like his pride was an irrelevant casualty in the wake of losing you, he called the only person who might know how to get through to you. “Agent Reid?” Strauss's voice was clipped, professional, and instantly cold. 

He tried to speak, but his voice cracked on the first word. “Strauss, it’s—it's Y/N, she found... everything. It was an accident. Please, just—can you check on her? I don't know where she is, I—” His voice broke, desperation clawing through the line.

Strauss let out a long, slow sigh. “You’re a moron,” she said simply, and then the line went dead. No reassurance. No promise to help. And that silence was the worst of all.

That night, Spencer barely moved from his spot on the bed. He sat, still fully dressed in his work clothes, the fabric wrinkling under the weight of his exhaustion as he curled around his phone, holding onto it like a lifeline. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot from the tears that he couldn’t stop, the grief for what he feared he’d lost seeping into every pore. 

The box still sat on the bed, its presence an accusation. A reminder of everything he had hidden, everything he might now lose. And in that moment, it felt like the walls of his apartment were closing in, trapping him in the silence of his own regret.

The morning light brought no solace to Spencer as he dragged himself out of bed, the weight of the previous day hanging over him like a storm cloud. His eyes were gritty and raw from the lack of sleep, his mouth dry as he went through the motions of getting ready for work, each step automatic. Splash water on the face. Brush teeth. Dress. His phone sat on the counter, silent—no new messages from you. Just the one from Strauss.

My office, first thing.

The words filled him with dread, and as he walked into the office, each step felt like he was dragging lead weights tied to his feet. When he reached Strauss’s office, she was already seated behind her desk, her expression a vicious, unreadable mask. He took the chair across from her, his back stiff as he prepared for the worst. 

“I spoke with Y/N,” Strauss said, her voice clipped, cutting like ice. Even just hearing your name was a punch to the gut. He winced, bracing himself. He had to know—whatever the truth was, he had to hear it. “And?” he managed to ask, the word barely a whisper, as if speaking louder would make it all too real.

Strauss’s gaze was sharp, unforgiving. “I’m not speaking as your unit chief when I say this—you fucked up, Spencer.”

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Spencer’s worst fear was crashing down around him. He could already feel the numbness setting in, dulling the pain, shutting down every emotion except the guilt that gnawed at his insides like acid. “She doesn’t want to see you,” Strauss continued, and though the words were steady and cold, each one landed like a bullet. 

He nodded, his throat too tight to speak. There was nothing else to say, nothing to do but stand and leave, holding on to the last shred of composure he had left. Every step out of Strauss’s office was heavier than the last, each stride echoing in his ears as he made his way to his desk. He threw himself into his work with ferocity, desperate for a distraction, any distraction, to fill the void.

Meanwhile, miles away, you sat staring blankly at your laptop screen, trying to focus on the lines of code that blurred in front of you. But your mind was tangled in a mess of thoughts and questions, none of which had answers. What was he going to do with that dose? Is he still using? Was he going to use it all at once? Was he going to use it on me, like Dad did to Mom?

You hated how the questions came unbidden, every fear of your past dragging itself to the surface like an unrelenting tide. You couldn’t help but remember the night you found your parents—your father, using drugs to take your mother away. The thought that Spencer could be carrying anything like that darkness, even the slightest potential for harm, made your heart twist in agony. You loved him, but did you really know him? Could you trust him, after this? 

Every answer felt just out of reach, and all you could do was sit there, heart heavy and confused, trying to make sense of it all while feeling like the ground had dropped out from under your feet.

—

Three months had passed, a stretch of time that had felt both impossibly long and painfully short to Spencer. Three months since you’d walked out of his apartment, since the wall he’d carefully built around his heart had crumbled, since he’d been able to see you, touch you, speak with you. The only thing that got him through each day was work, the relentless cases that pulled him into the minds of others and away from his own chaos. But even then, in the rare moments of quiet, you still lingered in his thoughts.

Today, however, even work couldn’t serve as a distraction. Derek leaned on the edge of his desk, the grin on his face faltering when Spencer didn't meet his eyes. “Look, man,” Derek said, his tone soft, with that note of understanding that made Spencer want to crawl out of his own skin. “I know you’ve been bummed after your breakup with Y/N, but the team is going out tonight. You should come, it might cheer you up.”

Derek’s words, although well-intentioned, felt like a punch in the gut. He knew Derek meant well, and that the rest of the team did too, but they didn’t know the real reason things ended. Spencer couldn't tell them; it wasn’t just his story to share. He couldn’t explain the heartbreak that came from the discovery, the misunderstanding, the silence. All he could do was shake his head, eyes downcast as he muttered, “I’m good, man. Thanks though.”

Derek sighed deeply, clearly not ready to give up. “I didn’t want to have to do this,” he said, cracking his knuckles in a display of mock intimidation. “But if you don’t come out tonight, I’ll tell Penelope that you’re the one who spilled coffee on her favorite keyboard.”

Spencer’s head whipped around so fast he almost cricked his neck, his eyes wide with horror. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would, kid,” Derek nodded seriously, his expression deadpan but the mischief unmistakable in his eyes.

Spencer could see there was no way out. Derek had cornered him, and he knew Penelope’s wrath was something to be avoided at all costs. “Fine,” he conceded, huffing out a breath. “But only for a bit.”

Derek’s victorious fist pump made him chuckle despite himself. “Yes! You won’t regret it, Reid. We’ll have a blast, just wait.”

And so, later that evening, Spencer found himself tucked into a booth at the team's favorite bar, nursing a drink that burned his throat but warmed his insides. The atmosphere was light, almost buoyant—stories were exchanged, laughter flowed as freely as the drinks, and for once, he found himself genuinely enjoying the company without the constant ache that had settled in his chest since you left.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Spencer was starting to feel something close to relaxed. The chatter around the table and the warmth of his friends seemed to ease some of the tension in his body, if only for a little while. He could breathe, even laugh at times, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like maybe—just maybe—things could be okay again.

As the team sat around their booth, the energy high and the laughter loud, Spencer was oblivious to what was about to unfold. It wasn't until Derek's loud whistle pierced the air, catching everyone's attention, that he noticed something had shifted. 

“Damn, who is that fine lady?” Derek smirked, his eyes fixed on a woman who was strutting across the bar in a purple dress that left little to the imagination. 

“God, that dress is basically lingerie,” Emily leaned in to whisper, sounding a mix of admiration and awe. “I want it.”

The team shared quick glances, some amused, some appreciative of the daring outfit that hugged the woman's body perfectly. Even Spencer's eyes lingered, caught by the vibrant shade of purple—his favorite color. She looked like she had stepped out of a dream, a vision of elegance and seduction that was hard to look away from. But her face was hidden beneath waves of hair, and the dim bar lighting made it difficult to make out her features.

After a few moments of admiring glances, the conversation returned to its usual flow—until a table of rowdy men called out loudly, catcalling and beckoning the woman over. As she walked closer, the team finally got a good look at her face, and all their eyes widened in shock. 

It was you.

Spencer’s heart dropped to his stomach, but he didn’t even have a chance to process what was happening before Derek nudged him sharply. He pointed in your direction, where you were now leaning over the table of men, the dress dangerously low-cut, and your cleavage all too exposed. For a moment, the sight of you, dressed so provocatively and surrounded by a group of ogling strangers, felt like a punch to his chest.

Without thinking, and fueled by the anger and confusion that came crashing over him like a wave, Spencer stood abruptly. He didn’t care about the table’s booing or the way the men protested as he stormed over. All he could think about was getting you away from them. He grabbed your arm and yanked you back, his grip firm, his eyes blazing. 

"Come with me," he demanded, his voice low and tight with emotions he didn’t know how to name.

You laughed as Spencer dragged you outside the bar, letting the breeze hit your face, the night air cool against your flushed cheeks. But as the realization of who was gripping your arm sunk in, the smile fell away. 

“Spencer! What the hell! Let me go!” you snapped, pulling your arm away and shaking him off with all the force you could muster.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he spat, his voice filled with anger and... something else you couldn’t quite place—hurt, maybe?

You only laughed bitterly in response, the sound sharp and humorless. “Oh, you mean besides getting dragged around by a liar? What are you doing?” You met his gaze defiantly, your words dripping with contempt.

Spencer’s eyes narrowed as he searched your face, noticing for the first time the redness in your eyes, the slight glaze that wasn't quite right. “Are you... Are you high?” His tone was almost disbelieving, as if he couldn't fathom what he was seeing.

You nodded exaggeratedly, barely stifling another giggle. “As a kite.”

His anger flared again, and he practically yelled, “Are you kidding me? You hate drugs! You hate everything to do with them, and now you’re... using?”

“It’s just weed, Spencer!” you shot back, your voice loud and edged with frustration. “Sorry if I needed to relax! I’ve had a lot on my mind, okay?” 

Spencer paused for a moment, clearly wrestling with how to respond, his eyes flickering between you and the ground. He opened his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it, your words spilling out with no filter, no restraint.

“What were you going to do with that dose, huh?” you challenged, your voice shaking. “Were you going to kill me, just like my daddy?”

The words hung in the air like a slap, and Spencer’s face paled, the color draining away as if you’d punched him. “Y/N, no. God, no—I... I don’t know...” He sighed, running a shaky hand through his hair as he struggled to find the right words. “I guess... I kept it around in case.”

“In case what?” you pressed, eyes narrowing, your anger boiling over. 

“In case I... wanted to...” He shook his head in frustration, unable to even finish the thought. “I don’t know! It’s stupid, but I just—”

“Fuck, Spencer,” you said, disgust heavy in your voice. “How could you?”

“I haven’t touched it in years!” he protested desperately, his voice cracking with the weight of his plea. “I’m clean, Y/N. I wanted to tell you, I really did, but you wouldn’t let me explain! I’m not like your dad—I’m not.”

The comparison made something inside you snap, and before you knew what you were doing, you were leaning in close, your eyes boring into his as you hissed, “Once a junkie, always a junkie.” 

Spencer stood there, stunned, your words slicing through him like shards of glass. The hostility radiating off you was something he had never witnessed before, and it hurt—hurt in a way that made it hard to breathe, to think, to respond.

“You don’t mean that,” he said, voice shaking. He wanted to believe you didn’t mean it. That this was just the high talking, the anger, the frustration. “Y/N, please. You know I’m not like—”

But you cut him off with a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “No, Spencer, you are. You kept that shit around like some kind of lifeline, like a fucking safety net. How am I supposed to trust you? How am I supposed to believe anything you say when you’re hiding something like that?”

He could see the pain and betrayal in your eyes, and it tore him apart. Spencer felt the weight of your words settle in his chest, heavy like a stone. He reached out to touch your arm, trying to ground you both, but you yanked away, the motion sharp and final.

"Y/N, please, I know it looks bad. I know it seems like I’m keeping something from you, but I swear to you I’ve been clean for years. I swear that it was never about you, it was just—" Spencer’s voice cracked, struggling to find the right words. “It was a part of my past I was ashamed of. I didn't know how to tell you without losing you.”

Your eyes flashed with a mixture of hurt and anger. “And now you have.” Your voice was low, trembling with barely contained rage. “You know, I wanted to be there for you. I wanted to help you through whatever you were struggling with. But you didn’t let me, Spencer. You made a choice to keep me in the dark. And now I’m supposed to what? Trust that you’ll never fall back into that?”

Spencer’s eyes were wet, brimming with desperation. “I would never do that to you. I swear, I would never—”

“I don’t know if I can believe you,” you said, your voice cracking, betraying the emotions you were trying so hard to hold back. “I don't know if I can do this anymore. I can't keep looking at you and wondering when you're going to relapse or if you're hiding something else from me.”

He shook his head frantically, panic setting in as he reached for your hands. “Please don’t do this. Please, Y/N. I love you. I know I messed up, but let me make it right. Just—”

“You can’t fix this, Spencer. I don't think you can," you whispered, and you pulled away, turning from him. Your body felt heavy, like it was weighed down by all the anger and sorrow. And for a moment, all you could do was stand there, willing yourself not to break down in front of him.

The silence stretched on, suffocating. Finally, you took a deep breath and forced yourself to walk away, leaving Spencer standing alone in the cold night air, his heart shattered, his world upended.

He called after you, but his voice sounded far away, like it was drowned out by the noise in your head, the whirlwind of emotions that wouldn’t let up.

You stopped in your tracks, feeling the urge to get the last word in, knowing the wound it would leave. Slowly, you turned around, and your voice was ice-cold as you spoke. “Oh, and Spencer?”

He looked up, a glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes, desperate and raw. 

“For the record,” you said, the words burning on your tongue, “if you had just been honest about your past... I would've understood. I wouldn’t have judged you. No matter what happened, no matter how bad it was—I would've accepted you. I would've even helped you get rid of the box.” 

You watched as the hope drained from his face, the realization settling in. Then, without another word, you turned your back on him and left for good, leaving Spencer to stare after you, alone and devastated.

Your words cut through the air like a knife, leaving Spencer staring after you, the hope in his eyes collapsing into devastation. He felt like the ground beneath him had opened up and swallowed him whole, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t move, couldn’t reach out, couldn’t make this right. 

As you walked away, the finality of your steps echoed louder than anything he’d ever heard before. Spencer’s heart felt like it had been ripped out of his chest, and he couldn’t help but replay your words over and over: If you had just told me...

And just like that, the what-ifs became deafening. What if he’d been honest with you from the start? What if he’d trusted you with his pain, his struggle, his history? What if he hadn’t let fear dictate his actions? 

Spencer ran a trembling hand through his hair, his chest heaving with silent sobs as you disappeared from view, the night swallowing you whole. And with each step you took, he knew it was one step further from ever getting back what he’d lost. 

You had been willing to stay, to support him, to love him even at his lowest—if only he had given you the chance. 

But he didn’t. And now, the person he loved more than anything in the world was gone. All he could do was stand there, his hands trembling, his heart breaking, whispering into the empty night.

“I’m sorry... I'm so sorry, Red.” 

But it was too late.

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[itneverendshere]

maybe wheezie or even sarah needing rafe to pick them up from school or attend a back to school night. like the school calls rafe to pick up sarah after getting in a fight. or the teacher calls him in to discuss that wheezie struggling in math

thank you for the request!!! 🫶🏻🫂 i think rafe's always had a soft spot for wheezie so i did this one for her cause i personally can see their dynamic being really cute.

 we're both older now - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

Sitting in the passenger seat of Rafe’s truck, you couldn’t help but sneak glances at him. His hands were on the wheel, jaw clenched just enough for you to notice, but not enough to freak out.

It’s been months since rehab, and you swear, you’ve never seen him like this before—so focused, so... responsible. It’s kinda hot.

But that’s not what you’re here for. Not right now.

You’re headed to Wheezie’s school because, apparently, she’s been struggling with math. She didn’t want to tell Rafe because Ward’s rarely at home these days and she didn’t want to bother him. When you found out, you could’ve smacked her. You get it—Rafe’s been under a lot of pressure lately—but you don’t think she realizes how much he cares about her. That’s why you two are heading to a parent-teacher meeting like it’s the most normal thing in the world. It’s not. 

“I should’ve known something was off,” Rafe mutters, breaking the silence.

You look over at him. “You couldn’t have. Wheezie’s good at keeping stuff to herself.”

He shakes his head, his grip tightening on the wheel just a little. “I’m her brother. I should’ve noticed.”

You reach over, resting your hand on his arm. “You’re doing your best, baby. That matters.”

He lets out a breath, his tension easing under your touch. God, sometimes it’s hard to believe he’s the same guy who used to pick fights at every chance he got just a few years ago. It’s been almost a year since his last relapse, but every day you see him fighting to be better—for himself, for you, for his sisters. And honestly? It does something to you, seeing him like this. 

You pull into the school parking lot, and he parks the truck, turning off the engine. For a second, he just sits there, staring straight ahead. You know what he’s thinking. He’s wondering if he’s good enough to handle this, to handle all of it.

“You got this,” You say softly.

Together, you walk into the school, and after a quick conversation with the receptionist, you’re led to Wheezie’s teacher’s classroom. The room smells like dry-erase markers and stress, the kind you remember from my own high school days.

Except, this is a private school, completely different from what you were used to, and back then, you loved school. You were good at it too—really good, actually. Straight A’s, honors, full ride to a decent college…but life had other plans.

You look at Rafe as you wait for the teacher to start the meeting. He’s sitting up straight, listening intently, and your chest tightens a little.

The same guy who used to blow off any responsibility now sitting here, laser-focused, ready to step up for his little sister. The teacher starts talking about Wheezie’s grades, how she’s been falling behind in math, and you can see the guilt in his face. You squeeze his knee under the table, trying to ground him, but honestly? This was hitting a little too close to home for you, too.

“I can help her,” You hear yourself say before you’ve even really thought about it. Rafe turns to look at you, surprised, and you shrug like it’s no big deal.

The teacher blinks, probably not expecting the girlfriend to jump in with a solution. “What did you score on your final exams?”

You move in your seat, not expecting the question but not exactly shy about your answer either. "I got a 1600 on my SATs," You said, trying to sound casual about it, even though you could see Rafe’s eyebrows shoot up next to you. 

The teacher’s eyes widen slightly. "That’s impressive," she says, "You must’ve had a lot of options for college."

You shrug again feeling that familiar feeling of bittersweet regret. "Yeah, I had a full ride to a few places.”

“And you didn’t go?”

The way she says says it—like she can’t imagine why you wouldn’t go—hurts a little. 

"Yeah, well... life happened." You try to brush it off like it doesn’t bother you.

Rafe’s hand slides over to yours under the table, interlocking your fingers and giving you a gentle squeeze. It’s subtle, but it’s enough for you. To remind you that you made the right choices, even if they weren’t easy ones.

The meeting wraps up pretty quickly after that.

The teacher gives Rafe some advice on how to help Wheezie stay on track, and you both thank her before heading out of the classroom. As you walk down the hallway, he stays quiet for a bit, and you can’t really read what’s going through his head.

By the time you get back to the truck, he turns to you, his brow furrowed slightly, like he’s still processing everything. "You got a perfect score on your SATs?"

Three years into the relationship and he’s still learning things about you every day.

You let out a small laugh, brushing some hair behind your ear. "Yeah. It’s not a big deal."

"That’s kinda insane," he says, looking at you like he’s seeing a whole new side of you. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that?”

You shrug for the millionth time today, suddenly feeling a little shy. “I don’t know. It just never came up. It’s not like it matters now, anyway.”

"It does matter." His voice is firm, and when you glance over, you can see how serious he looks. "You gave up a lot to help your sister. That’s not nothing."

Your throat tightens, and you have to swallow down the emotion rising inside you. The way Rafe says it, like he actually gets it, means more than he probably knows. "I just did what I had to do."

He nods slowly, like he understands that feeling all too well. "You didn’t have to offer to help Wheezie today. But you did.”

You don’t want to make a big deal out of it. "I want to help her. She deserves it."

Rafe doesn’t say anything, just looks at you with this soft, almost disbelieving expression. Like he can’t wrap his head around the fact that you’re still here, beside him, helping his family without a second thought.

"You’re amzing, y’know that?" he murmurs, his voice low and warm in that way that makes your stomach flip.

