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nereidprinc3ss · 1 month

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hourglass

in which spencer disappears from fem!reader's life entirely for three months, right as it seems they were finally about to make things official. when he comes back they reunite, all the while knowing things can't be the same as they were.

18+ (smut, angst) warnings/tags: oh god so many. NOT canon compliant in the slightest, i make shit up, softdom!spence, nipple stuff prob, fingering, oral f receiving, piv sex, unprotected sex, pet names, tara mentioned, depression, mentions of trauma cause its the prison arc duh, passing mentions of alcohol, mentions of spencer losing weight, reader mistakenly thinks spencer tried to kill himself BUT ONLY FOR A SECOND, where is diana reid, nobody knows or cares, probably filming glee, optimistic ending a/n: haven't posted smut in forever but this wip required it and the angst was so angsty i just had to finish it. it was started in jan or feb and subsequently added to and changed months apart and then edited so the writing quality varies from section to section which i apologize for. originally based on good guy by julia jacklin... also the odyssey by homer? can't really explain that one you'll just have to see for yourself anyway byeeee ilysm!!! PLS tell me if you liked it! or if you hated it! but preferably if you liked it! MWAH! wc <12k

It’s been about three months since you last saw Spencer Reid.

About three months since you had an early Valentine’s Day celebration (even though you weren’t a couple) complete with champagne (even though he doesn’t usually drink) and slow dancing (even though you swore you’d be terrible and he spent the first ten minutes laughing at you as you stepped on his toes.)

About three months since you finally settled your head on his shoulder and let the warbling vinyl carry you somewhere distant as the two of you danced slow circles on the parquet floor for what felt like hours.

You’d have liked him to stay later that night. You’d have liked him to stay all night if you were being honest with yourself, but at 11:45 he gently pulled away and told you he had to go.

“Curfew?” you joked, the corner of your mouth lifting a little and you hoped you were hiding your disappointment well.

“Actually, I’m going down to Texas for a few days to speak with one of the leading doctors in experimental Alzheimer's and dementia treatment. I’m going to see if he can get my mom into a clinical trial. I leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing, Spencer! What are you doing still here? You should be at home getting ready to go!”

A rosy blush stains his cheeks and he looks down at the ground, laughing that little self-deprecating laugh of his. It makes your heart dance to see him so happy, makes you want to wrap your arms around him and never let him go so that he knows how much you absolutely adore him—but you settle for an affectionate squeeze where your hands have come to rest on his biceps.

“I wanted to see you tonight because I won’t be here for Valentine’s Day... but I still really wanted to spend it with you,” he admits meekly.

If before your heart was dancing, it is now melting.

The dreaded ‘what are we’ talk has been lurking in the dark corners of every conversation you have with each other lately—at least, in your mind it has. What you have with Spencer is not easily defined, and near impossible to explain to your friends—you act like a couple, you go out on dates, he introduces you to his team like you’re his girlfriend without ever putting it into so many words—but this validation that your pseudo-relationship might be evolving is better than any flowers he could have gotten you (although the peonies he brought will look very nice on your bedside table.)

“Four whole days... what will I do without you?” you whisper, brushing a hand along his face, and your chest aches with the heavy truth of it—despite the fact that he often is gone for stretches about that length. They don’t ever start to feel shorter.

“Well, you can start by reading that copy of The Odyssey I annotated for you.”

“Depressing,” you admit. “And a little ominous, considering you’re about to embark on a hero’s journey.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he smiles.

You chew on your bottom lip, looking up at him as you think.

“Give me something to look forward to,” you say, earnestly.

“I—well, honestly, I just really want to kiss you and I’ve wanted to for a long time now and, you know, if that’s something you’re maybe also interested in then we could, uh, figure out a time to—”

“You want to kiss me?”

“Wh—you couldn’t tell?” Spencer says, like he can’t believe it.

As if on reflex, you lunge up and capture his lips with your own. It obviously catches him by surprise, but when you lower from your tiptoes he follows you, pulling you in closer and holding your face in his hands.

It’s too natural, too right, to be exhilarating. There’s no rush of adrenaline—it's more like stepping into a hot bath or warming your freezing hands at a fire. Like pieces clicking into place. It’s a relief.

You breathe into it, letting more and more of yourself melt against him. He keeps coming back to you deeper and deeper like a rising tide, and you want more than anything to keep getting closer to him—but then he stops. He stays close enough for you to breathe his air, but dodges your kiss gently before supplanting it with a gentle one to the corner of your mouth.

“I really have to go,” he breathes, before moving away from your mouth to kiss your forehead and speak softly against your skin. “If I don’t leave now I’ll be here all night.”

Which is exactly what you want, and the implication does little to make you want him less. But you care about him too much to be so selfish.

At some point, his hands found their way into your hair, and you gently grab his wrists.

“Incentive for you to come home.”

Nearly three months since that night.

At first when he stopped answering texts, you’d assumed he just had too much going on down in Texas. Which you could understand—you knew how stressful this situation with his mother was.

Even when four days came and went without even an alert from him that he was back in town, you thought, okay, maybe he’s been called away on a case. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s disappeared because of his work. But even then, he’d at least text you enough information so that you would know he was alive. Now, radio silence.

So you tried not to be clingy. You tried to act like an adult, to focus on school and your life outside of Spencer, but when Tara Lewis cancelled your weekly meeting due to an “unforeseen work-related emergency”you called her immediately. Tara was something of a mentor, and it was she who had connected you and Spencer to begin with. You had met the other members of his team by that point, yes, but none who you knew as well as Tara.

When she had informed you that Spencer had been arrested in Mexico and was now facing prison time for murder, you laughed.

Laughed until you realized her end of the line was silent.

Realized it was not at all a joke.

In a catatonic state of tranquility, you asked her for more details. Beyond assuring you of his innocence, she couldn’t (or more likely, wouldn’t) provide them. Asked where he was now. Asked all the right things that made sense to ask.

Then you hung up and had a panic attack because Tara said something about 25 years and you saw Spencer evaporate from your future like an apparition.

Slowly, you felt him evaporating from your past, too. Those memories from the night he left, became visions of you swaying with a ghost. Holding nothing but light between your hands as you kissed the peony air of your apartment.

He doesn’t want to see you, she had said into the phone one night, her tinny voice cutting in and out. You’re not on his list of approved visitors.

“You asked him about me?” you had whispered, curled up on top of your made bed in the dark.

I tried. I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I know more.

All your days melded together like a muddied smear of paint. Suddenly you felt you had nothing to look forward to. No anchor, no goal. Yes, a PhD... and then what?

The only thing that punctuated one 24 hour period from the next was the time you spent crying because Spencer was in prison and he didn’t want to see you and by the looks of things you may never see him again. When you weren’t crying, you were thinking about how your life was a big cosmic joke. An unfortunate statistical anomaly that didn’t mean anything to anyone else, and that you couldn’t do anything about.

That copy of The Odyssey, which wasn’t even bound and instead was a thick stack of printer paper organized by a single black clip, became something of a manifesto for you—a tome that your poured over, reading and re-reading each note in the margins, each word beautiful and imbued with meaning because you knew Spencer had selected every single one specifically for you. You traced the letters reverently, because in a way this was the last thing he had said to you—about Lattimore’s faith to the original text, Merrill’s strict use of dactylic hexameter, the stylings of Wilson and Lombardo, and how he thought you would enjoy Hammond’s prose just as much as he did.

Day by day it was becoming more prophetic than fictional, and you allowed yourself to sink into madness. You would rather be a deluded zealot than be nothing at all.

He didn’t want to see you.

He might as well have been dead, for all that you were grieving him. And you started to hate him, because he wasn’t dead, but wouldn’t do you the kindness of proving it. Like a festering wound, scratched open day after day so as not to ever heal, you had to live knowing he was less than an hour away. So no, you weren’t exactly over it. You lived day by day, waiting for the occasional call from Tara to keep you updated on Spencer, but either she didn’t want to share much about how he was doing, or he had specifically barred her from doing so, because she was always sparse on the personal side of things. That thought actually lifted your spirits, because it meant he was at least acknowledging your existence in some tiny way.

But your routine was becoming more regular, and so you staid on top of your classes and your non-Reid related meetings with Tara once a week, and you learned to dip your toes into existential dread and the oily black pool of depression every night without ever fully submerging yourself. You learned hope, because it was pretty much all you had, and the BAU had confidence that they would get Spencer out one way or another so you did too.

So you didn’t really think about it when you missed a couple of calls from Tara some evening in May. You were preparing for finals and had way too much on your plate academically to think about anything else which was a welcome relief so you fully embraced it. I’ll call her back tomorrow, you think, as you clean up from dinner before going back to the living room where your textbooks and papers are completely covering every available surface. Maybe I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life after school, but I’ll be damned if I don’t even make it that far.

Hours later, well into the night, you’d all but forgotten about the calls. A knock at the door takes you a bit by surprise, and you frown as you stand again, tugging your Georgetown sweatshirt down over your shorts as you shuffle to the entrance of your apartment. You’re not expecting anyone, so you crack the door, peering around the edge of it.

And you couldn’t even consider trying to hide that shaky inhalation of dead air when you see Spencer standing on the other side.

Surely you’re hallucinating.

Surely this man in front of you who looks like he just got back from a day of work didn’t spend three months in prison pretending you didn’t exist.

He looks the same. Hair a bit longer, maybe—and gaunter even more than is normal for him.

But it's him.

You can’t think about the apprehensive look on his face—you can’t think about the impossibility of him being here. You can’t think at all. Without your explicit permission, your body surges forward into his, and he’s real, and alive, and warm, and he is an anachronism in the hallway as he accepts everything you pour into the embrace, doesn’t flinch when you move your arms from around his waist to loop around his neck and back to his waist again with crushing force because you just can’t get him close enough.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters into your hair, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, he keeps saying, rubbing your back as you try to find a solid grip on the sleek material of his suit—try to gather all the pieces of him, already afraid he might fall apart and float away again.