You feel your cheeks heat up, a shy smile tugging at your lips. "Stop."

"I mean it." He reaches over, cupping your face gently with his hand, thumb brushing lightly across your cheek. His eyes soften as they meet yours, filled with so much adoration it makes you want to hide. "I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m really fucking grateful."

You bite your lip, glancing down at his other hand on your knee before looking back up at him.

"You’ve been working hard. For yourself, for us. I see that."

His jaw tightens just slightly, and he looks down, almost like he’s not sure how to take the compliment. But when his eyes meet yours again,

"I’m trying," he says quietly. "I’m trying to be better."

"And you are," you whisper. "Every day."

The months of hard work, the late nights when you’ve held him through his doubts, the mornings when he’s shown up for his family even when it was hard. It’s all there, between you, unspoken but understood.

Rafe leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin. "Thank you," he whispers. "For everything."

You close your eyes, letting the moment settle around you. "I’ll always be here," you whisper back. "We’ve got this."

“I don’t think I would’ve made it this far without you.”

You swallow hard, trying not to let it hit you too deep. But it does. Because for all the mess you’ve been through—his ups and downs, his relapse, his constant fight to be better—it always comes back to you. To this.

“I’ll always have your back,” You remind him quietly. “You know that, right?”

He nods, like there’s absolutely no doubt in his mind. “I know. You’re really good with her," he says after a beat. "With Wheezie. And with Milo."

You smile, leaning back in your seat. "Yeah, well, someone’s gotta look after the kids, right? Might as well be me."

Rafe’s lips twitch into another smile as he leans over, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, "Thank you, baby.”

“For what?”

“For sticking around,” he says, pulling back slightly to look at you. “Even when I didn’t make it easy.”

 “You make it worth it, Rafe. You always have.”

Because seeing him like this—happy, strong, responsible, and healthy—it’s more than just him trying. It’s him becoming the person you always believed he could be, from day one on that stupid country club. And that? That’s something you’d stick around for any day.

When you and Rafe pull up to Tannyhill, the sun’s already setting. You grab your bag from the backseat, and he takes a deep breath, his hand hovering near yours like he needs to hold onto you just for a second longer. When you step into the house, you’re greeted by the usual stillness that fills the place. It’s huge, but it always feels too quiet.

Wheezie’s sitting at the kitchen island, hunched over her phone, clearly trying to distract herself. Her leg’s bouncing nervously under the stool, and you don’t even have to say anything to know that she’s been dreading this moment.

As soon as she sees the two of you, she freezes, eyes wide, "Hey," she greets, her voice shaky.

Rafe glances at you, and you give him a small nod. You know he’s trying to figure out how to handle this—he’s never really had to play the role of ‘responsible older brother’ before. But he’s doing it. He’s trying. And that’s what matters.

"Wheeze," Rafe starts, as he walks over to her, and you can see the panic rising in her eyes as she sits up straighter like she’s preparing for the worst. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

She bites her lip, glancing between the two of you. "I-I didn’t want to bother you," she mumbles, her voice small. "You’ve been dealing with a lot, and I thought— I don’t know. I thought I could handle it on my own."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’s quiet for a second, and you can feel Wheezie’s anxiety practically buzzing out of her. She’s probably expecting him to yell, to go off on her, but instead, he takes a step forward and pulls her into a hug.

"You ever keep something like that from me again," he mutters into her hair, his tone firm but warm, "and you’re grounded."

Wheezie’s eyes go wide in shock, like she wasn’t expecting that at all. Her arms wrap around him a little awkwardly, but you can tell she’s relieved. She pulls back after a second, staring up at him with those big brown eyes of hers. "You’re not mad?"

Rafe shakes his head, but his expression is serious. "I’m not mad. I’m worried, Wheeze. I’m here, okay? I got you."

"I’m sorry," she whispers.

He sighs again, rubbing a hand over his face before looking at her. "Don’t be sorry. Just don’t do it again."

She nods quickly, and you step closer, offering her a small smile. "You’re not in trouble, Wheezie. I’m gonna help you with the math stuff, okay? I promise."

Wheezie looks over at you, clearly surprised, and then back at Rafe. "You’re… really not mad?"

Rafe rolls his eyes but in that big-brother way that’s full of affection.

"No, Wheeze, I’m not mad. But next time you’re struggling with something, tell me. That’s what I’m here for."

She nods, relief washing over her features. "Okay. I will."

Rafe reaches out and ruffles her hair, something so casual and brotherly it makes your heart swell.

"Good. Now go do whatever you do, and remember—grounded if you pull that shit again."

You slap his arm, “Will stop cursing in front of her?”

He shoots you a half-smirk, looking completely unbothered. "Please baby, she’s sixteen. You think she doesn’t curse?"

Wheezie lets out a small laugh, covering her mouth as if she’s trying to keep it together, but you can tell she’s relieved. 

"Yeah, but maybe not in front of her big brother," you tease, raising an eyebrow at him.

Rafe shrugs, looking like he couldn’t care less. "If she’s smart enough to hide it from me, more power to her."

Wheezie giggles again, and you can’t help but smile. "Yeah, yeah," you sigh, rolling your eyes at him playfully. "You’re a great role model, Rafe Cameron."

He groans, “Please don’t use the full name.” The corners of his mouth tug up in a grin that makes your heart skip. “Alright, no more big brother lectures tonight. We’re good, yeah, Wheeze?”

Wheezie nods, still smiling. “Yeah, we’re good.”

[robo-writing]

I saw your requests were open, so I have to ask for… pain 😔

Can I request a Logan x afab!reader HCs or full fic about how reader is getting older and he kinda isn’t yk? Like going from when they first met, to readers deathbed, and how he has to live without them for the rest of his life 🫶🫶

Also take care of yourself DRINK WATER 🥰

Oh yeah, it’s angst time.

It's sooner than later that you'll be alone Synopsis: You live a long life, but not as long as Logan's. Warnings: 3.2k words of gut-wrenching angst, mentions of blood, grieving someone after they're gone Author's note: Hope you're happy anon, I cried five times writing this <3

He had first met you in your twenties—twenty-three, to be exact.

Young, bright eyed, naive. You were kind, where he was not. You were hopeful, where he was jaded and angry at the world. He loved your innocence, how you always saw the best in others—suppose that’s what made you such a good counselor to the children. You listened—really, truly listened—made anyone that walked through your office doors feel welcomed.

Maybe that’s why he found his way to you. When the nightmares wouldn’t let him sleep and the voices wouldn’t let him think, he shuffled to your bedroom door without a goal in sight, bare feet padding against the polished floors. His knuckles meet your door, seconds passing by before he asks himself why the hell he’s even here in the first place.

Before he could walk away he heard your feet shuffling, followed by the click of your doorknob.

He felt guilty for waking you up, eyes red and face puffy, but you didn’t even question why he was at your door, just rubbed your eyes and opened the door wider for him to walk in.

It was silent at first. You offered him some water, passed him a blanket, and just sat there. You never pressured him to speak, and he didn’t feel compelled to. Maybe five minutes later he said something and you just nodded in his direction, encouraging him to continue.

For the first time in a long time, he talked. And you listened.

It became a ritual between the two of you, staying up late at night just to chat. It wasn’t always about his past, sometimes he just needed to let it all out, and you were the perfect outlet. He felt like you didn’t judge him, and that’s all he ever needed.

Eventually he wanted to hear you too—he preferred it that way. Talking about lesson plans and movies, little things that seem mundane but made him feel less like a patient and more like a friend. You were a welcome distraction, and an added bonus was that you were really cute when you were talking.

He was the one who made the first move. He remembers every detail, from your pajama shorts to the over-worn tank top sliding off your shoulder, your eyes bright as you went on about a new baking recipe you wanted to try. Sat on your bed, looking so relaxed he couldn’t help but stare and marvel at your beauty.

“Logan?” You ask, waving your hand in his face. “Hello? Earth to Wolverine?”

The moment you called out his name he was already making his way to your bed. The mattress sinks beneath his weight, and you let out a soft noise of surprise before he plants his lips against yours.

Yours are soft compared to him—everything about you screams softness, innocence and purity, and he’s not sure if a man like him even has the right to be next to you, much less kiss you. He’s certain his soul is filthy, tainted—a layer of black that’s sure to muck up your own if he keeps this up. He knows this deep in his heart, but greedy man that he is, he keeps his lips locked to yours.

Once, and then never again. He can’t be with a girl like you, and he knows it.

You hold him by the neck and pull him back when he tries to leave your embrace. Maybe it’s pity, he thinks, the way your hands tug him by the shirt and cling onto the fabric. Maybe you’re only entertaining him, stringing him along just to laugh in his face, mock him into ever thinking he had a chance. If you are, he doesn't care, because at least now he’s got a taste of what he could never have.

The two of you finally separate, a silk-thread of spit connecting the both of you, looking at each other with a mixture of shock and confusion. What happens after this? How does he return to what you had before—how can he, when he now knows your chapstick tastes like cherries?

He makes a move to leave, but against all odds your hand is still clinging onto his shirt. In that moment he knew he was the luckiest man alive because you begged him to stay in that cute voice of yours, begged him not to leave when his hands made their way up the front of your shirt—begged him for more when his lips wandered lower.

By your thirties you already had a shiny ring on your finger, one that he can say he proudly put on your finger. A gold band adorned by diamonds, it shines in the orange light of the sun, staring at you from its red-velvet housing. 

It’s the first time the X-Men see him cry, tears running down his face when you run into his arms screaming yes, yes, over and over as he holds you in his arms, sunset illuminating your features. He always thinks of you as beauty personified, but watching you admire the diamond-studded band with awe—the one thing that signifies you as his—he can’t help but look at you like icarus does to the sun.

The wedding was small—neither of you minded. Hank was the ringbearer, and Charles walked you down the aisle, and when your vows were said and done the priest could barely finish the ceremony before Logan lunged forward and kissed you, dipping you at the altar accompanied with a cheer from the people you consider your family.

Scott has the video saved on his phone. He pretends it pisses him off, but he had Jean send him a copy later. Sometimes he watches it when he thinks you’re asleep, but little does he know you are very much awake.

In your fourties’ you have a house together, somewhere upstate where no one can bother you. A cozy wooden home where it’s just you and him, relaxing by the fireplace and watching tv every day. When he’s not helping the X-Men he works at a local lumber yard, the highlight of his day being when he comes to work, grabbing his equipment from the truck. 

His co-workers jeer at him every time, call him whipped like butter, but they wouldn’t understand what he feels. He certainly doesn’t seem to care, especially when it’s your kiss pressed to his cheek.

He can safely say his life is perfect. It’s domestic, it’s everything Logan ever dreamed of, everything he thought he could never have—and it’s all thanks to you. He wakes up every morning grateful to you for giving him the greatest gift he could ever receive: serenity. 

Between the fairytale ending and his rose-colored glasses, he doesn’t notice it, not until you’re in your fifties and he’s—he’s not.

You’re aging, and he’s staying the same.

You still love each other and he’d never, ever, think about leaving you, but the realization sticks with him. He thinks about it late at night while you sleep next to him, pressed against his side. Your scent, your touch, he memorizes it all because he doesn’t know when he won’t be able to feel it again.

In your heart you know it too, but you don’t say anything—you don’t want to scare him away. He’s only just begun to get used to normalcy, and you don’t want to take that away from him. You don’t want to watch him fall into the honeyed trap of isolation again, return to that shell of a man you only just helped him shed.

So when you’re watching tv together, he makes sure to cradle you to his chest extra tight. When you’re sitting by the fireplace, heat radiating off your skin, he makes sure to memorize the way the fire illuminates your face. When you’re whispering his name after a night of love-making he etches the sound deep into his synapses, memorizing each syllable.

No matter what, he’ll remember you.

By your sixties you’re faced with an awful truth, one neither of you want to admit but your smile lines and crows feet stand contrast to his barely aging face. You get stares when you mention he’s your husband, some curious, some judging. You were called a cougar once by a shopper, finger pointed accusatory while Logan told her in no uncertain terms to go fuck herself.

He was there to reassure you then, but he can’t be there all the time. You don’t tell him that this wasn’t the first time you were accused of being a predator, and you don’t plan on doing so. 

Maybe this counts as acceptance, faced with the truth in the worst kind of way, but at least the both of you can say it out loud now—

You’re going to die, and he’s going to outlive you. It’s just a fact, but it still makes the both of you terrified.

Your seventies are rocky—you want to enjoy the time you have left, but Logan wants to make sure you’re safe. In his eyes you know he has only love for you, but you can see the fear in them too, how he coddles you every day. Your bones are starting to ache, you’re getting slower. Where you used to go on hikes with him you now choose to stay home, your stamina not like what it used to be. He thinks you don’t notice how he watches you carefully around the house, how he’s so eager to help you. You’re flattered, but also annoyed—it’s a short-lived train of thought when you look at him.

He still looks at you like he did when you first kissed. 

He still loves you, and you still love him. For now, that’s all you need.

He finds you on the floor in your eighties—eighty-three, to be exact.

The moment he sees your resting form behind the counter he sprints into the kitchen. There’s broken glass, a trail of blood running from your temple, and you’re completely out of it, eyes closed shut. He calls your name, shakes you, but nothing. He knows you’re still alive, he can hear your heart beating but he can feel how weak it is under his clammy hands, the soft thump nowhere near as strong as it should be.

He doesn’t know what to do—he’s long since been familiar with blood but this time it’s you, and he’s panicking. He doesn’t know what to do.

The ambulance arrives, longer than usual because you live far away from the city. Maybe if they’d gotten there faster they would have been able to do an infusion. Maybe if the phone wasn’t so far you’d be able to call 9-1-1 before you passed out. Maybe if he was at home he would’ve been able to see the early signs—

“Sir? Are you alright?”

He looks at the clock on the bedside wall: 7:38 pm. 

It’s well into the night, five hours have passed since you were admitted, and an hour since you died.

He’s been staring at your body for who knows how long. The doctor pronounced you dead, said you had a heart attack and hit your head on the way down. An accident.

A fucking accident.

“Sir, was she related to you?” The young nurse asks, contemplating whether or not she should even speak. Wordlessly, he nods.

“I understand you’re grieving,” she continues, standing at his side. Her words are full of empathy, none of which he needs but lets her speak anyway. “I saw on your hospital logs you share the same name, I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose a loved one.”

He nods again.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old was she?”

“…eighty-three.” He answers. “Her birthday was in a month.”

She shakes her head. “That’s a shame.”

“It sure is,” He says, reaching out to touch her hand. It’s cold to the touch, a cruel reminder. “It sure is.”

You would’ve been eighty-four now.

He still lives in the same house but it’s not the same without you. It’s lifeless, empty—all the love you poured into the decor now just an awful reminder of what he lost. He thinks about tearing it all down sometimes but he knows you’d probably kick his ass if he so much as touched your crystal vases.

Your side of the bedroom is untouched, he moved all his stuff to the separate one the week after you died. It hurts to sleep there knowing you’re gone, but sometimes he’ll sit by the nightstand, a drink in hand and stare at the empty spot where you would be. Sometimes if he stares hard enough, he can see you through tear-rimmed eyes, hear your laughter through the dull buzz of the alcohol.

He misses you. He’s not sure if he’ll ever stop.

He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he opens your closet. It’s an indulgence, a moment of weakness—he promised he wouldn’t touch your stuff and here he is, rummaging about. 

Coats, dresses, shirts, all memories flooding back to him as he moves past them. The black dress you wore on your first date, the sundress you wore for your anniversary—

When his fingers brush against the lace, his heart lurches. He doesn’t need to see it to know, but he tugs anyway, revealing your wedding dress hidden deep inside. The most beautiful thing you’ve ever worn.

He takes the gown between reverent hands, as if the fabric would fall apart, disintegrate if he was anything but cautious with it. It still smells like you.

He finds the box labeled “wedding” next to it, and without hesitation pulls it from its corner. Wedding invites, flowers, old videos, everything that you could have taken as a memory, you had it. You even kept the cake toppers.

What surprises him though, is a notebook. It’s tiny, leather bound and slightly worn, every page a new entry. He flips to the first page and his heart nearly stops.

Dear Logan,

If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead.

His eyes widened. When did you write this? The small book suddenly feels like lead in his hands, it’s a struggle to pull his eyes back to the ink-stained pages, but he does so anyway.

I hope I managed to give this to you before I pass. I wish I could explain to you how much I love you, and how much I worry about you. You’re a stubborn asshole, could never see the good in yourself but I did—I still do. I’ve known you for thirty years now so I’m willing to bet you’re probably reading this drunk, blaming yourself for my death.

He doesn’t know when he started crying but your words make him laugh through the pain, wiping the palm of his hand against his cheek. He used to say you were secretly a telepath, always able to read his mind. Seems it’s a talent that extends beyond the grave.

Anyway, rambling aside, I wanted to give you something to remember me by. You’re going to live longer than I am, we both know that: but maybe my memory can live along with you.

His hands are shaking, fingers stumbling through the next page with bated breath.

Entry one, not sure how I should start…I’ll figure it out later. Your beard grew out a little so I offered to help you shave…

I think I did a shit job but you didn’t seem to mind, or maybe you were trying to save my feelings? I don't know which one. In any case remember to take care of yourself, I might be gone but like hell if I’m gonna let you let yourself go!

Attached with a paperclip is a photo of the two of you in the bathroom, you smushing his face while he stares at the camera annoyed, or at least it seems. There’s a hint of a smile on his face.

He remembers that day. You were cuddling him and complained his beard was scratchy. He let you sit on his lap while you gave him a trim, you said your lines were crooked but he didn’t give a shit—he had you all to himself, and that’s all he needed.

A small huff of laughter escapes him, even in the afterlife you’re still bossing him around. He flips to the next page—

Entry two, don’t isolate yourself! I know you Logan, that lone wolf shit doesn’t work and you know it too! When’s the last time you talked to the other X-Men, huh?

Your words rattle in his head, feelings of guilt blooming. They call occasionally, but he never picks up. Charles is the only one he ever gave the time of day and even then the mention of your passing is a sore subject. One time Scott showed up at his house, helped him clean up a bit before leaving; he never said thank you.

His eyes flick to the phone on his nightstand before continuing to read. 

Entry three, don’t starve yourself! I left a couple of my recipes in the last pages, just in case you missed my cooking…

Entry four, I have a secret album of us on my phone. The password is…

Entry five, stop being so hard on yourself…

Entry after entry, all stories with advice for when you’re gone. Clean up after himself, don’t try to find peace at the bottom of a bottle, remember to find a hobby…every single page, accompanied by a description of what you did that day. Went hiking, went on a dinner date, stayed at home and watched tv—almost an entire year's worth of reminiscing in the form of a tiny brown journal.

By the time he got to the last one the sun had begun to rise. His eyes burned with exhaustion, but the thought of stopping never crossed his mind.

The big three-six-five, happy anniversary! It’s been a year since I started this project and I think I should end it here, so I’ll end it with the best advice I can give you.

Logan, you need to move on.

I know it hurts, but I’m gone, and you can’t spend your life chasing after a woman who isn’t here anymore. You deserve more in life than to grieve. I love you more than anything in the world, which is why I’m telling you it’s okay to move on.

I’ll always be with you, so don’t think that you need to feel guilty. I know you love me, and I love you.

I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

He re-reads your words. Once, twice, even three times before they really sink in. I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

At that moment it all comes crashing down on him. Your death, the funeral, the pain and longing, the grief—all of it. Everything he’d ever tried to push aside by drinking, culminating into this single release of emotion.

He cries. A full-bodied, pathetic display, he sobbed while holding your last memory to his chest until he was red in the face, until his lungs burned. He sobbed until he had no more tears to give, then sobbed some more.

Even in death, you were still listening.

[m3l0nfl0at]

the greatest - s. gojo

gojo satoru x gn!reader ; gege give me that mf pen, ANGST ANGST, spoilers for the manga, mention of death, no y/n used, and reader is a little bit rude to shoko at first, 2.6k words

summary ; i wanted to write a more fulfilling ending for gojo because i feel he deserved it and gege i will never forgive you

melon’s recommended melody ; my love mine all mine - mitski

Waking up, hearing the chirps of life outside your window telling you it was a new day. Brushing the spot in bed next to you, only for it to feel empty and cold. Feeling the spot next to you became a habit that was hard to break. Getting up to brush your teeth, seeing the other toothbrush occupying the slot beside yours. Washing your face and feeling the chilly water hit your face. Heading to your living room, ironically it didn’t feel like it was lived in much. Opening the fridge not expecting much because you haven’t been to the groceries in, who knows how long? Sighing, not feeling hungry but knowing it wasn’t smart to leave yourself unsatiated. You go to the pantry seeing all kinds of sweets left untouched, you reach out to touch them but not grabbing one.

Feeling yourself tear up, you never had a sweet tooth and now thinking of something sweet made you sick to your stomach. How can you want something sweet when everything around you feels bitter? You felt nothing, saw no potential, you can’t even recall the last time you left the house. No drop of color, the world that was once made up of red and blue became black and white. You close the pantry wanting nothing more than retreat back to your bed for the rest of the day. Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, pouring yourself some water. Drinking it, feeling the burn from the coldness hitting your dry scratchy throat.

Placing it down in the sink filled with glassware, not worrying too much about the piling dishes. Heading to the door, cracking it open just a bit to feel the sun heat up your freezing house. Stepping out to sit down on the porch stairs, hugging your knees. Looking around at your yard, glaring at reminders of what used to be. Your vegetable garden withered, planting those to joke around with Satoru. Reprimanding him, saying just because he was the strongest doesn’t mean he could eat nothing but sweets. You look at your flowers, specifically forget me nots, lining the house now lifeless and devoid of any color.

You march to the flowers angrily picking them up and stomping on the remaining garden. How dare they die, didn’t they know you were going through enough already? It’s not your fault that you couldn’t stop them from growing, it’s not your fault you had to wake up everyday to make sure they lived. It was selfish, it’s not like you wake up and someone makes sure that you’re alive. In fact no one reached out to you anymore, not Shoko, not Iljichi, and certainly not Utahime. You didn’t expect them to but for them to not even acknowledge Satoru’s body or death? To not even let you have a funeral for him.

You wonder if anyone even cared for him beyond his title, you knew Geto did. No one else cared for Gojo the way you and Suguru did. You don’t blame them for not checking up on you, Shoko hated confrontation, Iljichi was always scared of Gojo, and Utahime hated Gojo with her whole being. Part of you wanted to think he was finally at peace with his best friend. Knowing they were together brought you some sort of peace in this meaningless world. Another part of you wanted to scream, were you not enough for him to stay here. Were you not enough for him to win the fight and come back home to you.

Going back inside looking back at the mess you created in your front yard. The mess representing the muck that was going on in your head, ever since that day. That stupid day he went to battle the “King of Curses”, only for him to lose. Satoru was not the humblest person, you always told him that would be his downfall. Of course you thought Gojo was the strongest but your Satoru was still a vulnerable human. Slamming the door, attempting to run to your room. Only to trip on shoes at the front door, looking behind you to see Satoru’s loafers. The ones he would wear to teach, he loved teaching so much.

He wanted to be everything he hadn’t received as a student. Knowing that his teachers never really considered him to be a kid more like a mere prize. A prize saying I taught the strongest sorcerer and nothing more. His students and him were close but at the end of the day he was just their teacher, nothing more. Yuji and Yuta tried reaching out to you, coming to your house to knock only to be met with nothing. Yuji and Yuta admired Gojo, they knew what it meant to be the strongest. How being the strongest came with all kinds of burdens to bear or how being the strongest meant having people admire and hate you.

You feel your breathing getting heavy, you were never the strongest. You were known to always break down, being the crybaby of your family but you couldn’t help it. Yet, you haven’t cried since Satoru’s death was officially announced. You suddenly had no ounce of tears left in you, opting to just shut everyone out instead. Crying was stupid anyway, why would you cry? Crying wouldn’t bring him back, crying and screaming at the top of your lungs wouldn’t stop him.

Part of you wondered if he knew he was going to die, if he knew that he was going to lose against Mahoraga. Or better yet lose to Megumi, you knew Satoru didn’t have it in him to kill one of his students. If he couldn’t separate the two souls then that only left one option. However, the past can’t be dwelled on too much because it can never change, you slam your fists on the ground in agony. Feeling your ankle hurting but also feeling everything you had in you hurting too. Wanting nothing more than someone to pick you up off the ground, that someone being Satoru. Damn you Satoru, even in death he had an eerie way of sneaking back into your life.

It’s not like you wanted to forget about him, he was your entire life. You stayed awake some nights reminiscing on the future you both had planned, looking forward to getting married.

“You think when were married you’ll still have that dingy blindfold on?”, you laugh, messing with his hair. Satoru places a hand on his chest, gasping dramatically. “One, it’s not dingy. Second, obviously not. I’d probably choose something more stylish like sunglasses or maybe a tinted monocle.”, you groan in disgust. “You will absolutely not wear a monocle at our wedding. You’ll look like the monopoly man.”

You lay on the ground, soaking in the feeling of the pain from your ankle. Hearing a knock at your door, choosing to stay quiet not wanting anyone to see you in this state. “I know you’re in there you know, your garden wasn’t this ugly when I stopped by yesterday.”, you wince trying to pick yourself up. Funny how she chooses right now to finally show up, “Leave Shoko. I don’t need anything.”. She sighs knowing grief probably made you bitter, “Then why are you wincing? Open the door so I can fix whatever mess you got yourself in.”

“It’s open, let yourself in Leir.”, you lay against a wall preparing to let someone see you at your worst. “What happened?”, her clothes and breath smells like cigarettes, you wondered what got her back into the habit. “What didn’t happen, is what you should be asking.”, you roll your eyes. Shoko looks at your ankle, checking if it’s anything serious, chalking it up to only being a sprain. “I came because I have something to give you.”, you look over to her shaking your head. You didn’t think you could handle anything more than what you have on your mind right now. She hesitates, not wanting to upset you but also wanting to get everything off her mind. “I cleaned up his body. If you want to do a proper burial for him. Or if you just want to see him one last time, give you some closure you need.”, she hears your breath falter.

Knowing she’s pushing her limits, “Why would I host a burial when no one cared for him like I did.”, you angrily glare at her. You feel your breath quicken, it starts picking up as your thoughts become more rampant. She stays silent, feeling that if you have to spew your anger at anyone, she’ll let it be her. You look at your now swollen ankle, your messy house that no longer felt like a home, and messy kitchen. Wondering when this all happened, why did you let it get this bad?

Shoko hands you a letter, “I know you’re frustrated and even bitter with what Gojo’s decision was but he never stopped thinking about you even in his last moments. I know I've been an absentee friend but I cleaned him up because that was the only thing I could do. Send him to the afterlife being the Gojo you and I both knew.”, you feel all the pressure and pain that festered in you slowly crack. Knowing that even though you were painting everyone as the villain, the only true villain was fate and time.

Your lip quivers, apologizing to everyone in your head knowing they’re all suffering in their own way. You lift up the note, opening it up to see a messily drawn Satoru in the corner. Everything that’s been withheld these past couple of months finally breaks, looking to the top seeing the words “my love” printed. Taking a deep breath before proceeding. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. There’s nothing you could’ve done to stop me from trying to defeat that cocky old bastard.”, you roll your eyes knowing how he hated Sukuna but still decided to fight him. “I sent my best students and Shoko to come check on you, can’t have you losing yourself over me, right?”, you choke on your own tears.

You stop reading halfway, scared to continue. Scared that if you continue, you’ll lose the last thing that has Satoru’s last traces on it. Shoko sits by you letting you rest your head on her shoulder. “He wanted you to read it. He gave one to Megumi and Nobara too, keep going for him.” Nodding, pacing your breaths scared you’ll start hyperventilating, “I know it’ll be lonely without my overbearing personality but I’m not gone. I’ll be watching over you or looking up at you, whichever you prefer.”, you laugh through the tears as you feel your bittersweet smile slowly appears on your face. “I know I left before I could fulfill my promise about our future but the ring I wanted to use is in my drawer hidden under my blindfolds. I knew you wouldn’t look there since they’re so dingy, right?”, your tears fall as you get up slowly.

Shoko gets up, reaching out to help you, as you start limping towards your room. Opening the dresser, scavenging for a box, looking in the corner to see a velvet box. Sobbing violently as you open it, seeing G.S. engraved into the inside of the band. Slipping it on before reading the rest of the note. “Living will feel harder with me gone because I know I would feel empty if I had to live without you. I want you to live, live and never forget me. You’ll surpass me in time and age but I'll be waiting for you no matter what, It’s not your time yet. When we meet again I will just be Satoru, not the strongest but only your Satoru. Make me proud, my love, till we meet again. P.S. Nows a good time to tell you, I finished all your chips, whoopsies!”. “I knew it.”, you laugh while crying. Shoko watches you feel the writing on the paper as if it was him.

Gently caressing the last thing he touched, the last words he engraved just for you to feel at ease. You lay against the bed, feeling everything within you give out, he’s actually gone. Shoko pats your back, letting you know she’s here. Even though she knows you only want Gojo right now, no one else even existed within this moment. People thought Satoru was selfish only caring about himself, when in reality he spent even his last moments scraping up letters to put others at ease with his decision, that was your Satoru.

“Will you show me him, one last time, please.” You look over at Shoko pleading. She nods, “I have to take you there to heal your ankle anyways”. You get up to get in her car to make it back to Jujutsu High. Fiddling with your ring the whole way there. Asking to see him on impulse, not even thinking about your appearance. Not really caring anyways, who do you have to impress? Shoko helps you out of the car, being cautious of your ankle.

She first treats your ankle, you slowly catch your breath. Anticipating seeing Satoru for the last time. Shoko guides you, “I cleaned him to the best of my ability. The stitches are kind of gruesome but it was a last minute call to action.”, you trace his face. Seeing the scar from his forehead, disgusted that the last resort was using Satoru as a weapon. You see your tears fall onto him, wiping them away. Shoko excuses herself, letting you have your last moments with him. “Satoru, you’re not in pain anymore, right?”, naively waiting for his answer. “You look so handsome my love, even in your last moments.”, crouching down to grab his hand. “I’ll never forget you as long as I live, Satoru Gojo.”, you kiss his cheek, feeling his cold skin on your lips.

“I’m so mad at you. I wish you could come back to life for just five minutes so I could reprimand you one final time.”, silence hanging in the air as you take in his appearance. Combing your fingers through his hair, “Damn it Satoru, why couldn’t you be selfish just this one time.” Even though he was in front of you lifeless like your flowers, a part of him still felt so alive. His love for you never died, not even beyond death, that was all you needed to live on. You let go of his hand, walking towards the door. Leaving the room, looking back at him one last time, “I love you Satoru, that’ll never change.”.

Even though living without Satoru was difficult, you felt him all around you. Going outside to water your beautiful garden varying with blue and white flowers. Going shopping and getting something sweet to commemorate his unbeatable sweet tooth. Teaching at Jujutsu High, to continue his legacy. Visiting his gravestone to tell him about your day, buying a meal for you and him. The pain never went away but you found comfort in it. His belongings were still placed in your home, never having the heart to put them away. You leave a spot open in your bed for him, touching his pillows softly before sleeping. Putting his shoes away neatly and even polishing them. Getting his mug to place it right next to yours in the morning, feeling comforted by the traces of himself he left behind. He was gone but he’s still existed within you, within his students, and within his legacy. He was loved and he would never be forgotten.

divider credit to @/vase-of-lilies, @/bunnysrph, and @/thecutestgrotto

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ melon's marginalia : honestly i needed to write this because i have to write fluff and i felt very devastated in leaks today. gege i will never forgive you for taking such a beloved character and dragging his name

@m3l0nfl0at on tumblr. All Rights Reserved. Do not steal, copy, or translate any of my works.

[melpomenes-garden]

Sneezes and Snoring

Miguel O'Hara x Reader • Fluff • WC: 342

You rolled over to look at your husband. He was sleeping so peacefully. A warm smile spread across your features at how relaxed his own were. You rested your arm under your chin and just stared at him. Miguel looked like an angel when he was asleep.

No piercing stares, no grumpy frown. Now don’t get it wrong. You loved your grumpy grinch, but you loved seeing him relax and loosen up. Miguel had come so far in opening up to being himself again, but when he was asleep, it just happened.

You felt a sneeze coming on, and covering your nose, attempted to stifle the sound. That didn’t work. You sneezed squarely in your husband’s face. Miguel groaned and scrunched up his face.

“Y/N?” He grumbled, cracking his eyes open to see your horrified face.

“Miggy!” You said much too loudly for the silent morning. Miguel groaned again and rolled onto his back, covering his eyes with an arm. “Migs?” you shuffled closer to him and whispered. When he didn’t respond, you began tracing down his nose with your finger.

“Please don’t.” He muttered, waiving a hand.

“But I love your face.” You poked his cheek.

“Yeah?” His hand stilled, and he peeled back his arm to squint at you.

“Yeah, it’s a nice face.” You caught the smirk he tried to hide. “But you already knew that jerk. I bet lots of girls have told you that.” As soon as the words were out, you found yourself being pulled roughly into Miguel's side. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you rested your chin on his shoulder and kissed his cheek. He wrapped his own arms around you and buried his face in your hair.

“I only care about what you think.” He whispered, nuzzling your neck. “And for the record, I think you have a pretty nice face.” When you didn’t respond he quirked a brow and tilted his head down to look at you. “Y/N?” Miguel chuckled; you were already snoring.

Thank you for reading!!! Comments, Likes, and Reblogs always appreciated!!! 🥰

[snowball-doie]

| pairing: dad!Jaehyun x fem!Reader

| warnings: 18+ MDNI. Poly!ilichil. Angst! Daddy kink. Unprotected vaginal sex. Creampie. Breeding kink. Cock warming themes. Pregnancy kink(?). Pregnancy. Emotional damage for Jaehyun stans.. <3

| wc: 4.7k

| aurora's note: ....you know..... i had this in the drafts of my poly!ilichil x oc book back in august.............. i feel like i unknowingly manifested this... sorry... um.. little bit of context you need is y/n and poly!ilichil already have a daughter together, her name is Reyna, and they all agreed to not know who her biological father is. i didn't want to change too much from my original story... sorry..

You didn’t want to talk about it. Not for a single second. About two months ago, Jaehyun sat everyone down in the living room with the life and color drained from his face, his hands fidgeting with each other as he paced back and forth in front of the TV for a good two minutes before Doyoung begged him to stop and just say what was on his mind. Jaehyun immediately froze, turned, and spit out, “I auditioned for the military band a couple of weeks ago.” The room went still. “I got accepted today. I’ve decided to go early, in November, just to get it out of the way, so that Taeyong and I can come back together to look after Reyna, instead of all of us just going one at a time.” That didn’t make any sense— That made it worse! Everyone expected that it would be one at a time, making it easier to share the load of running such a big house while having a little one running around. How the hell was it helpful to have him leave early— Two years early, by the way. So you decided you didn’t want to hear it, so you got up to leave with the excuse of going to take care of the baby, while the others sat in silence, staring at Jaehyun with shock.

It took a few days before you could look at him again. He tried to talk to you about it, wanting to explain himself and the fact that he was going into the military band so that he would have ample opportunity to visit, probably with Taeyong too, just to cheer you up. But you didn’t want to hear it. There was a crying baby in your room, begging for her dad, and you wondered what you were going to do with him gone… Yeah, there were the others. Of course they would always help out. But Jaehyun had a special touch with your daughter that put her to sleep whenever she was fussy or made her giggle whenever she was scared after a silly nightmare. There were times when you couldn’t help her but he could. How could he leave her?

“Let me feed her so you can rest,” Jaehyun begged from outside the door one afternoon when he heard her crying because she was hungry and you were grumpy while bouncing her in your arms, trying to get her to calm down. You gave in. The door opened, and Jaehyun took your daughter in his arms with a smile and a happy coo that instantly cheered her up. “Hi, my sweet girl. Let’s get you something to eat so you can nap with your mom.”

While he left with the baby, you crashed in bed, finally able to take a nap for the first time in a few days. The other boys tried to help out and get you to rest, but you had locked yourself away ever since Jaehyun said he was leaving— You didn’t want their help, because who could you trust? Next thing you’d know, Doyoung would be surprising you with his early enlistment, too… And maybe Jungwoo would follow suit… You didn’t dare to dream that Hyuck would leave you, too, but the concern lingered in the back of your mind. Jaehyun had flipped your whole world upside down, and you hated him for it.

By the time you were able to look him in the eyes again, the boys returned to their schedules of taking turns looking after the baby, and Johnny was cooking meals for a silent household since everyone was walking on eggshells around you. They’d just gotten their daughter back, no one wanted to start another argument that would have you retreating into your bedroom again. But Jaehyun observed you closely. Physically, he was at a distance, but his eyes followed you, like he was expecting you to say something to him. And you did.

“Mark and Haechan won’t even be here to see you off.”

Everyone in the kitchen went to a standstill.

“Reyna and I can’t go either.” If people took pictures of you, a random lady, holding a baby at his enlistment ceremony, the internet would’ve burned to the ground with speculation that would’ve flushed down the drain years of hard work keeping your relationship a secret.

Doyoung shifted uncomfortably on his seat while switching Reyna to his left arm to cradle her as he ate his breakfast that Johnny made.

“You’ll miss so much… Her first steps… Maybe her first words too…”

Yuta put his clean plate in the sink for Jungwoo to wash. Johnny turned off the stove before taking his own plate filled with eggs and sausage to his seat at the table. However, no one else moved or spoke until you stood, your plate still untouched, and left to go to your room.

Another two days later, there was a knock at your door, followed by Jaehyun cautiously peeking in to see if you’d send him away after throwing a pillow or something more… damaging than that. To his surprise, when you didn’t object to his appearance, he entered completely, closing the door behind him before slowly sitting on the corner of your bed. Reyna was napping in Mark’s room because he was trying to make the most out of seeing her before he and Haechan had to go back on tour in Europe for a whole month.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, baby.”