“You—dis—disappeared,” you hiccup after an eternity, pulling away enough to look up at his pretty face. Tears blur your vision and darken the front of his jacket, bending the florescent lights so they form a kind of halo above his head.

Through the surreal haze you can see his throat bob.

“I know.”

He knows?

You scoff.

“You have no fucking idea, Spencer. What the fuck is wrong with you? I—I'm—”

The hot anger is such a relief for a second, boiling the oceans of your despair into a wrathful, scorching fog, but as soon as you try to tell him how you feel, the barbed wire cuts into your throat again. You shove him away, skin burning where his hands had been.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, hands hanging uselessly at his side. There’s that kicked puppy look about him—and it’s familiar, but now there’s more damage. You don’t know anything about his time in prison, you haven’t heard a damn thing, but beneath the glassy desperation in his eyes there is an unfathomable void that seems to be preventing him from being fully present—and you realize for the first time that he is different.

It chills you.

Before, you and Spencer shared everything. There wasn’t one part of his internal machinations that you didn’t understand, nothing you kept from each other. But as you study him now from a few feet away, you realize there might as well be a yawning chasm between the two of you.

He is so different.

Those eyes look deeper. No gears turning just behind the slashes of gold and brown anymore—only an endless dark corridor that goes places you will never go.

Gone is the perpetual boyish up-turn at the corner of his lips that always made him look slightly vacant in a way that you found incredibly amusing. Something you had been so fond of, even if you teased him.

He seems to have aged ten years—if not physically, then in demeanor. And now you feel like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

You cross your arms, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

You’re embarrassed. And pissed. And relieved. Everything is worse and better. You want to fall back into his arms, but you have been jarred by the revelation that this might not be the same Spencer. It might not be the same relationship. You have no idea where you stand.

He says your name gently, with so much familiarity you’re briefly jerked into the past. It makes you wish you could look up to find him as he was three months ago. Wish this was just a bad dream. But that’s not fair to him.

“Sorry,” you mutter, studying the grey carpet fibers instead of looking at him.

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says immediately, “you’re right. I don’t—” he clears his throat— “I’m being incredibly selfish. I shouldn’t have just shown up, I’ll just—I'll leave. I’m sorry.”

A silent moment passes.

You don’t look up as he turns and swiftly begins to move down the hall toward the stairway, leaving as quickly and silently as he had come, like a few bars of a song sighed in and away on a fleeting breeze.

Your bare feet are concretely planted, imagining him jogging down the steps and speed-walking away from your building—

And suddenly you’re sprinting after him, feeling like you might puke because Spencer was just here and you let him go again—and even though you’re still so mad and confused and hurt, the realization that he is leaving again makes the entire building spin and lurch.

“Wait!” You yell, almost wiping out as you run down the stairs and whip around corners in your slippery fucking socks. “Please, wait!”

The lobby is already empty as you spill out into it, and cold dread tightens around your neck like a fist as you shoulder your way through the double doors and right into Spencer.

“Please don’t leave again, you just—I'm sorry, I really need you to not go—” you blabber, lachrymose once more, gripping onto his forearms for dear life.

“I’m not going,” he breathes shakily. “I tried to leave because I think you were right and maybe I should and maybe it would be better for you but I can’t.”

“You can’t,” you agree, more sob than spoken word. He cups your jaw, then your cheeks, wiping tears and brushing away hair like he can’t figure out how to hold enough of you between his hands. The wild kaleidoscope of his eyes, bright and alive and real as he scans you desperately captures your attention enough to slow the tears to a trickle. He notices this and stares back, entranced.

A silent agreement is made, or maybe an inevitable fate is accepted—either way, something was set in motion three months ago and it matters to see it through. Spencer kisses you and you’re ready for it. You don’t need slow or tender. You need to feel how he feels. You need to know what he knows.

You sling your arms around his neck and he pulls you closer until you almost tip backward, chasing the bruising kiss even as you regain your footing. You want to drink him in and you do your best, breathing deeply as he kisses you deeper, backing you inside and toward the elevator.

“Is this okay?” he manages, only after blindly reaching for and mashing the up button on the wall panel.

Ideally it wouldn’t happen like this, but the world you live in obviously isn’t ideal and your personal situations as they coincide are far from ideal, so this is how it has to happen. But it’s hard to explain, and you’d rather not admit that this is so far from what you wanted for both of you and follow up with the fact that despite that you need him like you need water. So you don’t say a word as the metal doors slide open promptly. Instead you pull him in and let him press you to the chrome wall as he hits your floor button, and that very hand comes back to grab your ass like you didn’t think Spencer Reid capable of. It almost aches as his fingers dig into the flesh, but it’s a good ache because it means he’s real and he’s there.

You gasp as he hitches your leg up, arching into him. The shorts that you’re wearing leave very little to the imagination to begin with, but they become downright indecent like this.

Quickly the elevator stops and the doors hiss open. You don’t hesitate to pull Spencer by the hand down the hall. When you notice you left your door wide open, you don’t even care. Neither does he, apparently—once you’re inside he slams it shut, flipping the deadbolt while his eyes are glued to you like you’re already naked. Now Spencer is shameless in the way he drags his eyes over every curve, every place your clothes and hair are disheveled from his touch and eye-fucks you so obviously it makes your face warm. Three months ago Spencer would have at least been bashful about it when he met your eyes again, but this Spencer is far from apologetic as he pins you with his burning gaze once more. His hand stays stuck to the door like he’s holding himself back.

“Is this what you want?”

There’s an undercurrent of sorrow below the gravely arousal, like this isn’t what he wanted for the two of you either. But you’re both at the mercy of fate. This is all you have, and it might be all you can do for each other anymore. So you don’t need to say that, because he understands.

“Yeah. Yes, this is what I want.”

For just a second more he watches you from his place by the door, and there’s an unexpected softness to it. He looks at you the way he would have looked at you before. Like as long as he stays there he can entertain the idea of being that person again.

Need wins out quickly, though, and he surges forward. Immediately you’re caught in the riptide of him, helpless as he kisses you all the way to your bedroom.

He’s never been in here before. You find yourself glad it’s relatively clean—one of the pastimes you’d picked up in his absence was keeping everything tidy. It was something you could control.

A lamp glows at your bedside. You lean against the footboard of your bed, hands timidly behind your back and suddenly shy to have in him in your intimate space. Both of you set aside the heaving desperation long enough to catch your breaths, and for him to scan the room like he too is being forced to reconcile with the innate and unexpected intimacy of the moment. He cuts a harsh, dark gash in your sweetly decorated bedroom, radiating something wild and powerful and unsure of himself like a chained bull as he takes in the soft, pale bedding, the paintings and photos taped to the walls, the woven rug and the sheer drapery. His breathing slows as he studies it all—eyes eventually catching on something behind you. Looking is unnecessary. You’re sure he’s spotted the dried peonies in their ceramic vase. Or maybe the now worn stack of papers that is his Odyssey, marked up and soft around the edges from constant flipping-through.

Then Spencer looks at you, and that softness seeps in again. Along with something like... fear? Grief?

In some other universe your first time with Spencer is sweet and giggly and kind and he smiles at the decor in your room and looks around with wonder because it’s another way he gets to know you. It’s a different way to learn you from the inside.

You sense that he’s caught in between universes right now as well, painfully aware of what he would have given you that he can’t anymore.

He breathes your name like an apology, and foolishly you let a second go by in which you think he might offer you one. But he doesn’t. Not with his words, anyway. His eyes tell a different story.

“It’s fine,” you say unprompted on a whispered exhale, then a little louder as you push off the footboard, crossing the space until your hands are on his chest. You focus on his tie, not making eye contact as you rush to undo it. “It’s fine.”

He lets you do this for a few seconds before finally covering your trembling hands with his own. You still can’t meet his eyes.

“We don’t have to do—”

“No! No, please. I want to. I need—I need us to be okay.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, catching your chin and forcing you to look at him. “We are okay. Me and you are fine.”

It’s a pretty thought, but it’s not true. In fact, it’s a hideous and abject affront to the truth. Sure, maybe you’re fine in comparison to last week. Maybe anything feels fine compared to an eight by six cell. But it would be impossible for you and Spencer, for your relationship, whatever that relationship may be, to be fine. It’s especially impossible for him to make that claim, after all he did or rather didn’t do while he was gone. What you need is for him to stay anyway. What you need is to find a way to be with him, to exist with him, even when you are so clearly not fine.

“I just need you to stay,” you whisper, and he’s already nodding, wide-eyed like he’d do anything for you. You ignore all the bitter venom rising in your throat. You pretend this isn’t all happening after he cut you out of his life with a dirty switchblade. Instead you focus on his hands on yours, the familiar smell of him, which invites you to let go of each and every thought and worry. He must’ve showered before coming here, you realize. How long has he been out? What happened?

“Okay. Okay, I can stay. What else can I do? How do I make it better?”

You sniffle and look back down.

“You can untie that for me.”

He hesitates, then nods some more, fingers working under yours to undo the tie around his neck.

“Okay.”

A moment goes by and after that final whispered word, the tension begins to build again. Spencer senses it in the way your fingertips linger on his chest and you step even closer, dragging them down to his belt. The metallic sound of it unbuckling, despite being your own doing, still manages to flip your stomach. How many times have you pictured this? When was the first time you realized you wanted it? You’re sure you haven’t stopped wanting it even once since then.

Spencer tosses the tie away and is shrugging off his jacket now, then before you see it coming he’s kissing you again, ducking down to do it. He feels taller this close up, and especially in your bedroom, where he just seems rather out of place. But you want him here. God, you want him here.

You break the kiss, forced to look down as you fumble with his belt.

“Sorry,” you gasp, embarrassed by your lack of dexterity. The light is barely sufficient to see what you’re doing, especially when he’s wearing black on black and your eyes are still bleary.