You stared at him, hoping that if you didn’t move and kept your breathing steady that you wouldn’t fall apart and start crying.

“But I am going—”

You gulped, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes.

“—and I hope that you’ll support my decision in time.” He bit his lip and played with his hands anxiously. “I know I’m going to miss out on a lot with Reyna, and the rest of you too. It kills me that I might not be here for her first steps, or when she’s teething and keeping you all up every night, or when she says her first words… But I’d rather give up some of that than give up her first day at preschool where she makes her first real friends, or when she gets her first stupid playground crush on some stupid kid who doesn’t deserve her a single bit.” Both of you chuckled quietly. “I want her to know that I’m her dad. If I leave now, she won’t know, and by the time I come back, she’ll learn who I am and always know that I’m her dad, and that I’m never going anywhere ever again. That’s the choice I’ve made. To be remembered by her, and to experience other things with her, I have to give up some of the other stuff now—”

Jaehyun was caught off guard when you threw the covers off your body and immediately leaned forward, putting your weight on your knees, so that you could kiss him gently. It took him a few seconds to snap out of his trance and reciprocate your kiss. His hands caressed your cheeks, fingers tickling your earlobes, his lips and tongue fighting for dominance.

But then he pulled away for air. His gaze was lowered in shame as he whispered, “I don’t want to fight these next few weeks. Can we just… Can we try to have fun? Be normal?”

“I’d like that.”

With a sigh of relief, Jaehyun pulled you on top of him while he simultaneously shifted to sit more comfortably on the bed. He cradled you close to him, like he was afraid to ever let go. In return, you held onto him, fingers tangling in his hair, your forehead pressed against his temple, staring at his dimples that Reyna and Jungwoo liked to play with— Everyone joked that was the one thing she must’ve inherited from Jungwoo, her uncanny obsession with Jae’s dimples and smile lines. And so the two of you stayed like that for what could’ve been hours on end. Every so often, Jaehyun would shift slightly beneath you, kissing you, rubbing your back comfortingly, whispering words of praise and affirmation. When he asked if he could spend the night in your room with you and Reyna, you replied with a nod. Then when Mark returned with Reyna, you took her while Jaehyun laid with his back against the headboard of your bed, his legs spread wide enough for you to sit comfortably between them while your back was resting against his stomach, both of you staring down at your daughter, watching as she slept so soundly knowing that her dad was there.

As promised, you and Jaehyun acted like things were normal. You didn’t want to talk about him enlisting. He didn’t want to upset you. The rest of the house was terrified of setting you off again. So things went on like there wasn’t a doom’s day clock in the back of their minds, counting down the days until November 4th. Mark and Haechan seemed content with the decision to pretend like nothing was wrong because it made their quick stay at home between tours go easier, like how they went out to lunch with Jae almost every other day, and the three of them would play with Reyna in the living room whenever she had a lot of energy in the bouncer Hyuck bought for her.

The evenings were reserved for you and Jae. It started innocent at first, casually cuddling together and watching a TV show he’d been dying to cross off his list for a while. But then he asked you out on a date. Of course those weren’t uncommon in the house— But you going out in public with them was next to impossible, so it struck you as odd that Jaehyun would want to run the risk of a scandal so close to his enlistment… Then again, who were you to deny him? You wanted to savor every moment with him that you could, so against your better judgment, you said yes, letting him spoil you to an entire date night out and about.

During the drive home, Jaehyun’s hand was placed high on your thigh while he massaged it fairly roughly although it was mindless so you didn’t care to stop him. He was distracting you, though. While you tried to admire the city out your window while listening to some of his music, his fingers on the inside of your leg, his cold rings against your skin, his big palm threatening to slide under your dress… You wondered if he had other intentions. He seemed preoccupied with the road while humming along to the music, but his hands seemed to be in a different world from the rest of him.

When you pulled up to the house, Jaehyun ran around the car once it was off so that he could open your door before you could even unbuckle your seatbelt. With a wide grin plastered across his face, Jae took your hand and led you inside, switching to caress the small of your back possessively as you entered the living room to find the boys playing a Mario Kart tournament— Jungwoo, Mark, Haechan, and Johnny were playing  while Yuta bounced Reyna in his arms.

Despite Jaehyun’s obvious attempts to rush you up to his bedroom, Johnny paused the game when Mark stopped the two of you with an innocent question about how your date went. Jaehyun gave a quick, half-assed reply of, “Good,” before trying to corral you again; However, you stayed to tell them about everything the two of you did. He took you to a fancy restaurant that many celebrities took all their “hidden treasures” to because of the staff’s reliable secrecy, and the fact that all the patrons were there with someone they didn’t want to be spotted with, so no one was going to snitch. After dinner, Jae drove you two around Seoul for a bit, going up some of the mountains to the look outs before driving back down to look at the city that was buzzing with nightlife.

“It was lots of fun, yes,” Jaehyun admitted with an impatient smile. “Now, if you don’t mind, she and I are going to be busy for the rest of the night.”

Hyuck looked up. “Can I join?”

“No.”

With that, Jaehyun took his hand in yours then dragged you up to his room which was second on the left, putting him between Johnny and Yuta. The door slammed shut behind the two of you once you entered. Jaehyun immediately pushed you up against the wall, his hands pinning you with nowhere to escape to as his lips began attacking yours.

“I want another one,” he muttered between kisses.

“What?”

“A baby…” He took off your dress and bra. “I want another baby.” His hands began running over your stomach. “Want the boys to send me pictures of you while I’m gone…” He left a big hickey on your neck, forcing you to hiss at the pain. “Want to know that I did it this time… That I have something to look forward to when I come back.”

You fiddled with the buckle of his pants while he latched onto a nipple. “Won’t you be sad, though?”

“Why?”

“You wouldn’t be here…”

“I’ll come back and visit every chance I get.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You pushed his pants and boxers down to his ankles. He stood and took off his shirt. With your hand suddenly jerking off his hard cock, you whispered in his ear something wanton about wanting to have another baby with him, and that set Jaehyun off. He used his strength to pick you up and prop you against the wall while he replaced your hand with his own so that he could line his tip up with your wet entrance. He chuckled in your ear. It was pathetic that all he did was touch your leg in the car and beg you for a baby and suddenly you were dripping wet for him. But that was Jaehyun. He was sexually appealing just by existing, how could you not be turned on just by the mere sight of him?

Jaehyun truly wasted no time pushing into you. His hold on your body never wavered, fingers digging roughly into the undersides of your thighs so that he could support you while fucking into you at an unrelenting pace. You knew that he’d been pent up for a little bit. Ever since “the conversation”, Jaehyun hadn’t gotten laid by anyone in the house, and that was difficult for him since he was the type of guy to relieve stress by sticking his dick in something, but since you were pissed off, you didn’t entertain him, and the boys were keeping their distance too. Jaehyun had a lot of pent up energy. Between wanting to fuck-out some of his feelings and wanting to have another baby, there was really no reason for him to hold back. So he gave you everything he had.

You tangled your fingers in his hair as he continued to piston in and out of you, strangled grunts reverberating from him every time he hit your clit with his unshaved pubic bone. Even though you were trying not to think about the inevitable, it was impossible to ignore the feeling of his long hair between your fingers and under your palms as you tugged on him to force him to kiss you. Jaehyun did so eagerly, his tongue immediately claiming dominance that you always so willingly handed over to him. With your legs wrapped around his small waist, Jaehyun spun, his cock still inside of you, and he set you on the bed before immediately going back to fucking you. There wasn’t a single moment of reprieve where you could catch your breath. He had a goal in mind, and there was no reality in which he wasn’t going to fill you to the brim with load after load throughout the entire night. Who knew taking silly risks like going out in public together would get him so riled up.

“My good girl,” he cooed lovingly in your ear, “taking my cock so well.” He sucked at your neck to leave a hickey while you whimpered and bucked your hips up into him. “So eager to be filled.”

“Please, Jae—”

His grip on your body tightened threateningly.

“Please, daddy!”

Jaehyun moaned against your skin, one his hands drifting between your bodies to rub your clit as a reward for being good, calling him the name he loved so much. The fingers working on your clit suddenly stopped. You whined, squirming beneath him, desperate for the pleasurable friction to return, but Jae held you still.

“Don’t move.”

You complained with a pout, “Daddy…”

“I know, baby girl, don’t worry, I’ll let you cum. I gotta cum first, though… Then—” He slammed into you roughly. “Then you’ll cum to make sure you take in every drop. Got it?”

You nodded eagerly. “Every drop.”

“Good girl.”

His muscular body swallowed you whole as he put all his weight on the bed, his long hair falling in his face while he kissed you passionately, his legs forcing yours to stay spread wide while his cock stretched you wide, his tip making you wince because it felt like it wa kissing your cervix over and over and over again. He was being a bully. He had you pinned to the point you were immobile, left paralyzed to his will and the chorus of moans the two of you were letting out with every thrust.

“I’m getting close, princess. Shit.” Jaehyun put even more of his weight on you while his hips made shallow thrusts rather than having your hole suck in every single inch each time. “Be good and take my cum.” A final, pornographic grunt set Jaehyun over the edge. His hands squeezing your waist for dear life, his lips pressed to yours, his saliva mixing with yours. “Good girl,” he mumbled.

As he thrusted a few more times to ride out his high, Jaehyun pushed himself upright, moving his weight to his knees so that he had a clear view of your wet cunt which he decided had suffered enough and deserved to finally have an orgasm. His fingers returned to your clit. Both of you moaned when your walls tightened around his cock, pulling in his cum, which only egged him on— All of his focus was trained on making you cum with his big cock still buried inside of you. Jaeahyun was admittedly somewhat of a master with his fingers. Now that he had his sights set on his text task of forcing an orgasm out of you, his skillful fingers rubbed your sensitive nub at a fast pace but in various directions and patterns so that the stimulation was constant and overwhelming, turning you into nothing but moans and pleas for him to have some mercy on you. However, one of Jaehyun’s hands didn’t waver from your hip. He kept you as still as he could while your stomach twisted into knots, his cock all too noticeable. He seemed to know what you were thinking.

He grinned ear to ear and moved his palm from your hip to the bottom of your stomach, pressing on it slightly before he slowly moved his cock. “Feel me, princess? I’m right… here…” And then he pressed his thumb down.

“Oh, fuck— Jae— Daddy— Please!”

“Please, what?”

“Please let me cum!”

“Cum for me, pretty girl.”

You let go within an instant, your body fighting against his hold, your hands desperately clinging to the sheets and his hand that was torturing your overstimulated clit.

“Keep fucking my cock like that, princess. Just like that. So fucking good—”

He threw his head back as he twitched inside of you, another load flooding into you as your own high faded. The two of you were just trading orgasms. He was the worst.

Jaehyun finally loosened his grip and removed his fingers from your throbbing clit. Both of you slumped, but he didn’t pull out of you, instead he reached over for a pillow that he slid under your hips to keep them elevated before he rolled his thumbs over your hardened nipples for fun.

“I’ve got another few rounds in me,” he told you. You looked at him with exhausted, heavy eyes. He was glowing with energy, his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, his toned abs extending and clenching as he panted, his muscular thighs twitching when he shifted his weight around to sink into you again. “Be good and keep your legs open for me, okay?”

You nodded, “Yes, daddy,” surrendering to his will for the rest of the night.

Every day after that, Jaehyun would find a rhyme or a reason to have one of the other boys look after Reyna while he fucked you for hours on end in his bedroom. Balls deep in you, he’d always mumble things about knocking you up, having another baby, leaving you with a parting gift. For whatever reason, you didn’t take him seriously. You played into it, moaning that you wanted him to fill you up, to give you a baby… Why you never expected that it would actually happen was beyond you. Nearly three weeks straight he was fucking you into his mattress in every position imaginable. Loads and loads of his cum seeped out of you, day and night, while you were sitting at the dining table eating meals, or while you were cuddled with one of the other boys for movie night. You were an idiot to not seriously think about the consequences.

That was until the dreaded D-Day everyone’d been avoiding for so long.

Watching him from the open doorway of his bedroom, you could see that Jaehyun had pretty much everything ready to go. His hair was already cut short— Shorter than you liked, and they all knew that after the Taeyong debacle in April where Jungwoo had to apologize profusely to you for two weeks straight. His room was in perfect condition, everything was put away neatly, his clothes that were remaining at home were hung up in the closet or neatly folded in his drawers— Even though you said you would keep his clothes fresh so that he would have things to wear when he’d visit. On his desk, there was a stack of letters which you could see had Reyna’s name addressed on the front, along with dates for every week until his discharge. She wouldn’t be able to read them, but he probably expected you or one of the boys to read them to her in his stead. That hurt too much to consider. You didn’t want to think about all the ways he’d poured his heart out for her in those letters, and how you would have to say them out loud like you weren’t suffering without him, that you didn’t miss him every second he was gone.

You gathered the courage to ignore the letters so that you could finally knock on his door with a quiet sniffle. Jaehyun quickly glanced at you to see who was visiting before he returned to his packing. His suitcase was nearly full, there were just a few last minute clothes and toiletries he needed to stuff inside.

“Hi, baby girl. Come in.”

As you stepped forward and sniffled again, Jaehyun looked over his shoulder at you, then once he noticed the tears pooling in your eyes, he stopped packing and turned to you completely.

“What’s wrong?”

“Can we talk?”

“Yeah, baby. Of course.”

Jaehyun sat next to his suitcase on the bed so that he could pull you sideways onto his lap. “What’s got my baby girl all upset, huh?” He wiped away one of your tears. “I’ll be back in a few weeks—”

“Please don’t leave. Please. I’ll do anything to keep you here, just don’t leave us.”

Jae sighed and kissed your cheek, leaving his lips pressed against you while he thought for a minute. “I’m so sorry, baby, I have to go, you know that.”

You started crying even harder, clinging onto his black sweatshirt, babbling more pathetic pleas for him to not leave. He just kept saying how sorry he was between your sobs. There was no reasoning with him, the same way there was no reasoning with you. He decided that he was leaving. You decided that you couldn’t accept that. The two of you were at a standstill in which his pride and honor was winning against your emotional argument. He knew that it wasn’t easy for you to let go, so he tried to just ease your mind only slightly about seeing him off for training at the least… That still wasn’t good enough for you.

“I’m pregnant, Jae.”

He froze underneath you. “What?” he croaked.

“I took tests ‘cause I was late, and given the last few weeks, I was suspicious…”

One of his hands drifted over your stomach. “Is it mine?”

“Of course it’s yours, stupid. You wanted a baby so bad, so I didn’t sleep with any of the others the past few weeks… Of course they’re fucking yours. That’s why I can’t let you leave.”

He chuckled happily before kissing you passionately, his smile sticking to your lips. The idiot was over the moon with excitement while you were crying on his lap like a wounded puppy that had been ditched on the side of the road. That was practically what he was doing to you. Leaving you early. Leaving you on the side of the road to fend for yourself. Meanwhile he was laughing to himself, mumbling things about how happy he was, that he was relieved you were having another baby— His baby. It was exactly what he wanted, so of course the fucker was satisfied with himself. 

“Please, Jae. For us, don’t leave.”

His smile faded and his eyes fell shut. “I wish I could stay… But we both knew that even if this happened, I’d still have to leave, princess.”

He tried to comfort you with a million different promises that honestly went in one ear and out the other. He would visit every single break he was given. He would be there when the baby would be born, same with Taeyong. It would be a bit longer until Doyoung or Jungwoo would enlist, so you would have them by your side through everything, keeping you company whenever he couldn’t. Everything was going to be okay. He was going to be okay—

“I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl.”

“I know he’s a boy.” Jaehyun’s touch drifted back and forth slowly. “I’ve had dreams for the past few weeks that we’d have a boy.” Finally, his hands left your stomach to reach up and cup your face gently while he wiped your tears away with his thumbs. “We’re gonna be okay, princess. When have I ever lied to you?” You couldn’t reply, you just tucked into his touch affectionately. “I love you.”

You fisted the dense fabric of his sweatshirt in your hand to keep him close to your body. “I love you, too.”

“It’s time to go,” Johnny said from the doorway where he must have been watching and eavesdropping like you were minutes prior.

Jae sighed anxiously. “Okay, just give me a second to throw the rest of my stuff in my bag.”

“Yuta’s got Reyna downstairs for you.”

He nodded. “Thanks, hyung.”

After Johnny left, you slid off Jaehyun’s lap reluctantly so that he could finish packing while he quietly explained the letters for Reyna on his desk, how he wanted one of you to read a  letter to her once a week, every week until his return. He didn’t care if she wouldn’t remember anything in the letters. His words meant something, and he was eager to come home to her… and to you. He said that last part after zipping his bag shut and turning to face you while holding it. Eighteen months. He’d be back in eighteen months. There’d be so much to look forward to in that time, like all of Reyna’s milestones, and having another baby. He implored you to send him as many updates as possible, just so he was in-the-know and had keepsakes to get him through those eighteen months. And all you got in return was one last “I love you,” as he left the house with only a small handful of the boys to head to his enlistment ceremony.

another aurora's note: sending all the valentines love and support <3 he'll be back before we know it. my asks are always open if you want to talk.

[nadvs]

push and pull (part two) (end)

pairing twin!rafe x female reader x twin!zach

summary life felt complicated enough when you started falling for zach. then you meet rafe. he’s the complete opposite of his twin brother, but he captures your attention just the same.

content warnings alcohol use, mental illness, mentions of parental abandonment

» intro post | part one

» masterlist

When Zach wakes up the next morning, he fully understands the term hangxiety.

His temples pound as he stares at his ceiling. At some point last night, he slipped from tipsy into drunk.

Thankfully, he didn’t get so wasted that he’s forgetting anything. But then again, that means every time he made an ass of himself is a memory etched into his brain.

He remembers welcoming his date. Having a decent time with her. Walking her downstairs. Her lips on his cheek when she kissed him goodbye. Feeling like something was missing, and then, that something wasn’t missing anymore when you came downstairs to let him in.

And he remembers looking over at you across the party. Wishing he was next to you. Feeling crappy for thinking about you while he was with another girl. Knowing he was idiot for thinking he could ignore his feelings for you and date someone else.

Talking to you in the elevator. Crap.

He buries his head into his pillow. Why did he blabber to you like that? His brother would kill him if he knew what he said. He probably already wants to kill him for loudly proclaiming how much he loves him in the hallway. Rafe’s not one for any sort of PDA.

Zach picks up his phone to text you: Trauma dumping to you was just a dream I had, right? Please tell me it didn’t actually happen.

You reply minutes later: you mean in the elevator? definitely a dream.

Despite his embarrassment, he smiles at his screen.

He replies: Sorry about that.

You send another text: it’s no problem. i’m guessing you have a pretty bad hangover.

He replies: Everything hurts.

You text back: make sure to hydrate and rest ok?

Zach smiles again. He can’t help but daydream about you coming over, taking care of him, cuddling him.

He’s worried about the consequences of things going wrong if he got into a relationship with you. But God, does he want you.

He replies: Ok :)

When he eventually leaves his bedroom, he sees Rafe lounging on the couch, still in his pajamas. Surprisingly, his brother actually tidied up.

It gives him hope that Rafe really is trying to improve himself. He’s had his fair share of meltdowns and Zach’s had a front row seat to all of them, watching his brother break down into tears, spiralling into his toxic, self-hating thoughts.

Once he calms down, every time, Rafe talks about how he knows he’s not a good person, that he wants to be better. But then, he sticks to his bad habits. He never gets the help he needs, even though Zach encourages him to.

Nonetheless, Zach never saw the bad in Rafe that he’s so adamant is there. At his worst, he can be violent, drunkenly throwing punches at parties, but Zach knows it’s a result of his emotional scars.

“Shit,” Rafe chuckles when he sees Zach. “You’re alive.”

“Barely.” Zach sinks onto the other side of the couch, closing his eyes as he tilts his head back. “You cleaned up for once.”

“Did you just say for once? I’m always cleaning up, asshole,” he mutters, making Zach laugh.

“I hope the neighbors don’t hate us,” Zach says. “The party got kinda loud last night.”

“This guy’s thinking about the neighbors,” Rafe says with a scoff. “The girl you were with looked like she was into you. Bet she would’ve stayed the night.”

“Maybe,” Zach says with a shrug, thinking back to his date.

Then, Rafe says he thinks you might be into him, too, considering he caught you staring. And Zach’s pulse picks up.

He loves and hates hearing that. Because if you really do like him back, it’s exciting, but that makes it even more crushing that he can’t pursue anything.

“Maybe,” Zach echoes.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Rafe laughs, thinking about how good you looked last night. “I’d jump on that if I had the chance.”

“But you don’t have the chance,” Zach murmurs. “If you love me, you won’t jump on any of my friends.”

Zach sits up and looks at his brother.

“By the way, you never said you love me back last night. I’m still waiting.”

“Yeah,” Rafe snorts. “You can keep waiting.”

────୨ৎ────

On Monday morning, you finally get a response from a student you found online who’s selling a used textbook you need.

You’d rather not go by yourself, so you text the group chat: i need to go to a stranger’s house to buy a textbook tonight. is anyone down to tag along so i’m not alone?

To your relief, Zach texts the group a minute later: I got you :)

That evening, you’re knocking on his front door. Instead of Zach, though, Rafe answers.

“Hi,” you say. “Is Zach around? He’s supposed to come with me to pick a textbook up.”

“Haven’t heard him since he got home,” he says, turning to look up the stairs. “I’ll get him.”

A minute later, Rafe comes down, keys jingling in his hand.

“He’s sleeping,” he says. “I can take you. I was about to go for a drive anyway.”

“Cool,” you say. “Thanks.”

You watch him lean over to slip on his sneakers, his frame broad and tall. It’s surprising that Zach, who’s usually reliable, forgot about your plans. And that Rafe, who you’ve come to known as hot and cold, is willing to help you.

He locks the door behind him before you make your way down the hallway together.

“He must be tired after practice,” you say, well aware of the team’s training schedule.

“Yeah, when he’s asleep, he’s out.”

You smirk to yourself, imagining Zach adorably bundled up in his bed. You already know he’s going to apologize profusely once he realizes he accidentally bailed on you.

“It’s only ten minutes away,” you tell Rafe. “I just wanted someone with me since it’s some random guy I don’t know selling it.”

“Zach didn’t offer to just buy a new one for you?” he asks.

“No,” you laugh, entering the elevator. “Why would he?”

Rafe doesn’t get Zach sometimes. It’s insane that he’s not into you, that he sleeps through plans with you, that he doesn’t offer to buy you something that probably only costs a few hundred dollars.

“Want me to?” Rafe asks. You have to laugh.

“It’s okay,” you say. “I already set all this up. Do you always offer to buy girls school supplies?”

He bites his tongue. If Zach wasn’t so adamant about m not being allowed to try to hook up with you, he’d flirt and say yes, he buys all kinds of things for beautiful girls.

“Not always,” he settles for.

The elevator doors open. You enter the parking garage and follow Rafe to his car, settling into the cushioned passenger seat. He starts the engine, then offers the cable hooked up his radio to you.

“Already know you have good taste,” Rafe says. You smile, plugging your phone in.

You’re Zach’s friend, but he figures you can be his friend, too. Because he wants to get to know what he can about you, to flatter you and joke with you and talk to you, even though the night won’t be ending with you in his bed. He has fun with you. He’ll take what he can get.

He backs out of his parking spot, putting his hand against the back of your headrest as he looks through the rear window. You gaze up at his profile, taking in just how handsome he is, how nice his cologne smells.

Rafe doesn’t know the song you put on, but he likes it. He turns forward in his seat, driving out of the garage.

You chat about your days and even though it’s small-talk, it doesn’t feel like it. There’s an ease with Rafe that you can’t really compare to with anyone else.

Still, he’s kind of intimidating, but you naturally want to keep challenging this way he makes you feel, cracking the wall he has up.

When you reach the house at the end of a dark street, Rafe parks in the driveway, turns his key and takes it out of ignition.

“You can wait here,” you offer.

“Nah,” he mumbles. He unbuckles his seatbelt. “I’m not letting you go alone.”

With Rafe standing behind you as you knock on the front door, the feeling of him protecting you is intoxicating, making your heart pound harder.

The door swings open and you greet the man you’ve been messaging. He’s holding the textbook you need and when you offer him four twenties, he looks through the bills and shakes his head.

“We said $100,” he says.

“No,” you reply. “$80. You said $80 was good.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I have the texts to prove it,” you laugh in disbelief.

“Really, man?” Rafe mutters. “Just give her the book.”

“$100,” he repeats.

“Forget it,” Rafe says. He steps forward, roughly taking your money out of his hand and pulling you by the waist. “I’ll just get you a new one.”

“No, wait,” the guy calls. “$80’s fine.”

“Get fucked,” Rafe mutters. You follow him to the car, still mentally catching up to what just happened. “Trying to scam you over twenty dollars. What a joke.”

You settle in the car, feeling Rafe’s warm, big hand curl your fingers open so he can give you your money back.

He’s fuming, beyond pissed off that someone would try to trick you like that. He’s glad you didn’t come by yourself to have to deal with this idiot alone. And he’s not sure how Zach would’ve handled it.

“How much is a new book?” he asks.

“Like, $250,” you tell him.

“I got it covered, alright?” he says. “Give me your phone.”

You comply, still a little jarred but appreciating how quickly he swept in to help you. You watch him enter digits, call himself to get your number, then hang up.

He returns your phone and takes his out, taps on your number, and quickly opens up a bank app.

“You really don’t have to,” you say.

“It’s fine.”

Within a minute, he sends you $250. It’s bizarre how he’s acting like that much money is nothing. Like he’s giving you change he owes you.

Rafe exhales slowly, starting his car again, coming down from the daze. This happens a lot. It’s like he blacks out when he gives in to his impulses.

But what can he do? He has a weak spot for you and he hates the idea of someone doing you wrong, of him not helping you when he’s totally capable of it.

He scratches his forehead. Zach’s words resonate in his head, telling him he needs to cool down and think before he does things. Sometimes his temper flares with no warning.

He’s sure he came off way too intense. He doesn’t know how to apologize for it. Before he can speak, you do.

“Can you come with me every time I have to buy something?” you say lightheartedly. It eases some of the tension in his chest.

“Was that too much?” he says, tone low.

You smile to yourself. You wouldn’t call it too much. He seems like he’s an intense, passionate person. Beneath the surface, Rafe feels more than he lets on.

“You didn’t let a guy con me, then you bought me a $250 book,” you reply with a laugh. “Trust me, you’re good. Thank you.”

Your phone buzzes with a text from Zach as you back out of the driveway. Crap I’m so sorry. I don’t even remember falling asleep. Did you come over?

You reply: all good! i figured you were exhausted. rafe went with me.

“Guess who’s awake,” you say, the smile apparent in your tone. Rafe glances over at your profile as you text back.

He hates this about himself, the envy that pushes him to be sure that Zach is so much better than him. That every girl, if given the chance, would pick his brother over him.

“So, you were going to go for a drive?” you say, tucking your phone away. Because of his kind gestures tonight, you’re pretty sure that he likes hanging out with you. “Want company?”

Rafe taps his hand against the steering wheel. Even if this is just platonic, he doesn’t want you to leave his car.

“If I can pick the music,” he says.

“You said I had good taste.”

“Mine’s better.”

You laugh, and because he held your waist just a few minutes ago, you don’t feel apprehensive to touch him. You nudge his shoulder. He smirks.

An hour goes by like a minute. When Rafe and you part, your cheeks hurt from how much you’ve been smiling and laughing with him.

You talked together nonstop, touching on the most random subjects, finding similarities and differences. You have a deep crush on him. There’s no denying it.

When Rafe watches you step out of his car, he realizes that this isn’t just attraction like he’s used to. He feels like he knows you. And he likes you. It’s exciting and scary.

When Rafe makes it home, Zach is in the kitchen, the whole loft smelling like delicious food.

“You actually remembered how to get home?” Zach teases over the sound of ingredients sizzling in a pan.

“Lost track of time,” Rafe says. He settles on a barstool as Zach stands at the range, trying not to burn dinner.

Zach is glad his back is to his brother, because when Rafe tells him that he was with you that entire time, driving around and talking, his eyebrows furrow in anger and jealousy before he can subdue it.

“But before you lose your shit,” Rafe adds, “it was all friendly, okay?”

“Right,” Zach mumbles. He stares down at the pan, trying to breathe through his prickly frustration. He’s unbelievably mad at himself for falling asleep after practice.

You can do whatever you want, he knows that, but he feels that even though it’s just as a friend, you’re his, not Rafe’s. And his brother getting to spend time with you feels painfully unfair.

────୨ৎ────

The bright stadium lights pool over the deep green soccer field. It’s a cool evening, perfect for a match.

Cold seeps in through your jeans as you sit on the metal bench on the sideline. You have your phone at the ready to film the team as they rush the field for a home game.

You’ve grown to love your job. You found great friends, the TikTok account is earning more traction, and you’ve started to genuinely enjoy coming out to games and cheering on your school’s team.

It’s been almost a week since your night with Rafe. You haven’t seen him or Zach since. You welcome the distance. Liking them both is ridiculously confusing.

Minutes pass. The crowd is getting louder. The team still isn’t out on the field. Your dad runs a tight ship, so it’s weird that they’re late.

You head into the stadium tunnel towards the locker room, curiosity nagging you. A group of players are standing outside the door and you approach Chance.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“Something’s up with Zach,” Chance tells you. Alarm rushes through you and you step into the locker room without a second thought.

Zach’s sitting on the bench by his locker, hunched over, surrounded by your dad, the team’s medic, and a few other players.

“Is everything okay?” you ask.

Zach looks up at you. His eyes are sunken, his lips parted. And then, he loses consciousness.

When his eyelids flutter open, the brightness of the room is so painful that he has to squint.

“He’s up,” he hears. It’s you. He hasn’t heard your voice in a while. He misses it.

He slowly comes to, realizing he’s in a hospital bed. You’re sitting to his left. The team medic is standing at the end of the bed with a doctor. He’s hooked up to an IV.

“What happened?” he rasps.

“You’re dehydrated,” the medic explains, leaning over to hand a plastic cup of water to Zach. “You’re at Trinity Hospital. You’re okay. Drink.”

Zach weakly picks it up, downing the cool water, his throat feeling raw. He rolls his head to look at you again. He knows it’s wrong, but he’s relieved that you look so concerned for him. That you’re here.

The doctor introduces herself, then explains that Zach was unconscious for so long that she’d prefer to keep him overnight to monitor him.

The news makes everything in him twist with worry and frustration. He just wants to go home. He doesn’t want Rafe to spiral.

“Okay,” he says. “I’m alright, though?”

“I’m not worried,” the doctor replies. “I just want to be sure you’re in good shape before I send you home.”

Within a few minutes, the doctor leaves the room. Then, the medic encourages Zach to drink more fluids, calls the coach to update him, and asks if you want to head back together now that you’re sure Zach’s okay.

You politely decline. You’re too worried to leave him alone so fast. And shortly after, it’s just you two in the room, listening to the beeps of Zach’s pulse.

“Dehydrated?” you say playfully, but still worried. “What the hell, Cameron?”

“I know,” he says with a smile. He regrets going hard at the gym today. He’s sure that’s what did it. “Rookie move.”

“I specifically told you to hydrate like, two days ago.”

Zach’s laugh is boyish. He reaches for your hand and squeezes. You remind yourself it’s likely nothing more than a friendly gesture.

“That was hangover advice,” he says. His thumb strokes over the back of your hand.

“It was life advice, actually.” You inhale slowly. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He lets go of your hand, remembering you can hear his pulse right now and not wanting to risk you witnessing it beat faster.

“It was way more than two days ago, by the way,” he says. He threads his fingers through his hair, suddenly self-conscious of how bad he must look right now. “Where’ve you been?”

You look down at your lap. You’ve been declining all the invitations to hang out in the group chat because the past few days have been so confusing.

Seeing Zach with another girl was painful, and then, you realized just how unimportant you felt to him when he slept through your plans, even though it was by mistake. You need time and space to stop liking him before you can hang out again.

“School’s been kicking my ass,” you lie.

“Do you need help?” he asks. He’d do anything to have you around again.

“Leave it to you to be in a hospital bed asking if you can help,” you mumble. Zach laughs. You try and fail not to fawn over his perfect smile.

“Did I faint in front of everybody?” he says, fixing his hair again.

“Not everybody,” you half-laugh. “But, seriously, everyone was really worried. We all care about you a lot.”

His heart warms. He may be in the hospital, but right now, he’s grateful for having people who care about him. It’s all he ever wanted.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Zach says softly. “And for staying.”

You nod. You were so worried that you told your dad you were going with the paramedics when they arrived, not even considering that you had work to do, that Zach was already taken care of.

“Of course,” you reply. “You said you don’t like being alone, remember? In that dream you had?”

Zach huffs a laugh and looks away, embarrassed as he thinks about that night in the elevator, but still appreciative.

“Did anyone call my brother?” he asks.

“I texted him that I’m with you at the hospital. He hasn’t replied yet.”

Zach nods and thanks you. He tries not to fixate on the fact that you have Rafe’s number. He looks at the clock hanging on the wall to see it’s late in the evening. He figures Rafe’s out with friends or with a girl, not paying attention to his phone.

He wishes he could just talk to him. With every second that passes, he worries more and more about Rafe’s reaction to him being here.

“I should’ve grabbed your phone from the locker room so you could talk to him directly,” you say regretfully. “But I told Chance to get your things for you after the game. Is there anyone else I should contact?”

Admittedly, you’re bracing yourself for him to mention the girl from the other night. Or any girl, really. But he only shakes his head no.

A nurse comes in to remind you that visiting hours are up soon. Zach sits up, visibly on edge, asking her when he can have visitors tomorrow. She tells him 9 a.m.

Knowing he won’t be able to see his brother in person tonight makes him anxious.

After the nurse leaves, Zach frantically asks if he can send a voice-note to Rafe on your phone. You open the conversation and hand your phone to Zach, noticing the nervous way he’s chewing on his lip.

“Hey,” he says into the speaker. “It’s nothing. I passed out from dehydration and I’m at Trinity and they’re keeping me overnight just to be sure I’m good, but the doctor’s not worried.”

His eyes flit to you and he swallows hard.

“This is nothing like the last time, okay? I know your mind’s gonna go there and this is not even close,” he continues. “You can come see me at nine tomorrow. And you better bring me food.”

Zach ends the recording, sends it, and gives you back your phone.

“Thanks,” he breathes. You nod, your eyebrows knitting in confusion and worry.

“Sure,” you say. “Is there anything I can do?”

Zach scratches the back of his neck.

“When he answers, please tell him that you saw for yourself that I’m okay,” he says. “He might be a little freaked out.”

You agree, not wanting to pry, and start to collect your things. There’s no television in the room and you feel bad that Zach’ll be left alone with nothing to entertain him. You want to help.

You tell him you’ll be right back, then rush downstairs at a vending machine you saw when you came in. After, you drop by the gift shop. It’s closed, the flowers and balloons locked up, but you’re still able to pick up a book sitting on a rack.

You leave behind more than enough cash for the book on the counter and go back to Zach’s room.

“Snacks,” you say breathlessly when you enter, dropping the bags of chips and candy and the paperback on the bed, “and a book. Hopefully, this’ll keep you entertained. And don’t tell my dad about the junk food. You know how he is about an athlete’s diet.”

Zach smiles at you, his eyes soft. With everything you’ve done tonight, you could simply be showing what a good friend you are, but what if you feel something for him, too?

The mention of his coach is reminder enough of why he doesn’t pursue this. It could get messy. But maybe he should be more like his brother. Taking risks. Allowing himself to do what he wants to do.

“I should go,” you sigh, looking at the clock. “Feel better, okay? We don’t stand a chance of winning without you.”

He laughs, his eyes lingering on you.

“Thanks,” Zach says. You turn to leave. He stops you with a gentle, “Hey.”

You stop, turning back to look at him. Zach takes you in, how good he feels when you’re around, how there’s still a little bit of worry written into your cute features.

He won’t tell you that he wants to you to be his girlfriend. Not like this, when he’s hooked up to monitors, stuck in a bed. He’ll do it when he’s out of here. He’ll do it when he can hold your face in his hands and tell you how much you mean to him.

“Seriously, thank you,” he tells you. “You’re amazing.” You smile at him again. If only he knew how much his words mean to you.

“You’re welcome,” you say.

You’re pacing through the parking lot when your phone buzzes. It’s Rafe calling you. You answer quickly. He says your name, his voice strained.

“I’m here. Is it too late to see him?”

“Yeah, visiting hours are over. I’m just leaving now,” you say, looking around the dark lot in case you can spot him. “But, honestly, he’s okay.”

“Does he…” Rafe pauses. “I think I see you.”

You approach each other under the starry sky, meeting by a line of parked cars.

His eyes are glossy. He’s been crying. No wonder Zach was so worried. He must have known the effect this would have on his brother. There’s more to this than you realize.

“Hi,” you say softly, ending the call. “It’s okay. He’s acting totally like himself.”

“He doesn’t have his phone?”

“No,” you say. “But I made sure someone’ll pick his stuff up for him.”

“What happened?”

“Before the game tonight, he was in the locker room and he looked really tired,” you explain. “He passed out, but he was already sitting and someone caught him, so he didn’t hit his head or anything. They have him on an IV and drinking lots of fluids.”

“Okay,” he mutters. “Fuck. I was at a bar and I wasn’t checking my phone… I got into a cab as fast as I could.”

“It’s okay,” you console him. “He’s good. He was more worried about you than himself.”

Rafe sighs, hands on his hips as he looks down and paces back and forth, hair hanging over his head. You can hear him panting.

“He was worried about me?”

“Yeah.”

“What’d he say?” Rafe asks the question the same tense way he did the night of the party. He’s so closed off, clearly upset at the thought of you knowing anything he doesn’t want you to know.

“I heard the voice-note he sent you,” you admit, “and he said you might be freaked out, but he didn’t tell me anything else. I didn’t ask. It’s not my business.”

Rafe chews on his lip the same nervous way Zach does. For once, you see a similarity between them.