“You’re okay,” he assures you, and it’s so Spencer a fresh round of nerves electrifies the tips of your fingers. That thing is happening—the thing you’d hoped to avoid if you hadn’t lost momentum partway through, where you’re allowing your actual feelings for him to get in the way rather than getting swept up in the pathos of the moment and letting everything be easy and mindless. “Here, can I help you?”

But he doesn’t actually wait for an answer before he’s finishing off the belt for you, tugging it loose from his hips till it’s a leather coil in his hands. Your fingers brush the material and he lets you take it as if it were your prize. It’s heavier than you thought it’d be, and you just feel the weight of it in your hands for a moment, your dropped head brushing his chest.

You have a terrible feeling that if you do this now, it doesn’t mean everything will be alright. Because it can’t just go back to normal. Spencer has told you nothing of what must be an enormous trauma, and you haven’t spoken about it at all, but you sincerely doubt that after this he’s going to be ready to just jump into that committed relationship the two of you had been toying with for months before his absence. You’re almost... scared of him, now. Scared of where he’s been and what he’s endured—things you’re sure you couldn’t have taken. What that does to a person, you can’t imagine. He seems so solid and real in front of you now—but you know that’s not always enough. Maybe you’re just scared that somehow whatever he’s been through will have made him care for you less. That you were too far removed from the whole ordeal, and now you’ll never understand. If you could understand, maybe you could fix it for him. Maybe he’d stick around.

Still—even if you do end up pushing him further away in the long run—won't it have been worth it to have had him so completely, even just once?

You toss the belt to the ground, compressing all of these very complicated thoughts and feelings into a few seconds so short he can’t ask you any questions about them. Instead you find his top button, and just as you manage to undo it with relative ease he’s gently grabbing your wrists. You look up at him, immediately surrendering.

“If we’re going to do this I need you to relax a little bit.”

Gears grind in your chest. You feel need and anxiety comingling in every square inch of your body. It’s a sick buzz—a high on an empty stomach.

“I can’t,” you admit.

“Yeah, you can,” Spencer gently disagrees, slowly lowering your hands. When he’s sure you’re not going to try ripping his clothes off again, he releases, and his eyes lower to the zipper of your hoodie. His fingers follow, warm against the soft triangle of revealed skin at your chest as he grips the small piece of metal between barely shaking fingers. “You can.”

You match his eyeline, breathing shallowly and watching as he slowly drags the zipper down. You wonder if that sound has haunted his fantasies the way the sound of his belt has haunted yours. If he’s seen this hoodie on you and wondered what’s underneath, staring at you and daydreaming during movie night with you none the wiser.

Both of you have your eyes glued to the span of skin as the zipper parts. Spencer stalls with the zipper at your sternum, just below the band of your bra.

Right. No shirt.

You look up and find his eyes already on you, tinged with a curious kind of humor.

“I wasn’t expecting guests.”

The words come out shy. Spencer’s chuckle has its own nervous airy quality as he resumes tugging on your zipper, leaning down until your noses bump.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Then he kisses you again, a little sweeter now. Sweet enough to give you butterflies and for them to flutter right out of your stomach and spill from your lips in a little whimper against his.

It comes as a surprise when he pushes the fabric from your shoulders without looking or asking. Not that you’d have said no—you're just underprepared for how assertive he is in this foreign context.

Left just in your flimsy shorts and your thin bra, you feel quite exposed—but Spencer’s hands are as demanding and hungry as his mouth. They skim up your sensitive sides and sweep lower, suggesting less proper placement over your ass and pulling at your bottoms until you gently put a stop to their wandering.

“Wait. We’re... we’re uneven.”

It’s a struggle to get any words out at all when he keeps chasing your lips, nipping at you like he physically can’t stand not kissing you, but they catch his attention and he laughs airily, pulling back to let his gaze pour over your less clothed form. It lingers and catches and lights you up everywhere it touches, drops of heat soaking into your skin and making you feel all fuzzy and needy.

“We are,” he acknowledges, tone low and colored with the faintest smile. “You’re a lot prettier without your clothes on than I am.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The challenge comes immediately and thoughtlessly. Spencer’s golden eyes flash up to yours. He’s breathing a little harder than usual.

“You want me to show you what I mean?”

If that means getting him naked, then yes, absolutely.

You nod, but rather than immediately stripping, he takes your hand and holds his own open next to it. A thick pink scar bisects some pretty significant palmistry lines, but you don’t mention that. Instead you swallow—your thoughts, your words, your nausea.

“That’s new.”

You wonder how you hadn’t noticed it earlier.

He nods.

“A lot is new.”

It sounds almost like he’s challenging you—there's a kind of tremulous force in his voice, despite the perpetual softness there, like he’s inviting you to say it’s ugly. And you realize he’s referring to more than just the glowing scar cutting an asteroid trail against the flesh of him palm. The scars he obtained in prison must form a constellation over his body.

“I don’t care. I wanna see you.”

Spencer swallows, cupping your face with the scarred hand once more. You can’t feel it against your cheek but you know it hasn’t gone away.

“I’m sure you think you do,” he permits, and that’s where the conversation ends for the moment—with his hand on your face and his lips back on yours. “For now why don’t you let me worry about you?”

Obediently, you breathe, “okay.”

This is, for whatever reason, amusing to him. The brief levity dies as quick as it comes like a snuffed-out brush fire as soon as he lets his hands fall back down to your hips.

“I want... I want to give you slow. But...”

But slow is for people who didn’t lose three months of their life. Slow is for people who don’t know what it’s like to be starving. Slow is not for the desperate.

You understand the feeling.

“I don’t need slow.”

You’ll let him use you up like quick-burning fuel if that’s what he needs. You’ll go as fast and as bright and as hot as he tells you.

“But you want slow,” he murmurs, a secret acknowledged into your own waiting mouth. You’d keep it there forever. You could be the object he hides his soul in. “I know you do. You deserve to get what you want.”

“I can go fast. I want whatever you can give me.”

Spencer’s shuddering exhale is like a drug, dizzying as you inhale it and your eyes flutter at the high, pressed head-to-head with him. For so long you’ve needed him so badly. It’s overwhelming to have him now, all over you. If only your walls could breathe him in the way you are, if this room could remember what it feels like to hold him the way you will, if any inanimate object could bear witness to how you’ll give yourself, any part of yourself, over to him, so willingly.

“I’m going to try.” Spencer’s voice is hoarse as he walks backward to the bed, taking you by the hips as he goes. “I want to do it right. I want to do this the way I... the way I imagined it, before...”

Now he’s sitting, and you’re standing between his legs as he finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it, his fingers a comforting pressure where they ghost down the slope of your back. Your heart is pounding at the confession, at the way his tongue darts over his bottom lip and his fingertips journey back up to your straps, looking up at you with haloed irises as if he’d find anything other than the most dangerous kind of smoldering devotion in your eyes—the kind cult-leaders seek and spend years nurturing, and he’d earned with a mere brush over your bare skin.

The fabric slides down your arms, and as it falls to the floor, you watch something like despair flash-flood his eyes. It is a deep, distinctly human grief. The ineffable kind where something is almost too beautiful; so perfect it offends the mortal senses because it should be permanent, but nothing is, and the clash of divine beauty with unstoppable time which oxidizes copper and covers marble with vine is almost as grotesque as metal rending delicate flesh. It is the grief that drove the first poet to write and the first parents to press their baby’s painted hands to the walls of a cave. It is the desire to do the impossible—to capture ephemeral perfection and make it eternal, and the knowledge that it is hopeless. You recognize it because you’ve felt it for him.

“I thought about you all the time,” he whispers, doesn’t bother calling you beautiful but you don’t mind because he’s telling you with his hands and his eyes and the waver of his voice. “When I was gone, I thought about you—”

You’re just as quiet, just as soft.

“Don’t, Spencer.”

He doesn’t get to tell you about when he was gone. Not now. Not after he acted like you didn’t exist.

“Okay.” He swallows the things he’d wanted to tell you like you choked on the things you needed to tell him for three months. “I’m sorry.”

But his hands—his hands are perfect over your waist and his lips are perfect where they kiss your ribs like they’re his homeland. You could forgive a thousand wrongs for each kiss he puts to your skin. Light from the full moon stretches over the room like a blessing from the cosmos, and you have every intention of making the most of that gift, how the silver gilds the planes of his face and highlights curls like they were carved, and invites you to search for something in each shadow.

Some of his kisses land over the sensitive skin of your breasts though you doubt he has much intention or that there is any sort of end-goal with the trail he blazes—in fact, you have to root your hand in his hair and pull gently back when he doesn’t seem to realize that he’s making you wait again. His eyes are glassy and cheeks slightly pinkened—you weren’t expecting this wave of fondness to knock you on your ass but here you are, falling all over again.

“You don’t have to go that slow.”

A slow smile splits the heart of his mouth at your bashful tone and he’s emboldened to bring his hands higher for a moment, thumbs brushing particularly delicate though not downright indecent spots. Nonetheless, your breath catches.

“Impatient girl,” he scolds, and though it’s lighthearted it still inspires heat to dance across your face. Oh, I think I’ve been plenty patient, you itch to say, but you bite it back because it’s only sad and true and unkind.

Still, he gives you the beginning of what you want, really only the tip of the enormous iceberg that is your desire for him, by slipping his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down. His hands slide up the fronts of your thighs, tracing the trim of your underwear, and you’d swear he’s not even breathing. The moment one of his hand loops behind your knee and pulls forward until it’s pressed to the mattress and you’re half-kneeling, half standing, desire begins to truly cloud your mind. Manhandling never seemed like Spencer’s style, but when paired with how softly he reveals your hip, pulling gently down on the fabric of your underwear just to admire you up close, you don’t mind it.

More kisses are littered over your stomach, and he takes you by surprise a second time with a quick maneuver landing you on your back and him on top of you.

“I wasn’t doing you justice with my imagination,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I couldn’t have known.”

“Couldn’t have known what?” you pant as he shamelessly digs his fingers into the plush of your ass. You almost hope it bruises.