His breathing gets even shallower. He rests his hands on the rear window of the van parked next to him. His body curls forward. His skin is flushed.

You step a little closer, searching his face in the light of the lamps lining the parking lot. He’s distraught.

“Rafe,” you say quietly.

His stare is on the ground, his chest heaving now. Something bad has been triggered in him.

“Hey,” you say.

“You can go home now,” he mutters breathlessly.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” you say. You take a risk, placing a hand on his back, feeling it rise and fall quickly.

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” you say evenly. “I get that this is scary, but I promise you, everything’s okay. Zach is okay.”

Rafe’s chest is tight. His veins are made of ice. He feels like punching something. He hates this familiar loss of control, this shock of the world crumbling around him with no warning.

Yet while he thought that he’d hate someone touching him like this, that he’d hate being so vulnerable, he actually feels a little better.

You continue to rub his back, sweetly and tenderly. The touches he shares with girls are never like this. They’re always superficial, fuelled by lust. But this feels like real, sincere care.

“You took a cab here?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he rasps.

“Did you talk to the driver?”

“What?”

“Did you?” you say. “What kind of car was it?”

It’s all in an effort to distract him, and while Rafe stammers his way through his answers about the driver and the car and the bar he was at, you notice his breathing start to even out.

Minutes later, his heart isn’t racing as fast. His chest isn’t as tight. He can think clearer.

He’s embarrassed, but relieved you were here to talk him down before he ran into the hospital and demanded to see his brother. He now realizes how bad that could’ve gone.

“I don’t…” he stammers. He doesn’t know how to say that this doesn’t happen all that often, that this is a piece of him he typically buries deep from everyone.

“What?”

“You probably think I’m crazy.” Saying the word out loud hurts more than he expected. It’s what he’s felt all his life, that something isn’t wired right in his brain.

“No. I get it,” you say. You shake your head. “I mean, I don’t know what happened, but… I’m guessing he was in the hospital for something before, right?”

Rafe meets your eyes, straightening.

“I get why you’re freaked out,” you say. “I would be, too. Memories can mess with us.”

The way you just calmed him down, the sympathy in your tone, the alcohol swimming in his system are what push him to actually be honest with someone for once in a long time.

“We almost lost him,” he admits. “A long time ago.”

Your face falls in sorrow, eyes searching his face. He looks down at the ground, too uncomfortable to meet your gaze again.

“I almost lost him,” Rafe mumbles, his voice thin. Because, really, he knows he would’ve felt the loss the hardest. His brother is the most important person in his life. Always has been.

And to lose him, someone so irreplaceable, someone he was with from the moment he was a living thing, would kill him. Zach’s right, even though he’s joking, that Rafe doesn’t tell him he loves him enough.

“I’m so sorry,” you say. “How old were you?”

“Fourteen,” Rafe says.

It was mere months after their mother abandoned them, saying she couldn’t stay with their father anymore, that she did everything she could do as a mom, that she was done.

It left a hole in Rafe that he feels every day. If Zach feels it, he does an incredible job hiding it.

He still doesn’t know what the final straw was. Why fourteen years of her sons’ lives was enough for her. How could a parent decide that they had enough of their kids forever?

She wasn’t the best mom, unpredictable and erratic, but he loved her. There had to be something wrong with her mind for her to act like that. To leave. Something that Rafe is sure skipped Zach and was passed on to him.

“That’s so young,” you say sadly.

“He was really sick for a while.” Rafe’s heart twists thinking about it.

How a freak case of pneumonia had Zach bedridden, his lungs fighting to keep breathing. How mad Rafe was at his brother, as if he did it on purpose. How sure he was that in some twisted way, his mother’s sudden abandonment triggered it.

He still regrets how he acted when Zach was discharged. He couldn’t talk to him for days. He was too angry for scaring him into thinking he was going to lose his best friend, his anchor.

“How long?” you ask.

“Weeks,” Rafe tells you. “And you know Zach. He kept telling everyone he was fine. Even as a kid, he didn’t want people to worry about him.”

“He is like that, isn’t he?” you say with a soft chuckle. Since you met Zach, you quickly learned he dismisses any notion of needing any sort of help. “But I promise, this isn’t one of those cases. I saw for myself. He’s good. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

Rafe nods quickly, finally looking at you.

“You’ll see him tomorrow,” you say with a small smile, sad but touched that he opened up to you like this. “Until then, just try to relax.”

Rafe loves the feeling of your hand on him. He can’t remember the last time he loved someone’s touch. If he ever even did.

He’s keeping his promise to Zach. He won’t hook up with you. Because he wants more than that. He wants to know you and for you to know him. He wants you to stay the night, every night. He wants you to be his.

And he needs to be sure you don’t feel anything for his brother.

“Are you and him…” He swallows hard. “Is there anything there?”

Your forehead crinkles in confusion. Zach had told you that his brother was his best friend. You’re sure he would’ve told him if he felt something for you.

If he has to ask, Zach must not talk about you much at all. You’re nothing but a friend to him. Although you do have feelings for him, you were right to be apprehensive from the start. He doesn’t like you like that.

“No,” you finally say.

Rafe nods. At least there’s no unrequited feelings on either side. He must have been reading into things, imagining you looking at his brother a certain way.

“You wanna grab some food?” Rafe asks impulsively.

You agree. Right now, there’s nothing else you’d rather do.

Rafe’s been on a handful of dates before, but sitting across from you at a quiet late-night diner, sobering up, getting to know you more and more makes him feel like he’s living in a dream.

He’s never felt this way about a girl before. Scared in a good way. Slowly, he opens up little by little, peeling back layers of the wall he’s been hiding behind for years.

He shares what happened with his mom. How Zach was the strong one, while Rafe acted out and made his life hell. You take in every word, seeing just how much guilt and shame and pain he carries around.

You open up, too, sharing things you don’t tell many people. He’s a good listener, and the eyes you thought didn’t have much hope behind them at first aren’t cold at all by the end of the night.

It’s one in the morning when you part ways. Rafe shares a cab with you, making sure you get dropped off first, watching you step through the front door.

Everything in him wants to invite you to his place, but things are going to be different with you. He won’t rush into numbing himself with sex like he always does, because he refuses to be numb or absent or checked out with you in any way.

────୨ৎ────

“What kind of grown man forgets to drink water?”

Zach looks up from his orange juice to see Rafe walking into his hospital room.

He chuckles, asking Rafe not to give him shit for this because you already did. The mention of your name makes Rafe’s heart feel lighter in this tense moment.

Because of how good it felt to be so open with you last night, expressing just how important Zach is to him, remembering everything they’d gone through together, Rafe doesn’t shy away from leaning over to hug his brother, who stiffens in his bed.

“Uh, good morning to you, too?” Zach laughs. “Is this a hug? What the hell? Who are you?”

“I love you, too,” Rafe mumbles, pulling back and holding up a paper bag of breakfast for him. “And I got you your food, princess.”

“You try eating hospital food,” Zach replies, taking the bag, feeling ravenous.

Rafe settles on the chair, remembering his brother at fourteen, picking apart at the food they served him with a look of disgust, yet telling the nurses ‘it’s good, thank you’ when they asked if he was enjoying his meal.

Rafe urged his dad to bring his brother home-cooked food almost every day of his hospital stay. It was one of the little ways he showed up for Zach, taking care of him instead of the other way around for once.

“What’d the doctor say?” Rafe asks. “Do you feel better?”

“She hasn’t come to see me yet, but I feel totally fine.” Zach digs into his breakfast. “How are you?”

Rafe looks down at his lap, sighing before he speaks.

“I freaked out,” Rafe admits. Zach stills. “She told me you said I would and you were right. But, man… she knew exactly what to do.”

“It happened when you were with her?” Zach knows what Rafe’s breakdowns look like. He has full-blown panic attacks. He’s nearly inconsolable. He wonders how jarring that must have been for you.

“Out in the parking lot,” he says. “It was just too much. All that shit came rushing back.”

Rafe shrugs, defeated. Sometimes, he’s able to give into the fact that he can do nothing but surrender to the chaos in his mind. He felt safe doing it in front of you last night. He felt safe every second he was with you.

“Are you okay now?” Zach asks. He notices the hint of a smile in Rafe’s face. A brightness he hasn’t seen in him in a long time.

“Yeah,” Rafe says. “I gotta ask you something, though.”

“What?”

“Does ‘off limits’ mean I can’t date her?”

“Date her?” Zach repeats, in disbelief. “You want to date her? Like, commit to her? You don’t commit to anyone.”

Rafe breathes a chuckle, pursing his lips.

“Well, now, I want to.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

Rafe looks like he got rid of a ten-ton weight that was sitting on his shoulders. He’s relaxed. He’s content. Zach can’t remember the last time he saw him like this.

Zach became hyperaware of other people’s emotions at a young age. When their parents would argue, he saw what it did to Rafe, who would shut down and lash out. Zach would distract his brother in every way he could.

Then their mom left and it became ten times harder to keep Rafe steady. But Zach did it and he never stopped trying. Because helping others, putting their feelings first, really does make Zach happy.

But right now, he feels really far from happy.

He looks down at his food. He had it all planned out. He’d get in his best clothes, find a nice place to take you, give you a whole speech about how he hasn’t stopped thinking about you for days and how happy you make him and how happy he could make you.

“She feels the same way? Did something happen between you?” Zach asks. His chest is a hole. A pit.

“Nothing happened,” Rafe says, scratching the back of his neck.

It was nearly impossible for Rafe not to give into the impulse to hold your hand in the booth you sat at together last night and tell you how pretty you are and how much fun he has with you.

But he really does want to be a better person. He wants to think before he acts. And that means checking in with Zach that he’s okay with this, considering how tense he is about Rafe getting involved with his friends.

“But I think she might like me, too,” Rafe says. “And I made sure she’s not into you. I guess I was just reading into stuff before.”

That’s the moment Zach’s heart breaks. He licks his lips, his stare low. So, you would’ve just rejected him.

“You really like her?” he asks after a moment.

“Yeah,” Rafe says.

“Why?”

“Don’t make me be corny,” he groans.

Zach’s head is pounding. He wants to be mad at Rafe. But he had so many opportunities to tell him that he likes you, and he was too chicken to admit it. And now, his brother is falling for you. And he looks so happy doing it.

“You’re gonna have to be corny,” Zach says. “I need to be sure you’re not just messing around.”

Rafe sighs. It’s always Zach doing this, gushing over a girl, freaking out over if she hasn’t texted him back, getting all nervous before a date. Rafe used to tease him about it. He gets it now, though.

“You suck,” Rafe scoffs, tensing up. It’s hard for him to talk like this, but he forces the words out. “I don’t know. I like who I am when I’m around her. And it’s… when she’s in the room, everything’s better, you know?”

“Yeah,” Zach says. He knows. He feels the exact same way.

“Is that corny enough for you?” Rafe says with a scoff. “Are you cool with this or no?”

Zach chews his food slowly only to buy time before he has to speak again. He’s trying to act unbothered and it’s working, considering how in the clouds Rafe seems.

He has no idea that Zach is falling for you. Because he’s too busy doing it, too.

He meets his brother’s eyes. He takes a deep breath. And, because Rafe’s happiness has always been more important to him than his own, he gives him his blessing.

“Go for it,” Zach says. “And don’t hurt her.”

He’s never felt so bitter. He hates that he hopes you’ll have a change of heart. He hates that he feels like he’d treat you better. He hates all of this. But he stays silent.

���───୨ৎ────

You’re having a late breakfast when Zach replies to your text asking to keep you updated.

Doctor cleared me. I’m home and I got my stuff from Chance. Thanks for everything.

His message is cold compared to how he usually texts. But maybe he’s just tired from the hospital stay.

You gaze out your window, thinking about everything that happened last night. Rafe isn’t as different from Zach as you first thought. Behind his hard exterior, he’s sensitive and gentle and so badly wants to be loved.

He confessed to feeling like something was missing in him since he can remember. The look in his eyes when you told him that to you, he seems perfectly whole, is one you won’t forget.

Being with him for hours was a wonderful haze. You didn’t want to part. He made you feel heard. It’s a joy that you’ve been lacking for a long time.

Minutes later, Rafe texts you asking if he can take you out to dinner tonight. You smile at your screen. You love how you don’t have to wonder about if he wants you.

The restaurant he drives you to is lavish and elegant. Rafe is unbelievably handsome across the table over the candlelight, his dark button-up making his eyes look all the more blue. Your stomach is full of butterflies, yet a sense of calm fills you when you’re with him.

You pick up where you left off, conversation flowing without any effort. He looks at you like you put the stars in the sky. You’re sure you look at him the same way.

When Rafe pulls the car up to your place, in an effort to keep you from leaving right away, he presses his palm against the back of your hand.

“Did you have a good time?” he asks, tone low, adorably nervous.

“Of course. Did you?”

Rafe chuckles at the question. Good doesn’t begin to cover it.

“You’re…” he begins.

“I’m what?” you laugh.

He squeezes your hand gently, turning it so he can lace his fingers with yours. The contact is warm, his ring hard but smooth against your skin. Your heart pounds in your ears as he stares at you.

“Beautiful,” he says. “In every way.”

His tone is sincere and firm. He says it like it’s a fact.

“And I want to keep doing this,” he says. “Seeing you. If you want to keep seeing me, too.”

“I do,” you say. When he leans forward, his kiss is soft but hungry, making your mind spin.

Zach fakes a headache when Rafe gets home. All he needs to hear is that the date went well. He doesn’t want the details.

────୨ৎ────

You’re wrapped in Rafe’s arms, your back flush against his chest, as music and chatter float through the air around you.

You’re settled on his couch, talking with your friends as the party rages. Rafe’s still getting used to what it means to be a boyfriend, tense and quiet around your friends, but he’d get used to anything if it meant making you happy.

You’ve only been dating a few weeks, but he’s sure if this isn’t love, he’s damn close to it. Aside from his brother, you’re his best friend.

You smile when you feel Rafe’s lips press against the side of your neck. He’s ridiculously affectionate, touching you whenever he can, spoiling you, whispering sweet things to you all the time. He’s completely unguarded.

Zach’s in the kitchen, as far away from you as he physically can be. After the hospital, he hasn’t been himself at all. You can tell he’s trying to be, though, forcing smiles around you.

It makes no sense. He called you amazing that night. But, then, he pulled away. It’s like he’s mad at you for dating his brother, but he refuses to admit it.

You’ve asked him multiple times if things are good between you. He reassured you over and over that they are.

Maybe someone else would believe him, but after you pined for him for so long, you can read when he’s trying to hide that he’s upset. At parties, at casual get-togethers, even at work when you’re making content for the team, he’s absent-minded and disinterested.

And whatever’s wrong, he prefers to hold inside.

Nonetheless, while your feelings for Zach have faded, you genuinely hope he’s happy and that you can be friends with him again one day.

The next morning, you wake up in Rafe’s bed. His arm is around your waist, his breath warm against your back. He’s still snoozing when you slip out of bed to get water.

Zach’s sitting at the kitchen island, staring down at his coffee. It’s almost funny how just over three months ago, you were here for the first time, yearning for Zach to give you a hint that he liked you. Now, you’re falling for Rafe.

“Morning,” you say kindly.

Zach looks up from his coffee. His smile doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Hey.”

You open the fridge, the awful feeling he’s been giving you lately sitting heavy on your heart. He makes you feel unwelcome, which is something you never expected from him.

“Just getting some water,” you say, searching through the shelves. “He’s definitely gonna wake up with a headache.”

Zach tenses. You’re doing for Rafe what he daydreamed you doing for him. Sharing a bed with him, nursing his hangover, touching him and smiling at him and giving him what Zach would die for.

You look so pretty in the morning, your bedhead adorable, your pajamas complimenting your figure. Why won’t his heart just catch up with his mind? He keeps telling himself to get over you.

He notices that you have Rafe’s ring on your finger. He used to imagine you wearing his things. He’d love to see you in his team hoodie. But he never will.

In another world, you’re in this kitchen as his girlfriend, talking about last night’s party, sharing kisses and laughs. But not in this world.

“I never asked you,” you say, your back to him, “how was that book I got you?”

You hope it serves as a reminder for how much you did for him and how much you care about him. It hurts, the way he’s been keeping you at a distance.

Late at night, as your mind drifts away from you when you try to fall asleep, you’ve considered the possibility of Zach being upset because he’s jealous of Rafe and wants to be with you.

But Rafe told you he checked with Zach to make sure your relationship was okay with him and he even said he didn’t feel anything for you. Maybe Zach thinks you’re not good enough for his brother and he’s too nice to actually say it out loud.

“Good,” Zach says.

You grab two water bottles and close the fridge door. One word is all he’s willing to say to you.

You can’t do it again. You can’t ask him for the hundredth time if you did something wrong, just for him to say you didn’t and he’s sorry that he made you feel like you did.

You leave him alone in the kitchen, padding up the stairs. Zach looks down at his coffee again. His eyes are starting to burn with tears.

He wants to remind his brother that they agreed they wouldn’t let people overstay. And you being here for even one night feels like overstaying. He can’t have you and every time he’s reminded of that, it hurts.

He can’t stop thinking about that night in the elevator and wishing that instead of drunkenly rambling about his brother, he rambled about his feelings for you. At least then, everything would have been out in the open long before you really got to know Rafe.

The girl he met through the video messaged him last night, asking if he was up to hang out again. She’s cute and nice. But she’s not you. And it’d be wrong to pursue someone just to numb the pain of not having you.

That’s all he wants. You. And because he was such a coward, he’ll never have you. Maybe at some point, he had a chance. Maybe you would have grown feelings for him if he was honest with you.

But you seem happy. So does Rafe, who actually wants hold you and kiss you in public. He was never like that with any other girl.

Zach realizes that while he was always so sure he coped with everything that life hurled at them better than Rafe, he wasn’t paying attention to how destructive he is to himself. His martyrdom was never a virtue.

He’s too late. He self-sabotaged. He has nobody to blame for his aching loneliness but himself. That’s the most heartbreaking part of this whole thing.

Rafe’s hair is tousled, his smile lazy when you come back to bed.

“Thought you left me,” he murmurs tiredly into your hair, pulling you tight against his warm body. You smile, your cheek pressed against his chest, breathing in his comforting scent.

Rafe’s sure you can feel his pulse on your cheek. He feels like you own every beat of his heart.

“I wouldn’t leave you,” you tell him.

The tension from what happened downstairs leaves your system. You swallow down the tears that threatened to fall when you left the kitchen.

You plant a kiss on Rafe’s chest. You know where you’re wanted. And you’re happiest staying there.

(the end)

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[pandora-writes-one-piece]

Forever

@loose1cannon Thank you so much for your request! I was so hyped with the Ace one, but I need to apologise because my angsty wired brain might have made a poo-poo. I'm so sorry if it's too sad! 😫 I promise that the other part of your request will be happy, okay?? I hope you still enjoy it! ❤️

Source for pic

Forever

Word Count: 1270

Tags: fem!reader; angst, so much angst; NSFW; feelings; hurt; sorrow; grief; spoilers for what happens at Marineford; slightly NSFW

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: It has been a year since Marineford and you still can't cope with the loss.