“How pretty you would be,” he coos like he means it, and you dissolve, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. “You were holding out on me.”

It’s a tease, not at all serious, but you manage to hit him with a, “Was not, asshole,” and he chuckles, placating your little hurt with another sticky kiss, and you get another disorienting glimpse of some other timeline where you’re both a little less damaged. Where it’s a little easier.

But in this timeline, his touch becomes starving and ragged and urgent, and you accept the drag of his thumb up your thigh and between your legs, gasping when he runs his knuckles up the center of you. This touch is metal on screeching metal. It does not pretend to be anything more than what it is—brute, powerful, executed to elicit sensation. You get the sense that Spencer’s never touched anyone this honestly, and while you do envy the girls who got to have him gentler, you’ll take this as the compliment that it is. A kind of vulnerability that is nearing primal.

His lips, though—always his lips—are kind when they brush and land on your skin guided by some invisible map. A dip down your neck and chest and then a plunge, his tongue dragging over your hips, chasing the fabric of your underwear as he almost pulls it off and then reroutes, making room for himself between your legs and pushing lace aside to mark the hinge of your inner and upper-most thigh. Your chest heaves and you don’t dare move for fear he’ll stop leaving signs of himself on your body and you won’t be able to reassure yourself that it was real and he was here and it was not another dream.

Because something in you knows, if only consciously recognizing it for the first time now, that he will disappear again. That this may be your only chance.

The desire to make the ephemeral eternal. An impossibility.

He’s clearly losing himself to something, eyes shutting blissfully. You wonder when the last time he let his guard down even a little was. You’re okay with being the thing he gets lost in, even if you’re not exactly okay with him—something you are becoming more acutely aware of as each touch makes a part of you want to cry. Maybe you still have some things in common. A strange pain that doesn’t quite feel like it belongs to you, for one thing.

You slam back into your body as his nose nudges against you through fabric, and his lips catch on cotton as he drags himself up, eventually settling a kiss against the little bow at the waist of your underwear. There he stays, eyes closed, mouth pressed to you.

“Is this okay?”

You swallow, buzzing. Is this really what he wants? After everything?

“You don’t have to...”

“But is it okay with you?”

Nothing more than an airy whisper, you reply, “Yes, if that’s what you want.”

Being emotional at this point seems wrong, but it’s difficult to ignore the fact that you have thought about this before and it’s finally happening but it’s not exactly as you’d imagined it. There is an indelible sadness to it, to the way he’s so hungry for you because he’s been deprived, to the desperation with which he touches you because he’s had everything taken from him.

For a moment, before he tugs your underwear down, he pauses, and you wonder if he’s freezing one moment in time, this moment, and grieving all the other ways it could’ve been, and accepting that this is the way it is going to be. You are.

These higher realms of thought abandon you as he finally pulls the last barrier down your legs and encourages you to spread them further. You don’t have time or energy to be embarrassed, not even by his staring, or the way his eyes dart up to yours and back down again, wide and shining, as if to say, have you seen yourself? Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

All you feel is the lack of him on you, the pull to have him closer so strong it’s almost sickening because he could be gone at any second. Maybe he understands that because he doesn’t waste anymore time before he’s kissing the most sensitive part of you. The drag of his tongue has you loosing a shuddering cry.

His mouth wanders, making connections you wouldn’t have realized the value of until you feel them on your skin. Your hips buck as he traces you and you’re unable to stop yourself from tangling your hands in his hair. Speech fails you—hell, you can hardly breathe as you watch his with a furrowed brow and parted lips, only expelling air from your lungs in the form of little cries and gasps and failing to hold your hips down to the bed.

The tip of his tongue teases around your entrance and he catches your leg as your foot rises off the bed, slinging it over his shoulder and consuming you more fervently until you have no choice but to moan though you’ve never been one for theatrics. Nobody has done this for you like he’s doing it for you. Locks of hair fall in front of his face and you hold them back for him, shuddering as he shifts his weight and presses the tip of his finger to your cunt.

“Ah—please,” you manage, your first words since he started. Spencer groans against you and the sound is so wonderfully unexpected, so much better than in your dreams. You cant your hips up in further invitation, chirping as he takes it, pushing two fingers into you at once. Your eyes screw shut and you bite back a whine at the slight stretch, unconsciously writhing your hips either to get further away or take him deeper, you’re not sure.

Spencer pulls back, kissing your hips and thighs and pumping his fingers very slowly as you adjust.

“’M sorry,” you pant, “it’s been awhile, I...”

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says like it’s simple, his own breath coming quicker. “How’re you feeling? Need me to stop?”

“No! No, it feels really good, I feel good.”

He holds your burning gaze, matching it with his own, and his hair is tousled and his cheeks are flushed as he continues to move his hand.

“Yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

This little show of obedience, of call and response, has him smiling before he occupies his mouth with something else once more. It’s a different smile than you’re used to from him, but you decide you don’t at all mind it.

Like that, with his tongue and fingers working tirelessly, your orgasm comes on quickly. The feeling is rare but not entirely foreign, and in that brief moment of utter disconnect between your brain and reality, of sheer white-hot pleasure, you don’t feel you’re missing out on anything at all. How could you be, when you are here and Spencer is here and for a moment all your neurons are lighting up and flashing neon? How could there be anything more to life than the searing feeling of him slowly withdrawing his fingers from you, than your hips between his hands like he’s cradling the world, and his lips, indiscriminate with where they kiss because every part of you is worthy of attention?

You’re reeling, and your legs are gelatinous as he so affectionately sucks the darkest mark yet onto your inner thigh like a parting gift, like he’s signing his trembling work. If you could clamp your legs shut around the almost painful aftershocks you would, but he’s climbing back up your body, so all you can do is wriggle against him and release delayed, stunted little moans. He stops to kiss your neck before he makes it to your mouth and drinks down all your sounds until you’re gentle and pliant for him like you haven’t been yet.

His voice is soft and sympathetic when he speaks. “Better?”

Wordlessly you nod, both comforted and unsettled by how well he knows you. What, exactly, has been made better, you’re not sure. Not trust. You don’t trust him anymore. Something cheaper, but temporarily effective. A sense of permanence, maybe, however fleeting it may be. You’ve completed something with him now, and he’s still here, still sweet.

He looks into your eyes, then, for a moment—and there is just enough light in the room for you to tell yourself that the shadows dancing there as he looks at you are love.

They morph as you watch into haunting, wild hunger. Pained even now.

He sits up abruptly and so do you, scooting back against your headboard and pulling your knees to your chest to protect your pounding heart as Spencer takes you in with darting eyes and quick breaths. His fingers find the collar of his shirt and he begins to unbutton.

“I need you to remember it’s all going to heal.”

He swallows, and you hardly have the wherewithal to study the way he unbuttons his shirt, a way he exists in the world that you had previously not been privy to. The words are too distracting.

“What?”

Sometimes he reminds you of a deer, with those big brown eyes that can’t help betraying anxiety. Moreso in those old pictures he’d shown you from his early days at the BAU—but it shines through occasionally even now. It’s reassuring to know that something inside of his has remained soft.

“Just...” his fingers don’t stop at their task, and you come to the disturbing realization that his knuckles are bruised. “Please don’t freak out, alright?”

Your mouth goes dry, eyes glued to the lengthening span of revealed skin.

And before he even has his shirt fully undone, something isn’t right.

He’s like a Pollack of bruises—starbursts and watercolor blots of discoloration blooming over his side and stomach.

You’re glad the light is off for two reasons: one, being that you don’t think you could handle the bruising in all its glory, and two, you hope the look of horror painted on your face is at least partially obscured from Spencer.

But you can’t. You simply don’t have the gas in the tank to freak out, as he’d said—at least not externally. Those bruises shouldn’t be there, but 96 days is a long time to be gone.

You drag your eyes back to his—nervous, deeply insecure and mistrustful. A deer. Just like those pictures of a 24 year old Spencer in an FBI jacket that was too big for him.

It’s enough to have you scooting on your knees across the mattress to him. Those big eyes stay glued to you as you draw near, falling as you carefully push open his shirt, cautious not to bump any tender spots as it falls to the bed. A flash of white gauze wrapped around his forearm that makes your stomach flip. How? You want to ask. Why?

He doesn’t seem to know what you’re going to do, and neither do you, until you’re grabbing his hands, bruised knuckles and all, and just... holding them for a minute.

“I lost weight,” he says quietly, as if that’s the most shocking thing about his current appearance, though it is noticeable.

“You’re still pretty.”

He smiles at this—a true Spencer Reid smile. Flattened lips, eyes tinged silver with sadness, voice quiet and anxious and wavering.

“I didn’t have a lot to spare.”

A moment goes by.

“I’m not going to ask you about them,” you promise, though you care so much and you want to know but you already understand that he won’t want to tell you.

Another moment. It doesn't surprise you to watch the shiny vulnerability in his eyes to freeze over completely. But he squeezes your hands once in thanks, and you know it’s still the same Spencer.

“Lie down.”

Oh. Right.

This.

You do as he says, taking a deep breath to try and exhale the concern twisting your stomach like a poison. Somehow your room feels so unfamiliar, so new with him in it. Even the whorls on your ceiling look different as you study them, trying to time the pattern of your breathing with the pattern of the paint and plaster and not let the sound of Spencer further undressing quicken your heartrate too much.

Soon he’s coaxing your legs apart again, reverently, and kneeling between them, studying every part of you—lingering not on the parts you’d expect. He traces the scar on your knee with his thumb, follows a line down your thigh to the freckle on your hip. The scrutiny is unnerving and warms you everywhere. Perhaps he senses the microscopic clench of your thighs as you imagine pushing them together, if he weren’t in the way.

“You alright?” He asks, still stroking your hip. Tender again. It’s so hard to keep up.

“I...”

Suddenly your heart beat is a deafening echo in your own ears. The tide of your breathing is too powerful, too in and out and whooshing, leaving you always too empty or too full but never comfortable.

Maybe he’s changed, and he’s harder to know now, but he is the same Spencer. He is the Spencer you’d fallen in love with. The hard part is knowing that now you may never get a chance to tell him that. You don’t know if he’d be able to hear it.

There are things you can’t have with him anymore. Not now, at least. Maybe not ever. But you can have this. It will be different, but you’d rather him be different and here than the same and only in your memory.

You swallow.

“I’m good.”

Tangling your hand in his hair once more, you pull him down into a kiss. It’s hesitant, at first—maybe he can taste your thoughts, where they’d been balancing just on the tip of your tongue. But the uncertainty fades and he kisses you deeper, harder, in a way that is hard to keep up with. You like the messy overwhelm of his lips, teeth, tongue. That’s the only way he knows how to want you.

When you go to wrap your leg around his waist he catches it, running his hands over the soft plush of your thigh. The hard line of him presses against you like memory foam and you gasp and he breathes it in deeply as your brain short-circuits, as you realize this is really going to happen, that you’re going to have him like you’ve never had him before and in ways you’ve only imagined and immediately felt ashamed for.

“Spencer,” you whisper. He ducks to leave open-mouthed kisses along your neck and your eyes flutter shut, craning your neck but not losing sight of your objective as you reach down blindly. When you find what you’re looking for he freezes, groans against your neck at the same time as you breathe the tiniest whimper. Just in your hand he feels impossible, hot and imposing and hard. Your heart palpitates.

Without thinking, you angle your hips up and encourage him closer, until the tip of him is smearing through your folds, and you both go utterly silent like the breath had been stolen right from your lungs. The moment crystallizes, time around you hardening like preserved amber to keep you frozen there forever.

And then he rolls his hips, catching the underside of his cock on the crux of you, and then he does it again, and you choke out a moan and so does he, and it’s beyond perfect—it's nirvana, more than you could ever have conceived of, with his weight pressing you into the mattress, arms caging you in, his heavy breaths hot against your neck and vice versa as you twine together like serpents on a rod, your foot floating in the air as you widen your legs to make more room for him.

And you’re not even fucking yet.

“Oh my god,” you whine, just for him, barely audible under the heavy cloak of night, the thickened air in your bedroom and the sound of panting and fabric shifting. It’s like your heart is trying to reach through your chest to his own where they’re pressed together—that is how hard it’s beating.

Spencer only breathes a long, low curse and shifts so he can grasp himself. Your fingers drift down the shaft of him as he slots himself at your entrance, notching half an inch in and you hold your breath, and you brace yourself—and then he’s kissing you again, but gentler this time. Reassuring. You soften, you can’t not, releasing all your air in a soft gust through your nose, and then he’s pushing in.

Your lips part at the stretch as it fuzzes your mind, but he stays right there, nose pressed to your nose, lips ghosting over your own. He’s not going anywhere, you think, and you’re glad for it, when it burns ever so slightly, and the tiniest whine escapes your open mouth.

“Shh,” he soothes immediately, low and soft, only fractionally louder than you had been. “You’re okay.”

Spencer. Your Spencer.

For a moment, you’re living in that alternate universe. The kinder one. The flash of pain you feel then has nothing to do with the way he’s opening you up.

This is the closest you have ever been, and in some strange way, the furthest apart.

Together, fingers brushing, you guide him until he settles at not quite your deepest point. You can feel that he’s not giving you everything yet, but you’re okay with that, as you adjust to the full feeling. Spencer again senses your desire to close your legs against the deep intrusion, and gives you the best he can by encouraging you to wrap your legs around him.

“Good girl,” he whispers tenderly, nudging at your jaw with his nose and dragging kisses along the ridge of it. Your stomach flips at the moniker and your brain turns to warm sludge as your eyes flutter shut. It makes you feel all light-headed and you flutter around him. Spencer chuckles into the junction of your neck and shoulder and the vibrations send a chill down your arching spine. “I thought you might like that one.”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm. How are you? You okay?”

“’M ready.”

“You’re ready?” His tone is dripping sarcasm and faux-disbelief as he pulls back the slightest bit only to push right back in deeper, this time. Your toes curl, one thigh sliding higher up his waist as you cling to him.

“Fuck,” you manage, a pitiful, high pitched curse tossed to the wind. He echoes the sentiment.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, continuing with that slow pace, “you feel so good, angel.”

You grapple at his back, searching for purchase as your brow knits. “Faster.”

This inspires another breathy chuckle, but he obliges, and you cry out softly. It’s almost unreal, your head buried against his neck, drunk on his scent and the drag of him like a shock felt in the far reaches of your body, again and again.

There’s nothing you can say that will accurately demonstrate what you’re feeling, so you elect not to speak, to remain silent and try to get a grip on this cacophony of sensation and emotion. But it’s too much to be alone with. You feel you have to get it out, to seek understanding. You can’t do it alone.

“Spencer.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know...” the sentence trails off into a gentle keen. He moves to kiss you, speaking against your lips.

“You don’t know?”

Shyly you shake your head. Spencer sighs wistfully.

“Do you know how much I missed you?”

It’s like he can sense your need for comfort. For something grounding.

And while this topic was off-limits earlier—you're softer now. The stone walls that form your boundaries have been chipped away and lowered.

Spencer continues unprompted.

“I thought about you every day. Every night while I was falling asleep. You were always on my mind, angel girl.”

You whine. Whether it’s pleasure or distress is anyone’s guess—including your own.

“You were gone so long,” you whisper, eyes shut.

At this, Spencer slows again, and the tension that was building settles back to a simmer.

“I know. I wish I could—I wish I could change that. But I’m here, okay? I’m right here with you.”

Then he makes sure you feel every last inch, and it takes your breath away. If your thoughts were any more coherent, they’d be something along the lines of: but for how long? How long until you leave again?

“You’re here.”

You say it like a mantra, once out loud, and then again and again in your head, timed with every clash of your hips. With each repetition he becomes more real. Every little ache, every tingling, head-emptying brush against that most sensitive spot inside proves to you that he could not be any closer. This can’t be faked. It can’t be another dream to wake up in tears from.

“You’re here,” you gasp as it hits you, as it truly sinks in.

“I’m here,” he breathes.

There’s so much you want to say—three months of words you need him to hear, of things you need to talk to him about, things you need to yell at him for and things you can only say crying in his arms and things you can only say laughing or whispering or drunk or half-asleep—and in this moment you can’t manage any of it. Every word condenses into one drop of salt water, drifting away from your eye and down your cheek. Spencer doesn’t tell you to stop crying. He only kisses the tear away, and murmurs I’m here I’m here I’m here over and over again against your skin until he’s not even speaking it out loud anymore. But you feel it. With every brush of his lips, every breath, every movement, you feel it.

Soon he’s adjusting his angle, gradually picking up the pace but retaining that unforgiving depth, and your nails bite into the skin of his back as your jaw drops. Spencer hisses, pressing impossibly closer.

“I’m sorry!” you squeak.

“Do it again.”

“Wh—what?”

“Please,” he begs, low and hot against your jaw, just beneath your ear. “Do it again, honey.”

Honey.

You’d do anything for him if it meant he calls you that again.

When he shifts his weight to one arm and reaches down between your bodies to play with your aching clit in exactly the right way, you don’t really have a choice. You arch and moan wantonly enough to feel embarrassed as your nails scratch down his back. At the same time he’s making noises of his own, and you almost feel guilty for marking him up like this only you think he likes it. The most perfect and troubling tension is building in your core, so taut you almost fear the inevitable rebound when it snaps. But you’re driven to be exactly what Spencer needs right now, and to let him try and be what you need. Even if it scares you. Even if you’re not sure how.

Spencer groans, head tucked to the bend of your shoulder. “I’m not gonna last.”

Any response you might’ve been about to muster is annihilated by a sudden, deep bolt of pleasure.

“’M gonna cum,” you mewl like it’s a secret.

“Are you?” he asks, coming up breathless. If your eyes were open, you’re sure you’d see him above you.

“Mhm.”

“Look at me. Look at me.”

It is unmistakably a command—one you fight to follow.

You cry out as you meet the intensity of his gaze, those shadowy corridors suddenly ablaze and alive. They are not unending, like you’d thought. They are a door thrown open to let the light in, or maybe to let the fire out. They’re open in this moment for you.

No more words are spoken after that—you cum hard, gasping as you fall and spin. Spencer follows very shortly after, like he was holding it together just for you, and your eyes are still locked though everything is a bit bleary.

“Fuck,” you whine as he continues to fuck you for as long as he can, despite your writhing hips, but you’re entranced by him, unable to look away now that you’re hooked. Until he slows to a halt, glances down at your mouth, and you just have time to pray that he’ll kiss you before he does. You whimper against his lips—a plea for understanding. A plea for him to stay, even though this is over. He kisses back so soft and sweet it’s like he can read your mind. Echoes of I’m here I’m here I’m here still buzz across your skin. His eyelashes tickle your cheek. Your heart stops beating quite so quickly, melting and warm like the rest of your body.

Soon the kissing ceases and you’re just breathing together, trapped and faced with the knowledge that it must end just the same as you had waited for it to start.

Eventually the air between you becomes mostly carbon dioxide and you let your head fall to the side, dizzy and giggling breathlessly as you nearly avoid asphyxiation. Spencer laughs too, letting his head fall to your shoulder once more, and you finally let your eyes flutter closed. To do something as simple as laugh with him again is its own small euphoria. It’s unexpected, and a soft landing once all that tension breaks underneath your combined weight.

It can’t last forever, you know that well. But the slow fade of it makes the next parts a little easier.

Spencer presses a kiss to your neck. “Is your bathroom through that door?”

You hum a confirmation and are only slightly disheartened when he pulls out and rolls off of you. You’re further disturbed when you see there’s gauze around his thigh, matching what’s around his arm, and you wonder how you missed that. Spencer scoops up his clothing and disappears into the adjoining restroom, assuring you he’ll be right back and leaving you alone with your thoughts and the whorls on the ceiling which have seemingly shifted into entirely new constellations.