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil (guys if you only want to be tagged for specific characters, please send me a message! I don't want to bother you with excessive tagging!!🙏)

|Masterlist|

Rain poured down from the skies mirroring your inner turmoil exactly. The steady downpour cast a sort of halo over your figure. It felt like a shroud. The site was eerily quiet aside from the sounds of the heavy drops crashing against the stone graves. 

And for the thrumming of your heart. 

An unsteady rhythm beating out of sync, skipping a beat now and then, as if it were missing something to make it whole. And it was.

Ace.

One year had passed since he left you, or since you lost him. Honestly, it felt like the world itself had lost him, since he belonged to everyone. He was life itself. And without him, there was only demise. 

“Did you miss me, baby?” His tongue swiped against yours in desperation while his scalding hands roamed your clothed body. “I missed you so much. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. All day, every day.”

Ace was always so eager for you that his touch singed your clothes, leaving small burn marks on the hem of your shirts or on your jeans. It used to piss you off. You’d scold him saying you didn’t have berries lying around just to buy new clothes and that he should be more careful. He laughed it off, or kissed it off, murmuring that he could buy or steal all the clothes you wanted, or better yet, you could just walk naked.

A sob clawed its way up your throat and scratched it, yearning to get out, needing to be free, but you clamped it down and pushed it back into your insides to fester and rot like all the other feelings of grief, sorrow and despair. 

No more crying. No more sadness. Ace wouldn’t want that. Ace loved your laugh.

“Laugh for me, Sunbeam!” You were both lying on his bed, sheets tangled on naked limbs and sweaty bodies, heaving from exhaustion and pleasure. 

“No. I’m mad at you.” But you weren’t, you were just downcast.

“It’s just a month. I’ll be back before you know it.”

No, no. You can’t go there, this one is too painful. If only you insisted, if only you had pushed further. He wouldn’t have gone after Blackbeard and he would still be here with you. 

Your knees hit the muddied floor with a soft thud as your hands clutched your chest. Slim fingers crumpled the drenched fabric as your breath left your lips in shallow, ragged heaves. “You weren’t supposed to leave me, Ace! Not like this!”

Your arms circled your torso in the only hug you allowed yourself these days: your own. It was nowhere near enough, but then again, there would never be another hug like Ace’s. 

It was crushing, bone-breaking, suffocating. It was home. 

“Ace!”

“I’m back, baby. Missed me, Sunbeam?” With a little jump you were straddling his lap, legs wrapped securely around his waist as his hands rested on your ass. Your mouth devoured him while your fingers tangled in his unkempt greasy hair. “I guess that’s a yes.” 

That smirk. Those freckles. The mischievous glint in his eyes. 

Gone. All gone. Buried in front of you, six feet under and beneath layers of cold, unforgiving dirt. 

Alongside your heart.

You tried to stifle your moans against the pillow, but he would have none of that. Stopping that sinful lapping of his tongue and removing his fingers from inside you, he lifted himself onto his knees and threw the pillow to the other side of the cabin. “I want to hear you scream my name.”

“Ace!” You whisper with a groan of frustration. You were just about to unravel when he left you feeling empty.

“Yes, sweetheart, just like that.” He aligned his leaking tip with your wet entrance and teased, pulling a little mewl from your lips. “But way louder.”

And you did what he told you to.

Was that the last time?

There’s no stopping the tears. You tried, you really did. But they were relentless. You have a million memories from the past and a million and one memories of Ace. You can’t afford to lose any of them.

"God, Ace, why?” The clenching in your chest expands and swells, taking up all the space inside. Filling you like a balloon and you feel ready to pop. How are you supposed to survive without him? One year was already hell, how can you survive another one?

And another one…

And another one…

“Smile, Sunbeam!”

“You’re shining, love!”

“Ah, that laugh right there, I could die a happy man.”

“You make me feel worthy.”

“I can’t live without you, baby.”

“Don’t ever leave me. I wouldn’t make it.”

You didn’t leave him. You kept your promise. He was the one who left. And now how are you supposed to move on with your life as if what made you live wasn’t ripped apart from you? How is a sunbeam supposed to shine when there is no reflective surface?

How can you be light, when all you feel is darkness?

“Ace… This was never supposed to be easy, but I didn’t expect it to break me…"

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you.”

“You’re my life.”

“My happy, little Sunbeam.”

“My love.”

Getting up on wobbly legs you took another two steps forward. Your tears mixed with the rain, salt and water. Pain and grief. Hurt and sorrow. Reaching with trembling, frail fingers, you grabbed the remnants of Ace’s hat. It was torn and tattered, the beads were barely hanging on, but it was still there.

A desperate wail left your lips as you fell back down, your legs no longer supporting the weight of your misery. This time, you let the sobs climb all the way out. And you cried as you had never cried before. Sobs, hiccups and ragged breaths mingled with the sound of approaching thunder.

But none of that compared to the tempest inside. It roared, raged and crashed, drowning you in its violence, dragging you to the pits of sorrow and darkness and you had no idea how to climb out of there anymore. Not without him. 

But then there was a sudden calmness. A break amidst the most violent of storms and then the echo of a whisper, soft and unmistakable. 

“You’ll be okay, Sunbeam.”

Ace’s voice. A gentle murmur in your soul. Perhaps a conjured thought your troubled mind had made up, but you’d take it.

You clutched his worn-out hat against your chest, wishing there was still a lingering scent of him anywhere, but he had disappeared so long ago. The rain slowed down and was now just a gentle pitter-patter against the leaves and the graves. 

A sunbeam peeked from behind a dark cloud and landed on your lap, near Ace’s hat and for the first time in a year you felt a sliver of hope on the horizon. You didn’t have Ace anymore, but your love for him would never fade or wane.

Your memories together would still be a part of you.

You would carry him inside you and remember him in those missing, uneven beats of your heart. 

Maybe… just maybe, that would be enough to carry you through. 

“I’ll be okay, love.” You forced a laugh. A bright smile like the ones he used to love. “For you, Ace. I’ll fight for you.”

The sunbeam on your lap flickered, faded behind a cloud and reappeared on Ace’s grave. Hope filled you and took back some of the space that grief and sorrow had claimed as territory. You’d learn to shine again, someday…

For him. 

For Ace.

For your love.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for qwertynerd97 behind the cut; Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good! (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Yeah,” Billy says after a moment. “I’m not gonna make you do stuff like that. Um, well, like some normal chores and following your curfew and taking your phone with you when you go out, I mean, but not like–um. Yeah.” 

Lynn doesn’t say anything. He just keeps looking into the living room. Billy looks too, but doesn’t see what he’s looking at. His line of sight’s too high to be looking at Tawky, and the TV’s off, and–

Oh. Actually . . . 

Is he looking at the windows, actually? 

Huh, Billy thinks again. 

Lynn stops looking at the windows, or maybe just the living room, and then goes and opens the oven and stares blankly into it for a moment. Then he reaches in bare-handed and–

“Oven mitt!” Billy says quickly, zipping over to him and grabbing a pair of them off the hook they’re hanging on on the way. Lynn stares at him just as blankly as he was staring into the oven, and also just as blankly as he’s been staring at him, and probably he’s thinking Billy is stupid because he’s, like, invulnerable and all, but the thing is–“Secret identity,” he clarifies, and holds the mitts out to Lynn. “You gotta be careful about doing stuff baseline humans can’t, even if you think you’re alone or only around people in the know. And like, you have to make it a habit to do stuff baseline humans would have to anyway, or you might forget to when you aren’t alone. Also Batman didn’t install the new windows yet so I’m not sure if these are privacy ones, honestly, so somebody could maybe see from across the street anyway?” 

Lynn stares at him for another moment, then flicks his eyes down to the oven mitts. Billy feels awkward and kind of like a worrywart, but it is important. He definitely doesn’t turn into Captain Marvel when anybody else even might be watching, and also if Lynn’s keeping those habits from the start it’ll be easier for him in the long run, right? Or at least, Billy thinks it’ll be easier? Like–probably? 

He fidgets a little and tries not to look nervous. Lynn glances at his face for a moment even though his own expression doesn’t change at all, then takes the oven mitts and . . . well, he uses them more like potholders than actually, like, putting them on, but still counts, Billy figures. Lynn takes out all the pans and puts them all on top of the stove, and then closes it and sets aside the oven mitts and turns it off. 

“. . . thanks,” Lynn says more in the oven’s direction than Billy’s. Billy feels a little relieved, because “don’t do stuff baseline humans can’t when it’s not safe to” is a pretty important thing, so far as secret IDs and all go. 

“Sure!” Billy says, then peeks curiously at the food. “So, um . . . is it done?” 

“. . . it has to rest for five minutes,” Lynn says, and then turns away abruptly and walks into the living room to bring back the plates, which is, um, probably something Billy should’ve remembered was gonna need to happen before he took them out there, come to think. 

Whoops. 

Well, he guesses they could use serving dishes, probably, because Batman bought them way too much everything and there are so, so many serving dishes, but that’s more dishes to wash so yeah, Lynn’s definitely taking the right approach here, Billy decides. 

Though he has no idea why dinner has to rest. Like–what does that even mean, “rest”? It’s food. 

“. . . why?” Lynn asks, and holds up Tawky’s little plate with a faint frown. 

“Oh, Tawky doesn’t need as much to eat as you do,” Billy clarifies. Tawky only needs a lot to eat when he’s being a full-sized tiger, and he’s being an stuffed animal the same way Billy’s being a dad right now instead of just Captain Marvel, so he won’t have the stomach space for big meals until, like, the next time they have to save the world, probably. Or a mission. Or something like that, anyway. “Or as much to eat as you probably do, since we’re still figuring that out. But probably not, either way. Like–I don’t need to eat either, I mean, but like, different-sized stomachs and all, sooo . . . bigger plate, I guess. Sorry, is that rude, do you think? I wasn’t trying to be.” 

“. . . uh,” Lynn says slowly, frowning at Tawky’s plate instead. “Okay.” 

Well, it’s not exactly an answer, but Billy guesses he can double-check with Tawky later. It’s kind of more important what Tawky thinks anyway, since it’s him he’d be being rude to, and also he really shouldn’t be expecting Lynn to really get, like, manners and intent versus affect and that kind of thing yet anyway. Although either way having a full-sized tiger in the apartment would definitely not be great for the secret identity thing, even just for mealtimes, so they’d have to figure something out there. 

Well, he guesses they could just go to the Rock of Eternity for dinner, actually? Like, cook in the apartment but pack themselves dinner-picnics or something. Actually, that sounds kinda fun, he’d like to show Lynn what it’s like and maybe explain a little more about what accepting a share of his powers would mean, if he did, and– 

Focus. He definitely needs to work on his focus. That’s way more important when he’s being a dad. He doesn’t want Lynn to ever think he’s ignoring him, for one. 

“I’ll ask him later,” Billy says. Tawky’s probably still reading anyway; he was while Billy was setting the coffee table. He had the biography of Nikola Tesla they’d picked out, which is pretty normal reading fare for Tawky, really. He likes nonfiction a lot, especially the historical stuff. Billy doesn’t really get it, personally.

[florawrites-blog]

It all started with a deal.

No emotions. No attachments. Just a bit of fun and company in the late hours. Jay was every bit the gentleman, respectful of the boundaries you set. He was calm, composed, and always took care of things without crossing the line. You appreciated that about him, his quiet dominance—something that never screamed control, but rather, a gentle guidance that made you feel secure. He didn’t smother you; he just knew how to be there.

You didn’t expect to feel anything beyond the surface. But slowly, things began to shift.

It happened so subtly that you couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment you began falling for him. Maybe it was the way he’d bring you your favorite coffee without asking, or the way his fingers would linger a second too long when he brushed a strand of hair from your face. And Jay… well, he started falling first, though he hid it well. You noticed the way he looked at you—like he was seeing something beyond what you showed him. He became a bit more protective, a bit more dominant in ways that made your heart race.

It was during one of those colder nights that you got sick. You tried to push through it, ignoring the weakness in your body, but Jay noticed right away. He didn’t ask; he insisted. He made you stay over at his apartment, not taking no for an answer.

“You’re staying here,” he had said firmly, already leading you inside, his hand on your lower back. You argued, reminded him about the deal, about the fact that you weren’t supposed to be involved like this. But Jay didn’t care. “Don’t argue. You need rest, and I’ll feel better knowing you’re here.”

With a frustrated sigh, you eventually relented. His apartment was quiet, a reflection of him—minimalistic, but warm. Before he left, he handed you one of his white blouses. “Wear this if you’re uncomfortable,” he said, his voice low and a bit softer than usual. You took it, not really thinking much about it, until later that night.

You found yourself alone in his apartment, your body wrapped in his oversized blouse, the fabric carrying his scent. The sleeves hung past your hands, and for some reason, it made you feel… safe. As you wandered around, feeling the cool air brush against your bare legs, you realized something was changing between the two of you. Something deeper than you were willing to admit.

Later that night, after you had finally drifted into sleep on his couch, Jay came back. The door clicked shut softly, and he stepped inside, his movements quiet. He paused when he saw you, lying there in his shirt, hair splayed across the cushion, your lips parted slightly as you slept. For a moment, he just stood there, admiring the scene in front of him. The faint moonlight from the window cast a glow over your sleeping figure, and Jay’s heart swelled with something he couldn’t deny any longer.

He didn’t wake you. Instead, he just watched, leaning against the doorframe, the urge to reach out and touch you almost overwhelming. But he resisted, knowing this was dangerous territory. He was already too far gone.

Things came to a head a few days later, during an argument neither of you saw coming.

“I can’t handle this, Jay,” you said, your voice sharp with frustration. “You’re giving me too much affection, too much attention. We had a deal, remember?”

Jay didn’t respond right away. He just stood there, looking at you, his gaze intense and unwavering. His silence made you even more flustered. You expected him to argue, to push back, to defend himself. But he didn’t. Instead, he just stepped closer, his eyes locking with yours, so deep and unreadable that it made your breath catch.

“Say something,” you demanded, trying to keep your voice steady.

But he didn’t. He just nodded, the tiniest movement, like he understood. Like he knew exactly what you were feeling, even if you didn’t.

And that’s when it hit you. Whatever you said wouldn’t stop him. Jay was hooked—more than you realized, more than you even were. His actions spoke louder than any argument you could have. He wasn’t going to stop caring for you, wasn’t going to stop being there, even if it scared the both of you.

Because, deep down, you knew—he was far more hooked on you than you were on him.

[hoe4hotchner]

Hi! Congrats on 3k love! So well deserved.

Stressor with Professor!Aaron Hotchner who have to deal with one of his students (she/her!Reader) which is a complete brat during his classes 🫣 ❤️

Thank you!!! ❤️

The art of provoking | [A.H]

Pairing: Professor!Hotch x fem!Reader CW: Smut, MDNI, 18+, power play, age gap (consenting adults), Hotch is the king of consent, also the minister of making sure you're okay, bratty behaviour, teasing, piv, student/professor relationship, authority. WC: 4.5k

Summary: Professor Hotchner navigates the challenges of a bratty student who tests his patience while concealing a deeper desire beneath their banter.

I'm sweating, i'm panting, my nose is suddenly not stuffed anymore!!!! I'm laughing uncomfortably in a good way. I went so overboard with this one that the only thing i can say is bon appétit, enjoy this very delicious meal i'm serving for you.

Join my Profiling 101 - 3k follower celebration here

           The lecture hall was quiet as Professor Hotchner stood at the front, his voice steady as he explained the finer points of criminal law. His presence was commanding, as always, and his students hung on to his every word - well, almost all of them.

           You sat near the back, arms crossed, your notebook untouched before you, except for the occasional bored doodles. You hadn’t written a single word, and the look of disinterest on your face hadn’t gone unnoticed. You always found a way to test him, whether arriving late to class, challenging his points with sarcastic remarks, or simply tuning out altogether.

           It wasn’t that you didn’t understand the material - you were one of his brightest students, in fact, you somehow managed to ace every single test despite your lack of attention in class - but you enjoyed pushing his buttons. There was something about the way his jaw clenched when you interrupted him, or the way his eyes would narrow whenever you challenged him. You liked getting a rise out of him, watching his usual exterior crack, even if only for a moment.

           Today was no different. As Professor Hotchner continued his lecture, you slowly raised your hand, an amused smile playing on your lips.

           “Yes?” he asked, pausing mid-sentence, his eyes locking on yours with that same unreadable expression.

           You leaned back in your chair, feigning innocence. “I was just wondering, Professor,” you began, your tone laced with mockery, “how much of what you’re saying actually applies in real-world scenarios? Or is this just another theoretical debate you like to have in your ivory tower up there?”

           The room went silent. A few of your classmates exchanged glances, but no one dared to laugh. They knew better than to cross Professor Hotchner, but you? You thrived on it.

           His jaw clenched slightly, but his expression remained calm. He stepped away from the podium, folding his arms across his chest as he regarded you with a cold stare.

           “Care to elaborate on that thought?” he asked, his voice dangerously smooth.

           You shrugged, sitting up a little straighter. “I just think maybe we should focus more on what actually happens out there,” you said, gesturing vaguely, “rather than talking about hypotheticals all the time.”

           Professor Hotchner nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “So you believe this class lacks practical application?”

           “Maybe just a little,” you replied, biting back a smirk. You knew exactly what you were doing.

           There was a brief silence, the tension thick in the room as he considered your words. Finally, he took a slow breath and walked toward the edge of the stage, his hands resting on the edge of the desk next to him.

           “Let me clarify something for you,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Everything I teach in this class is rooted in real-world cases - cases I’ve worked on personally. If you’d been paying attention instead of trying to undermine every point I make, you’d understand that.”

           You felt a flicker of satisfaction at the sharpness in his tone. He was getting annoyed. Good.

           “Of course, Professor,” you replied, feigning contrition. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

           His eyes narrowed slightly, and for a moment, you thought he might snap, might finally lose that calm, composed exterior he always wore. But instead, he straightened up, his gaze never leaving yours.

           “See me after class,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

           Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t expected that. Usually, he just brushed off your comments and moved on. But today… today was different. Something had shifted in the air, and the weight of it settled in the pit of your stomach.

           The rest of the lecture passed in a blur. You couldn’t focus, couldn’t even remember what he was talking about. All you could think about was what would happen after class. You’d pushed him too far this time, and now you were going to have to deal with the consequences.

           When the lecture finally ended, your classmates filtered out, casting curious glances in your direction. You stayed seated, watching as Professor gathered his papers at the front of the room. His movements were slow and deliberate, and it felt like he was taking his time just to make you wait.

           Eventually, the room was empty, and Professor Hotchner glanced up, his eyes meeting yours across the room.

           “Come here,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.

           You hesitated for a moment, then stood, walking down the aisle toward the front of the room. Your heart was racing now, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you neared him.

           He didn’t move as you approached, his eyes locked on yours, his expression unreadable. You stopped a few feet away, suddenly unsure of yourself, but you weren’t about to back down now.

           “Do you enjoy testing me?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

           You shrugged, playing it cool. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

           He stepped closer, closing the distance between you in an instant. He was towering over you, his presence even more intimidating than usual.