He leaves the door cracked which is oddly reassuring—the sliver of warm light and the sound of the sink running. Only a few moments pass before he’s returning clad in boxers once more to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing away the sheet you’d just pulled over your chest and pulling one of your legs over his lap. Your face warms as he brings a washcloth between your thighs. As soon as he glances up at you and catches your eye you’re looking back to the ceiling.

“I should’ve asked first,” he says quietly as he cleans up the mess he’d made of you.

You speak just as softly, like you’re both afraid of disturbing some peace, of waking some sleeping giant. “It’s okay. I would’ve told you if I didn’t want it.”

His reticence, his unreadable face, make you nervous.

When he’s done, he rises to toss the dirtied cloth in the laundry bin, and with his back to you (as scratched up as it might be) you feel braver.

“Are you gonna, like... hate me now?”

It was a mistake. That’s clear by the way he turns around, brow knit deeply and grimacing slightly like even the suggestion offends him.

“Am I going to hate you?”

Again you pull the sheet up, and again you look away, studying the pattern of moonlight stretching out over the floor and scooting to make room for him when he steps in it.

“Not hate, I just...” the bed dips beside you and you are indescribably glad he’s not immediately running out the door. “I’m not dumb. I know what this was.”

He pulls you into him and you settle against his chest. It feels good. “I never thought you were dumb.”

This is your first real conversation since he’s gotten back, you realize. And how quickly you’re falling into familiar patterns, familiar syntactical beats. You know when to speak. You know when to bite your tongue and keep him talking.

The silence goes on longer than you’re used to. Maybe he got good at not speaking while he was away.

Eventually your eyes wander, falling to the white strip over his thigh where it is parallel to yours on the bed, only over the sheets.

“What happened?”

You said you wouldn’t ask, but that was then, and you’re upset again. You almost want to hurt him. To piss him off. You don’t know.

But it doesn’t work.

“Do you really want to know?” There’s a note of something heavy in his voice, and you look up at him. It’s a privilege to have him this close—his beauty is a constant surprise that you’d become unaccustomed to over the months. You say nothing, and he takes that as the yes that it is. “I... I did it to myself.”

He may as well have reached down your throat and grabbed for fucking heart for all its clenching. Tears well almost immediately, though they’ve been waiting in the wings all night.

“What? Did you—were you trying to—”

His eyes widen.

“No! No, honey, no.” You wilt as he gathers you closer, a deeply confused frown still contorting your features, too heartbroken even to cling to him, or to appreciate the ease with which honey slips past his lips again. “No. I was—it's complicated. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, but I had to—I had to do it before someone else did something worse.”

The bruises covering his abdomen.

You sniffle and pull back enough to look up at him tearfully. “Why would they want to hurt you?”

Mist fills his eyes even as he’s looking down at you, a layer of separation, as if he’s two places at once. Even as he goes to brush your hair behind your ear, to stroke your cheek.

“I’m... not... the same, as I was.” It’s not an answer to your question—but it’s the beginning of the answer to a question you’d been too afraid to put into words.

“Don’t say that,” you beg, because you know where this is going. He keeps smoothing your hair like it’ll make this easier.

“But it’s true,” Spencer says gently, the slightest waver betraying his own emotion.

“You’re just going to leave again.”

And you’re losing to the tears.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will,” you insist, like a child crying to a parent come to comfort them after a bad dream.

“Not right now. Right now I’m here.”

I’ll stay until you fall asleep again.

For now, maybe that has to be enough.

You cry on his shoulder. He kisses your head and doesn’t tell you to stop.

Eventually, you sniff and wipe your eyes.

“We were so close. Before you… we were almost there.”

You’re sure of it. You’re sure that if he hadn’t gone when he did you would’ve been a real couple. You would’ve told him you loved him.

“We’ll get there again,” he promises, rubbing your arm. “I just… I need a little bit of time. I think you do too. But we’re going to get there again.”

Maybe it will never be like it was.

But as so often is the case—Spencer is right. Difference doesn’t mean it won’t ever be good again.

You have to believe that, just as you had to believe you’d see him again.

You look to The Odyssey on your bedside table.

The sun has been obliterated from the sky, and an unlucky darkness invades the world.

But the sun has a habit of rising, time and time again, after the longest nights, after the darkest storms.

You feel the beginnings of its rise, see the golden tips of it lighting the room as he holds you. Even now.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst

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halohalona · 1 month

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🎀 A Little Redecorating

Logan wakes up to you rearranging the living room in the middle of the night

Logan Howlett x Reader

this is inspired by my impulsiveness (i don't know if that's the right word) to clean and rearrange my room at 11 at night until like 12:30 in the morning.

not beta read

masterlist

warnings/tags: fluff, reader possibly having adhd and making impulsive decisions, husband!logan, a little ooc logan, kinda domestic, probably a bit incoherent towards the end cause i decided to finish writing this at 2 in the morning

To be completely honest, you have no idea why you suddenly got the urge to rearrange and reorganize the living room. You were laying in bed when the idea popped up in your head, and couldn’t sleep since. So you quietly slipped out of bed, careful not to wake up your husband, and got to work.

You were moving the TV stand when your hip accidentally hit the edge of a side table causing the vase placed on top to fall.

CRASH

Logan immediately sat up the claws on his left hand unsheathing. Instincts kicking in, he looked over to your side of the bed to see if you were ok, only to see no one.

“Shit!” he heard someone speak before hearing a loud thud. In an instant he was out the door running straight to where the voice came from.

You were sweeping the remnants of the broken vase onto a dust pan when you heard Logan frantically shout your name. “Y/N!!”

“I’m okay!! I just knocked over a vase!”

When Logan finally reached you his body visibly relaxed. “Thank fuck, you’re okay. I thought you were getting taken.”

“I’m sorry.” you say sheepishly.

He looked around, the room was in disarray. The couch was no longer in its original place, instead it was blocking the path to the stairwell where Logan came from. The TV stand no longer against the wall he was facing but instead in the middle of the room. The TV itself was laying on one end of the couch while books and knickknacks were scattered on the other end. The rug was also rolled up and put against the wall.

“Love, why are you rearranging our furniture?” he asked, confused.

“I honestly don’t know. I suddenly got the idea while in bed and I couldn’t wait until morning.” you answered looking around, the corners of your lips turning down. “And now I can’t exactly go to bed while the living room looks like this…”

Placing his hands on his hips, he took another look around. “Well then, let’s get to work. Let’s finish this before sunrise,” he sighed before hopping over the couch. “You got an idea how you want the furniture placed? "A smile makes its way to your face before nodding excitedly.

It took you only an hour to get everything in place thanks to Logan doing most of the heavy lifting. After placing the last book on the shelf you let out a loud yawn starting to feel exhausted.

“Alright, let’s get you to bed” your husband said, carrying you up to your room.

Bonus:

That morning you sat at the dining table hard at work on something on your laptop.

Logan had to do a double take making sure he was seeing things correctly. "Is that our living room?”

“Yep”

“Did you seriously build our living room in—”

“The Sims? Yep. I actually built our house in the Sims.” you zoomed the camera out to show the entire first floor of the build before shrugging. “It makes redecorating easier.”

a/n: the bonus was really just an excuse to add the small detail that the reader uses the sims as reference for decorating the house lol

word count: 511

#logan howlett x reader #hugh jackman #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool & wolverine #logan x reader #wolverine #wolverine x reader #logan howlett #xmen #marvel #mari cliffgate's writing

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biceratops7 · 1 year

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Y’ALL I JUST FOUND SOMETHING WILD:

I figured this out by pure accident because musically, I’m not a big fan of Tori Amos’s singing style (I’m sorry 🙁, besides the point though!), so I pulled up the original instead to put on my playlist.

And GUYS. I don’t think “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” is about them at the Ritz together in the 21st century, or at least not at first…

It’s about this.

“A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” originally came out in 1940 by Vera Lynn, one year before Crowley pulled the most romantic ass stunt Aziraphale had ever seen and, let’s be honest, the vibes uh… changed. I mean there was a reason the rumor of them being an item spread in hell around this time.

And that’s not all, the song was actually meant to be part of a musical, on the West End. The place where they made a fond memory together for the first time in nearly a hundred years, took care of each other, trusted each other. Hell, where Crowley and Aziraphale, both friends of the theatre in different ways, probably heard this song about causing the impossible and falling in love just a year prior for the first time.

Yah so I’ve FULLY drank my own koolaide and completely believe that they already associated this song with each other. Not only saw it as a fond reminder of that night in 1941, but the quiet, gentle reality they might have together someday. But they wouldn’t DARE say that out loud, wouldn’t be ridiculous enough to let themselves hope for it.

I think this was Aziraphale breaking the unspoken rules and acknowledging this thing they share. Him saying “I know, I see you. I hope so too.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #season 2 #season 1 #2x04 #2x03 #a nightingale sang in berkeley square #meta #analysis #aziraphale #crowley #1941 #biceratops

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hees-mine · 4 months

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𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 - 𝐋. 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠

Pairing: heeseung ⚥ reader

Warnings: smut, cheating, stepson, stepmom, taboo relationship, dry humping, unprotected sex, oral, anal sex, fingering, cum eating, lube, cursing, mentions of contraceptives, mommy kink-ish, no plot.

Genre: 18+, step relationship, taboo. Not proofread.

WC: 4,823k

⟱⟱⟱

“Come on, Mommy,” heeseung chuckles while standing behind you, caging you between the kitchen counter you were preparing dinner on and his slim body.

His dad’s at work, you’re home alone, and even though you shot him down countless times in the past, he figured he’d try again now since you two had the place all to yourselves for the next few hours.

Call him shameless for trying to take his dad’s woman, but he doesn’t care. His dad never treated you right anyway, so why should he respect him when he can’t even respect his wife?

“Please,” he whines next to your ear. Despite his closeness, he keeps all parts of his body off of you, giving you your space well, somewhat, anyway. “He’s gone, baby. It’s just you and me,” he smiles, blowing a gust of air against your cheek, making you shiver. “Can’t be a bad mom and say no to your stepson, can you?”

“Heeseung, quit it.” You pushed his arm away from your body, breaking out of the cage he had trapped you in and grabbing a pot from the cupboard to put your ingredients on the stove with.

“Why?” He whines like a little kid and follows you around the kitchen like one too softly tugging on your dress to get your attention.

“I’m telling your father if you don’t stop,” you tell him sternly cause you were growing tired of the antics that he’d perform every time his dad was out at work.

“You won’t,” he quickly replied. “I know you want it to cause if you didn’t, why haven’t you already told me off? Why are you letting me invade your personal space and whisper the nastiest things in your ear, hmm?” Again, he captures you between the counter and his body and presses his cheek against yours, nuzzling you and making your breath hitch when his warm skin meets yours.

You hated how he was right. You hated how you were married and committed to another man, but you wanted his son, and you hated even more that you could slowly feel yourself losing your resolve.

“Deny it,” he gripped the counter so hard, willing himself not to brush his throbbing cock on your perfectly shaped ass in that beautiful gown that he loved so much fuck he always loved when you wore it so easy and accessible. He swears he’s thought about bending you over and fucking you in it time and time again.

“S-stop,” you stutter out, and you’re sure that whatever he says next will tip you over the edge. Just the sound of his voice could have you doing unspeakable things.

“You sure you want me to? Let’s be honest. You need a good fuck, right? I haven’t heard shit coming from upstairs in years. Come to think of it, baby, when’s the last time you and him even kissed?” He pushes his point, enticing you even further.

“I-I”

“You don’t remember, huh? Poor thing, bet your little pussy is aching for some dick l bet she's so tight probably needs a good stretch, yeah? I can do that for you, baby. I can make you feel so so good,” he moans next to your ear. Just the idea of his cock being this close to your little holes was turning him on so bad. “I’d get you so wet. Rub that little clit to get you in the mood. Take my time with you. Appreciate every inch of you before slipping it in real slow, feeling your cute cunt wrap around me so tight and eager to be fucked. I’d make you cream on this big dick all night till you’re crying from how good it feels, and then I’d fuck you one last time just so you don’t forget about me” he nibbles on your earlobe as you register all the filthy things he had just whispered in your ear.

At his words, you lost yourself moaning shamelessly at just the thought of him having you, your pussy clenched so tight around nothing as a wave of arousal gushed down to your thighs.

You surprised him and yourself when you desperately pushed your backside against his crotch, something neither of you would ever expect to happen with the way you were so diligently rejecting him time and time again, but tonight, you broke. You couldn’t deny that you wanted him.

“Fuck” he groaned behind you as you rotated your hips, rubbing your plump ass on his cock. “See, baby, knew you fucking wanted this” he moves his hands from the counter to grip your plush hips instead and takes the lead, humping his cock between the crevice of your ass. “Oh yeah, just like that. Rub it on me, baby.”

“You’re so big,” you choked out, feeling every inch of him against your ass. Your pussy dripped even more for him at the thought of having someone as big as him inside you.

“Yeah? Like that, huh? Can’t wait to stuff you with my cock and feel your cunt gripping on me” A grunt follows his words as he loses himself in the feeling of your body working against his.

His tip was so wet it was seeping through his basketball shorts as he rutted against you. The sight of you all bent over while you backed your ass up on him was something he fantasized about late nights with his fist wrapped tightly around his cock, and to have you like this now was like a dream fucking come true. “Hee, please fuck me,” you whimper and grip the faucet handles to stable yourself.

“Yes, Mommy gonna fuck you so good,” he whines and guides your body upwards, pressing your back flush against his chest as he places a kiss on your cheek.

He turned you around in his arms, picking you up like it was nothing to him and taking you upstairs, not to his bedroom but yours.

“Here?” You question with a hint of worry as your fingers fiddle with the hair on his nape.

“Of course, gotta fuck you properly in your bed since dad doesn’t do it” he places you on the bed, quickly dropping his shorts and tossing his tank top on the floor, leaving himself completely naked in front of you.

You squirmed in bed, rubbing your legs together at the sight of his thick throbbing cock, impatiently waiting to feel it inside of you. “Heeseung”

“Look at how hard I am” he climbs over you on the bed, his length resting on your tummy as he bucks his hips forward dry, humping you. “Ahh, see how wet I am for you,” he moans, watching the strings of precum staining your dress. “This is what I’d do every night except with my pillow wishing it was y-you,” he shudders when his tip rubs your fabric just the right way making him hump you even faster.

“Sorry,” you mutter apologetically for leaving him high and dry all those nights. To make up for it, your hand makes its way to his cock, and you press your palm against his hot girth, making a makeshift hole for him to fuck into.

“Fuck!” He threw his back as his hips jerked forward from the soft, warm sensation your hand provided.

“Does that feel better?” You asked, your eyes gleaming in excitement, watching as more precum spilled from his thick pink tip.

“Yes,” he hisses through his teeth while staring down at you, his hands coming to cup your breasts as he rocks his hips slowly. “So much better,” he breathed out.

When he feels himself starting to throb, his movement comes to a sudden halt, and he grips your wrist, taking the hand that was covered in his precum and holding it to your mouth, where you gladly licked his salty arousal clean off your hand.

He leaned back on the bed, his hands slipping up the fabric of your dress just to see you were wearing nothing under it and your thighs coated in a white sticky mess. “Oh fuck” his eyes roll back in his head, and he doesn’t hesitate for a moment to lay flat on his stomach and presses his face between your thighs, kissing your drenched core. “You’re so fucking wet, made such a mess, and you haven’t even cum yet.”

Your body stiffened as you felt his lips rubbing against your pussy, the feeling being foreign to you cause your husband never did that for you. “Hee-“ you winced as you felt his warm tongue press on your clit. It felt good but also overwhelming as you cried out in pleasure.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, noticing how rigid your body had become when he was going down on you, and he hoped that you weren’t about to tell him to stop.

“N-nothing, I just never done this before,” you admit casually, but he doesn’t take it as casually as you said it cause what a fucking loser his dad was. He had a gorgeous fucking wife all to himself, and he wasn’t going down on you every night? What a piece of shit. He always hated his father, but that just made him hate him a little more.

“Just relax while I make you feel good” he closed his eyes before tilting his head to the side and making out with your sweet pussy humming at the taste of your juices covering his tongue. “Could eat you for days,” he mumbles as his hands fall from the bottom of your dress and down to your thighs, where he squeezes them roughly.

“It feels so good” You arched your back, pressing your pussy closer to his face.

He chuckled softly, taking a deep breath as he opened his mouth, finding your opening with his tongue and sticking it in your gushing hole.

“Ahh! Heeseung,” you squeaked when he entered you. It’s been so long since you felt something there, and you don’t remember a time it ever felt this good.

He kneaded your thighs, flicking his tongue in and out in and out, swallowing down your drippings like the sweetest juice he’s ever tasted, and that alone could make him cum on the spot.

You mindlessly put your hand on the back of his head, pushing him deeper inside you, and he loved the roughness of it. He could barely even breathe, but he didn’t pull back for a second, too addicted to your taste to stop.

He gulped down your sticky wetness eating you out like he was getting thirstier by the second he rubbed the tip of his nose on your engorged clit, and the feeling was otherworldly.

“Oh, my- heeseung!” You shouted his name, legs tensing as you rubbed your pussy on his face using him for pleasure.

He moaned lewdly into your heat, sending tiny little vibrations through your core, heightening the pleasure even more. “Cum in my mouth,” he parted from you long enough to say before diving back into the sea of arousal between your quivering thighs.

You had no choice but to let go and let your orgasm take over your body. “I’m cumming” You writhed on the bed as he held you, still pleasure washing over you in waves. Your mouth opened in a silent scream as harsh throbbing coursed through your core. Your walls clenched so hard and tight around his tongue, and he loved every single last second of it. He was literally moaning against your cunt nonstop.

“Hmm,” he pulled away finally and kissed your mound, then your clit. “Beautiful pussy tastes so fucking good” he licked his lips, savoring your taste on his buds while massaging your thighs. “Was it good?”

“Hmph, yes, you were so good, hee.” You were still coming down from your high, whining in pure ecstasy until your o faded away completely, and you had to take a minute to catch your breath. “Let me suck you off, please” You don’t know what came over you, but the words just fell out, and you can’t say you regretted it by the way his face lit up and his cock jumped in excitement.

“You don’t even have to ask, pretty.” he quickly repositioned himself on the edge of the bed while you stood up and walked in front of him.

You shrugged your dress off each of your shoulders, pulling it down the rest of the way, leaving your body on full display for him. Your chest looked so fucking perfect. The amount of times he imagined you like this was unhealthy. The way his heart was beating in anticipation was so overwhelming he could barely even catch his breath, and his cock throbbed so hard between his legs that he thought he might cum the second you put him inside your mouth.

You crouched down, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time as you kneeled in front of him, carefully gripping his cock and kissing his tip.

He gripped the edge of the bed his toes digging into the carpet he can’t believe a single kiss could get him going this much.

You tightened the grip around his thick base, tapping his wet tip on your cheek teasingly.

“Shit,” he hissed as you rubbed your cheek along his shaft. You could feel him pulsing in your hand, and the fact you had him this excited turned you on even more.

“So big,” you said seductively, sinking down on his tip and suckling on it softly.

“Oh yeah, that’s it,” he whispers, and you hum around him, taking more of his length in your mouth till he is halfway inside.

“Take it all. I know you wanna choke on it,” he smirks as you immediately suck the rest of him in, gagging on it, your eyes rolling back in your head as you took him so deep his balls brushed against your bottom lip.