           “I think you do,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

           The air between you was thick with tension, and you could feel your pulse quicken as Professor Hotchner loomed above you, his eyes locked on yours. He was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from him, close enough to make you realize that you may have pushed him a little too far this time.

           His gaze was intense, scrutinizing as if he were trying to peel back the layers of your defiance to see what was really the root of it. You didn’t back down, though. You couldn’t - after all, this was the game you’d been playing for weeks, and retreating now would feel like defeat.

           “Testing you?” you repeated with a hint of mockery in your voice, though it wasn’t as sharp as before. “Maybe I just like seeing how much it takes to get under your skin.”

           His jaw tightened slightly at your words. He hadn’t expected you to admit to it, and certainly not with such brazen confidence. His eyes darkened, and his expression turned serious, a subtle shift that sent a thrill through you.

           “I think you enjoy this far more than you’re willing to admit,” he said slowly, his voice was calm. “You push and push, hoping to see where the line is. But what happens when you cross it?”

           Your breath hitched at the implication in his words, but you quickly recovered, masking your unease with a smirk. “I guess we’re about to find out, aren’t we?”

           Professor Hotchner's eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place - frustration? Amusement? It was hard to tell with him. He was always so controlled, so precise. Even now, standing this close, he hadn’t lost his composure.

           “You think you’re in control, don’t you?” His tone was quiet, almost too quiet, but there was an edge to it that made you shiver.

           You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything, he took another step toward you, closing the distance between you entirely. His voice dropped lower, more intimate, as he leaned in just enough that only you could hear him.

           “You’re not,” he murmured. His breath ghosted against your ear, sending a shockwave of heat through you, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. “And it’s about time you realized that.”

           The challenge in his tone hit you hard, stirring something deep inside, but you refused to give in so easily. You weren’t going to back down, no matter how intense the tension had become.

           You tilted your chin up slightly, meeting his gaze head-on. “You sure about that, Professor?” you replied, your voice soft but laced with defiance. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I’ve been getting exactly what I want.”

           His eyes flashed, getting darker, and for a brief moment, you wondered if you’d gone too far. He wasn’t just some professor to toy with - he was Aaron Hotchner, a man who commanded respect and had little patience for insolence who had climbed the ranks ever since he got his first position within the FBI. Yet, here you were, pushing him to the limit.

           But instead of snapping, his lips curled into a tight, almost predatory smile. “You think this is what you want? You’re playing a dangerous game.”

           His words hit you harder than you expected, the weight of them settling deep in your chest. You swallowed, suddenly feeling the anticipation between the two of you shift in a way that you couldn’t control, and the power dynamic you’d been clinging to started to slip through your fingers.

           Professor Hotchner took a step back, his eyes never leaving yours as he surveyed you, taking in your defiance, your composure - everything you’d used to mask what was really happening beneath the surface. The authority he commanded in the classroom extended here, too, as if there was no escape from the weight of it.

           “I think it’s time you understood something,” Hotch said, his voice low but firm. “You can’t keep walking into my class acting like you can undermine me and expect no consequences. If you think this is all just a game to push boundaries, you’re wrong.”

           You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words settle in. There was no denying the power he held in this moment, and for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were in control of what was happening between the two of you. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out.

           “Do you have anything to say?” His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable authority behind it that made it clear he wasn’t going to tolerate any more of your defiance.

           Your pulse raced as you searched for a response, but the smirk you usually relied on had faded. He watched you closely, waiting for you to either respond or break under the pressure, but you held his gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

           After a long, tense silence, you finally managed to speak, though your voice was softer than before. “And what if I don’t stop?”

           Professor Hotchner's gaze didn’t waver, but there was something different in his eyes now. Something darker, something that sent a thrill through you even as it made your stomach twist. His expression remained unreadable, his tone firm but quieter than before as he replied:

           “Then we’re going to have a problem. One that you’re not prepared to handle.”

           His words hung in the air, and for the first time, the reality of what you’d been toying with began to sink in. You’d pushed him far enough to break through the facade he kept up with the rest of the class, but in doing so, you had unleashed something far more vicious than you’d expected.

           And now, you had to decide if you were going to keep playing this game - or back down.

           He took a step closer again, his presence overwhelming as he looked down at you. His voice was calm, but the edge of authority was unmistakable.

           “Because if you don’t stop,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, “I’ll make sure you do.”

           Your breath caught in your throat, your mind racing as the full weight of the power play between the two of you settled in. The tension crackled in the air, and it was clear that whatever happened next was entirely up to you.

           You had crossed that line - now the question was whether you’d be able to handle what came next.

           The air in the room felt suffocating, it was thick with unspoken words and the electric pull between you. Professor Hotchner's eyes bore into yours, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze as he stepped even closer. Your heart pounded in your chest, the sense of control you’d been clinging to slipping further away with each passing second.

           Without warning, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist firmly but not painfully, pulling you forward. Before you could react, he backed you up against his desk, the hard surface pressing against the small of your back. His grip was commanding, as though this was the moment he'd been waiting for.

           “Enough is enough,” he muttered, his voice a low growl, his breath hot against your skin.

           The words barely had time to register before his free hand came to your waist, pushing you back onto the desk in one swift motion. You gasped, your other hand instinctively reaching out to brace yourself on the edge as he towered over you, his presence was overwhelming. Your heart raced, but you weren’t afraid - if anything, the surge of adrenaline coursing through you made everything feel sharper, more exhilarating.

           His hand tightened slightly on your waist as he leaned down, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. The weight of his charge pressed down on you, but instead of cowering, you met his gaze with equal fire. The challenge in your eyes hadn’t faded.

           And then, before you could say anything, his lips crashed against yours in a searing and desperate kiss.

           It wasn’t gentle - it was rough, a battle for dominance as his lips claimed yours with the intensity that had been building between the two of you for weeks now. The force of it sent a jolt through your body, your mind going blank as you were consumed by the sensation. You tried to pull back, to push him away, but the second your hands came to his chest, something shifted.

           Instead of shoving him off, you pulled him closer.

           Your hands fisted in his shirt, yanking him down as you kissed him back with equal ferocity. The tension between you exploded in that moment, your lips moving against his in a way that felt both angry and frantic, a clash of wills as neither of you was willing to back down. You felt his hands tighten on your waist, pulling you further against him as the kiss deepened.

           The sound of your own ragged breathing filled the air as you pushed yourself up from the desk, your body arching into his as you deepened the kiss, parting your lips slightly to let him in. You felt his hesitation for a split second before he gave in, his tongue sweeping into your mouth in a way that made your head spin.

           The intensity was overwhelming, every nerve in your body on fire as you kissed him harder, needing more. You felt his hands slide up your sides, gripping you tighter as he responded to the challenge, the kiss turning even more heated, more desperate.

           It was a power play in its rawest form, neither of you willing to give an inch, both of you consumed by the battle for control. The push and pull between you was intoxicating, and for the first time, you weren’t sure who was winning.

           Your lungs burned as you both finally broke apart for a split second, gasping for air. The room spun, your lips tingling from the force of his kiss, and you barely had time to process before Professor Hotchner moved. His hands gripped your hips, lifting you slightly as he flipped you over, your stomach coming to rest against the wooden surface of his desk.

           The movement was swift, almost effortless, and you couldn’t suppress the surprised gasp that escaped your lips. Your hands flew out to brace yourself against the desk, your chest pressing against the smooth surface as the world tilted beneath you.

           Your legs hung over the edge, toes barely touching the floor, but before you could shift your position, you felt his hand on your lower back, firm, keeping you in place. The pressure of his palm was grounding, heavy with control as he leaned in close, his breath warm against the nape of your neck.

           You shivered, but it wasn’t from fear. The tension had reached a fever pitch, and you could feel it in every inch of your body.

           Without a word, he slid his hand down your thigh, only to pause halfway, gripping firmly before nudging your feet apart. His touch was assertive but not rough, guiding, commanding. You felt a flush of heat as your legs spread slightly, feet planted more firmly on the ground now, creating just enough space for him to step closer, his presence looming over you.

           Your breath hitched as you felt his hand press firmly against your lower back, keeping you pinned in place. Every nerve in your body was on edge, the authority in his touch overwhelming yet thrilling. His warmth was so close, suffocating in the best way, and when his voice came again, low and commanding, it sent a shiver down your spine.

           “Stay right there,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.

           Your lips parted, and the words slipped out before you could stop them, breathy and submissive. “Yes, sir.”

           For a moment, there was only silence, but you felt him stiffen behind you, his grip tightening just slightly. Then, he chuckled softly, a dark, mocking sound that sent a jolt of heat through you.

           “Oh, so you do know how to follow orders,” Hotch murmured, his voice filled with amusement as he leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “And here I thought you were incapable of it.”

           His words dripped with sarcasm, and you clenched your fists against the desk, torn between the need to snap back at him and the overwhelming desire to submit. The way he mocked you, the condescension laced into every syllable, made your pulse race. He knew exactly what he was doing - pushing and prodding at the edges of your defiance, breaking you down piece by piece.

           His hands moved with a sharp precision, gripping the hem of your skirt as he flipped it up over your stomach in one swift motion. The cool air of the room hit the bare skin of your thighs, sending a jolt through your body as the fabric bunched around your waist, leaving you exposed to his gaze.

           He stood still for a moment, and you could feel his eyes on you, heavy and intense as if he were taking in every detail.

           “So quick to submit now,” he murmured, his voice dark and almost mocking again. “I wonder where all that attitude suddenly went.”

           His fingers grazed along the edge of your hips, teasingly light, and you had to fight the urge to arch back into his touch. Every movement was calculated, designed to remind you of who was in control now, and you knew he wasn’t about to let you forget it.

           Professor Hotchner's lips curved into a smirk as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Look at you," he whispered, his tone dripping with satisfaction. His fingers traced the edge of your panties, feeling the dampness that had gathered there.

           "You really are a brat, aren’t you?" he teased, his voice low and sultry. The way he pronounced each word made your heart race, a mix of embarrassment and excitement flooding your senses.

           His gaze lingered on you, taking in the flush that crept up your cheeks and the way you squirmed under his touch. "I didn’t expect you to get so worked up, but it seems you’re enjoying this a little too much," he continued, the smirk never leaving his lips.

           You could feel the heat radiating off your skin, the reality of the situation crashing over you. He had you right where he wanted you - vulnerable, exposed, and ready to follow his lead.

           Professor Hotchner's hand shot out, gripping a fistful of your hair as he pressed your body further into the desk. The sudden pull made you gasp, a rush of excitement coursing through you. He leaned over you, his weight settling against your back, creating a pressure that heightened the thrill of the moment.

           “You’ve been a real distraction in class,” he murmured his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. The way he held your hair firmly yet gently sent a mix of vulnerability and exhilaration through you, amplifying the tension in the air.

           With his body hovering above yours, you could feel the heat radiating from him, and it sent your heart racing. The cool surface of the desk contrasted sharply with the warmth of his presence, and you found it hard to focus on anything but him.

           “What are you going to do about it, Professor?” you challenged, your voice laced with desire.

           A smirk played on his lips as he tightened his grip on your hair, forcing you to arch your back slightly. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he replied, his voice thick with promise.

           He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, sending tingles throughout your body. “But first, you need to learn how to behave,” he whispered, the words igniting something deep within you.

           As Professor Hotchner pinned your body to the desk, his free hand snuck down to your waist, slowly maneuvering your panties down to your knees. You could feel him as he rubbed himself against your pussy. Jolts of excitement ran through your veins with each teasingly slow thrust.

           He couldn’t take it anymore. The tension had reached a boiling point, and he felt an overwhelming surge of desire pulse through him. He stepped back, allowing the space between you to grow, and a low growl escaped his lips, reverberating through the silence of the room as you tried to move, it was enough to keep you in your place.

           You felt the sudden shift. The sound of his belt unbuckling broke through the stillness, each metallic click sending a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t see him, but you could imagine the intense focus in his eyes, the way he held himself with an authority that both thrilled and terrified you.

           The soft hiss of his zipper being pulled down followed, and you felt your breath hitch, your heart racing as the anticipation built within you. You were acutely aware of the overwhelming silence surrounding you, punctuated only by the sound of your own heartbeat and the rustling of fabric.

           With every sound, your body responded, craving the connection you knew was coming, and the knowledge that he was just behind you, poised and powerful, left you utterly captivated, longing for what was to unfold.

           “Do you want this?” he murmured, his voice husky and laced with an edge of dominance that made your stomach flutter. It was both a question and a command, and the way he said it made your heart race even faster. The thrill of his control was intoxicating, sending a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

           You nodded instinctively, unable to form words, the desire bubbling just below the surface, threatening to overflow. The anticipation was a sweet torment, your body aching for his touch. The fluttering in your stomach intensified, the heat pooling deep within you, urging you to surrender completely.

           “Use your words,” he teased, a hint of amusement threading through his tone. “Tell me what you want.”

           The challenge in his voice ignited a spark of defiance within you, making you shiver in anticipation. You knew he wanted you to submit, to give in to the pleasure that hung in the air between you like an unbroken promise. It was both thrilling and terrifying, the power dynamic shifting and swirling around you like a tempest.

           “Please…” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, laced with longing. It felt like an admission of vulnerability, and yet the act of saying it sent a thrill through you, a reminder of the power in your own submission.

           “Good girl,” he replied, his voice low and velvety, sending another wave of heat coursing through you. The praise wrapped around you like a warm embrace, reinforcing the tension that filled the room.  "Will you behave?"

           "Yes sir, please I need it!" You begged.

           And with that he lined the tip of his cock with your soaking entrance, slowly pushing against it, filling you up with a shared moan resonating off the walls in the lecture hall. He set a slow pace as he rolled his hips against you, watching you squirm underneath him as you tried to push back against him to quicken the pace.

           It wasn't long before Hotch started thrusting into you harder and harder with each move of his hips. His thrusts were painstakingly harsh. You grabbed at the edge of his desk, whimpering with pleasure as jolts of pure bliss overtook you. You felt every part of your body respond to him.

           You felt as both of your releases washed over you, the warmth of his cum coating your walls as he filled you up.

           As the tension in the air began to dissipate, Professor Hotchner slowly pulled away, his breath still heavy against your skin. The room was filled with the remnants of what had just transpired, an electric pulse lingering between you both. He shifted his weight, allowing you to turn over, your eyes meeting his in the dim light of the office.

           Your heart raced, still echoing with the thrill of the moment. There was a vulnerability that hung in the air, and despite the heat of passion, a sense of intimacy enveloped you. You caught your breath, letting the silence settle as you and Hotch shared an unspoken understanding, one that transcended the physicality of what had just happened.

           His gaze softened as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and filled with concern. The authoritative demeanor was replaced by something more tender, a gentleness that surprised you.

           You nodded, your heart swelling at the sincerity in his eyes. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you came to your senses. There was a lingering shyness between you now, a recognition of the boundaries you had crossed together.

           His lips curled into a small, affectionate smile, and he leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft kiss that held promise and warmth. It was a stark contrast to the intensity of moments before, but it spoke volumes of the connection you shared.

           After pulling away, Professor Hotchner hesitated for a moment, his expression shifting to something more contemplative. “This can’t happen again in class,” he said, his tone serious but softened by the affection that lingered in his eyes. “It’s not professional.”

           You could only smile at his earnestness, knowing deep down that this was more than just a fleeting moment. “I know,” you replied, a playful glint in your eyes. “But maybe outside of class…”

           His laughter was deep and rich, filling the room with a warmth that made your heart flutter. “Maybe,” he mused, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. “But we’ll have to navigate this carefully.”

           You both shared a knowing look, a blend of excitement and uncertainty swirling between you.

[sooniebby]

Thinking about hate sex between two band members from rivaling bands… using Korean bands because they’re the only bands I know well enough. Bottom male reader.

Anyway, you being apart of a new band that’s climbing on the charts. It’s not overnight success but it’s success any band would pray for in the Korean music market.

Things float well for the first five months until your band is invited to perform at a university’s festival. While there you come across someone you didn’t want to meet.

Your ex boyfriend. Well, ex fuck buddy.

It’s immediate anger when you first see him with his band. When you two notice each other, you immediately make fun of him, wondering why a band as popular as his is playing a small college festival.

Until he says that one of his band mates is an alumni of the school. Embarrassing…

The rest of the night is spent with glares and crass insults. Your band mates were confused the entire time, having never seen you act so childish before. Even his own band mates looked fed up with his antics.

When performances were over, all of the acts got to mingle with the college students. You almost immediately went home until one of your band mates dragged you to at least have one drink.

It was fun for a while. You had your arms wrapped around your band mate’s neck as he tilted your head back, feeding you a shot. His hand gripped your chin as your hands dug into his shirt. It would look oddly intimate to anyone else but you were a bit too drunk at this point to care too much.

Besides, you weren’t that big of a public figure yet to care about your image. You felt your band mate’s hand trail down your back to rest on the curve of your ass as he giggled. You returned the giggle, smiling up at him.

“More?” He asked, though you had to ask him to repeat a few times before you could understand him over the loud DJ.

When he pulled away to go grab another shot, you felt an arm grasp your arm and tug you away. You yelped, trying to fight against the grip of the other person, fearing you somehow got a saesang so early in your career until the street lamps illuminated your attacker.

Fucking…

It was just your ex.

You stopped fighting him and just followed, rolling your eyes. You didn’t notice that you were whining the entire time until your back hit the back of a storage closet, the door slamming shut. Your vision was a bit blurry as the lights were flickered on and there stood your ex boy—ex fuck buddy.

“Wha..? I was just about to get another shot fed to me! Move man…” You moved forward but was slammed right back into the wall. It practically knocked you sober as you glared up at him.

“Dude what the—”

You didn’t get to say anything else as he pressed his lips against yours, pressing you hard against the wall. You couldn’t kiss back as he took total control of the kiss. Your hands reached to push him away but he easily pushed them away, slamming them against the wall as well.

His hands trailed down to your hands, sticking them inside as he grabbed a handful of your ass. Your strangled gasps filled the storage closet as you tried to keep your voice down. You tried to cuss him out.

“Stop? Why should I when you’re pulling me closer?”

You glanced down at your hands to see them gripping at his shirt, tugging him forward. A flush of embarrassment washed over you as you tried to come up with a lie but he reached up and grabbed your chin, forcing your head back.

His eyes narrowed as he stared at your face, taking you in while you felt your cock twitch in your boxers that felt too tight now.

It felt like a blink of an eye when you were suddenly pressed against the wall on your stomach as he shoved your pants down. You whimpered but did nothing to stop him as he ate you out.

You almost wondered why you even broke up with him when his tongue was this good… until he pulled away just as you were on the edge of an orgasm. Your eyes watched him with eye wides as he stood up and stared at you with a wide smirk.

“You can take care of the rest, right?” He asked, his lips moving into a slight snarl as his eyes narrowed. “Or maybe call that band mate of yours. You were practically on his dick earlier.”

With that he left, slamming the door shut behind him. You stared at him shock as you fell to your knees.

That fucking dick…

What the fuck was his problem?!

Thinking… if enough of yall are curious.. to expand this into a full fic. I actually might just do it anyway but would love to know if you guys are interested

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