You stayed completely still, your neck bulging as you enveloped his entire shaft. “Shit, you take me so well. Swallow that dick, baby” he put his hand on your head, stroking it softly as you swallowed, your throat convulsing around his tip so good, so tight. “Just like that fuck!”

You reached up, rubbing his thighs as you began to bob your head blowing his cock faster until he was literally shaking in pleasure.

His hips bucked involuntarily, and you gagged again, forcing you to pull off him for a breather. Your saliva spilled all over his cock, making a wet slippery mess. “Heeseung,” you moan out his name, and you might have been enjoying this even more than him. The feeling of his hot, heavy cock resting on your tongue made your cunt pulsate with need.

“You like gagging on it, baby? Want me to fuck your throat?” You nodded immediately, and he wasted no time holding your head, still bucking his hips and drilling your throat till his tip brushed your tonsils with every thrust.

The sounds you made were so obscene, so sinful, but it turned you both on even more. The lewd act of you drooling and gagging on his cock was gonna make him cum. “Shit, I’m gonna cum. Swallow me, Mommy, swallow it all,” he moaned out, stilling in your throat, shooting his cum inside you, leaving you no choice but to drink all of his milky white cum. “Yessss.” he gripped the sides of your head, using your mouth to finish himself off, making you milk every single last drop until his balls were completely empty.

He laid back on his elbows, sweaty and panting as you pulled off him, choking and trying to catch your breath. “Come here” You stood up, and he griped your waist, pulling you on top of him, his hands softly kneading your ass as he stared at your lips. “Give me a kiss, Mommy.” Your eyes fell shut, and you pressed your lips against him, melting at the softness of them. He nibbled softly on your bottom lip, and you moaned, allowing him to slip his tongue inside your mouth. Your nails dug into his wide shoulders, and you couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your hips on his soft cock. It felt so good rubbing your clit along his length as you kissed.

“Hmm,” he groaned into the kiss, his hips meeting yours, thrusting up and rubbing his stiffening cock on your wet core. “Need to feel you so bad,” he breathed out between kisses.

“Me too, seungie, please fuck me” As soon as the words left your lips, he easily turned you over on your back and positioned himself between your legs. “Wait!” you said, putting a hand on his chest, stopping him from going any further. “Condoms?”

Fuck, he curses in his head. “I don’t have any baby” he holds his tip to your clit, rubbing it and collecting your wetness on his shaft.

“My husband keeps some in the top drawer.” he discreetly rolls his eyes when you said your husband. Just the thought alone made him angry. Nevertheless, he erases it from his mind and checks the top drawer, and he can’t help but chuckle. “Snug? Baby, you don’t really think that’ll fit me, do you?” He smirks, and all you could do now was blush on second thought. You probably shouldn’t have even suggested that cause he’s way bigger than your husband could ever dream of. “What a fucking loser still using condoms. He’s been with you five years and can’t even start a family with you yet.”

“Seung…” you call to him. You didn’t want to think about anything else right now. You just wanted him.

He tosses the condoms back inside the drawer. “Guess I’ll just have to fuck you raw, baby” he holds the base of his cock, his tip pushing past your tight entrance, and at this point, you didn’t care that he was fucking you without a condom. You just needed to feel him in you.

“Oh,” you whimpered as his tip stretched you open.

“Fuck you’re so tight, baby,” he grunts and rests his fists beside your head, letting you adjust as he slowly lunges forward to push his size all the way in your heat. “Fucking soaking on my dick baby.”

“Too big,” you mumble, your legs feeling numb as he splits you open on his inches.

“Shh, just relax, Mommy take it nice slow” he cups your face with his left hand, stroking your cheek with his thumb as he feeds your pussy inch after inch of his thick cock, pulling out and pushing back in, working your hole open till you can fit his massive size and take him balls deep.

“You’re so deep, seungie,” You moan, nails raking down his toned back as he fills you all the way up, bottoming out in your drenched pussy.

“There you go, Mommy taking it all,” he smirks and bends down to kiss your forehead. “Feel good? You like it when it’s deep inside you?” He thrusts shallowly at first, but to his surprise, you’re already fully adjusted and taking it with ease.

“Hmm, mmm, yes, heeseung, I love the way you feel deep inside me. It’s so good, so full.” You babble out, and he continues to increase the pace till his balls meet your outer lips, creating a quiet sticky sound in the silent room.

“Fuck you’re so tight; I knew I'd have to stretch it out. Never had someone like me before, huh baby?” He grunts as he begins fucking you at a quicker pace until the sound of skin on skin fills the room.

“N-no, never fuck, hee,” you scream, your eyes squeezed shut in concentration, trying to feel every single last inch of dick that he gives you. “Faster, Seung, please.” Your hands slip from his back to his hips, guiding his pace and bringing his body into you so you can feel his tip hit your cervix with every thrust. “Oh yes, right there, don’t stop.”

“Could never stop fucking this pussy so tight and warm” He can’t help himself from feeling a little bit cocky, knowing only he has seen you like this before. “Shit, you’re creaming on my dick so much you must really love it.”

“Yes, hee!” The bed squeaks louder with every thrust, a sound you haven’t heard in years. You know it’s wrong, but you can’t help but wish you had gotten with your husband's son because he was doing your body right in every single way, and just when you think it can’t get any better, he pulls out, flipping you over and before you can whine at the loss his cock is already back inside buried to the hilt in your cunt while he gives you the best back shots you’ve ever taken. “Fuck yes,” your voice is muffled by the pillows, and you moan nonstop while he grips your hips holding you in place to fuck you at an animalistic speed as his balls smack your clit over and over again, driving you into a lust filled frenzy where all you wanted was for his dick to be inside of you all day fucking your walls open and spilling his cum in you.

“You’re so fucking perfect wish I could fuck you every single fucking day, every second, every hour,” he punctuated with each thrust, further driving his desire for your body. “Your pussy makes me feel so fucking, Mommy” his eyes roll back momentarily, his mouth parted open, panting uncontrollably as he fucks your cunt deeply, fitting his whole cock inside you, covering himself in your creamy arousal.

You feel like you’re on cloud nine as you lay here being pleasured by the biggest cock you’ve ever taken and being praised by him nonstop. It was the best feeling in the world. You just couldn’t get enough. Your pussy was drooling down your thighs, and even still, you needed and wanted so much more.

Heeseung gathered a ball of spit in his mouth, looking down and letting it fall right on your little twitching rim. He pressed his thumb on your other hole, lubing it up with his saliva before carefully sinking his thumb inside.

Your body jolted when you felt him in both your holes, your eyes rolling back in your head as you took whatever he had to give you because you knew anything he did to your body would feel amazing, and this was no exception.

You felt so dirty having him fill both your holes at the same time, but you loved it. You loved being full of him.

“So fucking tight” he fingered your hole while fucking your pussy which was now clamped down on him even tighter, making his cock feel so good. “Want me to add another?” He bites on his lip to hold back a smile, already knowing what your answer will be.

You nod frantically, chanting yes, yes, yes over and over again into your pillows.

An idea pops into his head. He remembers there was a bottle of lube in the top drawer as well, and he doesn’t hesitate to slow his pace and grab it popping the cap off and smearing it all over your little ass hole so he could easily plunge two fingers in. “How’s that feel having both your holes fucked by me?”

You cried into the pillows moaning nonstop at the feeling of him fucking both your holes. You arched your back even further so you could take it deeper. “Fuck!” You gripped the bedsheets for dear life while he pleasures you. “Please,” you begged, not even sure what you wanted. You just knew you wanted more.

You placed your hands on your ass, spreading yourself open even wider and giving him full access to fuck both your holes. “Fuck baby, you look so good when you’re full of me” he was in a daze. The way your body reacted to everything he did made him want to try anything and everything with you just to watch you shake and drip and scream for him, and evidently, you wanted the same.

“Fuck my ass, hee, please,” You heard him moan the loudest he has tonight as he pulled out of your dripping pussy and replaced his fingers with the head of his cock and put it on your rim, pushing himself in very slowly.

“Fuck yeah, take it in the ass,” he gasped at the warmth and tightness. All of your holes were so perfect for his cock. He’s truly never felt anything better than you.

“Deeper,” you weren’t even taking a second to fully adjust before asking for more.

He slammed his hips forward, pushing it all in one go, his hands now on your shoulders, thrusting into you deeply. “Ahh shit, take it, take it take this fucking dick,” he groans, going absolutely feral. The dimples in your ass had him mesmerized, and the way it jiggled every time he bottomed out was a fucking sight to behold.

“Oh yes fuck” you mewl, drooling onto the sheets and letting him have you for both your guy's pleasure. Your pussy was still leaking nonstop, dripping on the sheets, little droplets of arousal splashing out with every slam of his hips. He reached his hand under you, swiping it up and sucking it off his fingers, moaning at the taste, and his dick started to twitch.

Sweat was running down his entire body. His breath was uneven, but he kept thrusting just to hear you cry and moan for more, begging for him and only him. “Yeah, that’s right, moan my name, Mommy. Who’s fucking you this good?”

“Heeseung,” you croak out.

“Whose got this pussy dripping?” He digs his fingers into your hip, marking your skin.

“Heeseung!” You cry out when he goes impossibly deep, and his balls start smacking against your slick opening.

“Who’s gonna fill you with cum?” He groans deeply, feeling you clench even harder around his cream-covered base.

“You heeseung just you only you fuck please cum in my ass fill me with your cum” you beg deliriously. The pleasure he was giving to you was mind-altering.

“Gonna cum in your ass, beautiful” he placed his hand between your legs rubbing your swollen clit into oblivion, ripping your first orgasm out of you in no time.

“Heeseung!” You shook so hard the only thing keeping you up was his grip on your waist as he kept rubbing and rubbing your sensitive clit till you came again. “Cumming heeseung, I’m cumming again.”

“Cum for me, Mommy, that’s it, that’s it gonna fill this tight little ass with my cum fuck” he moaned loudly as his hips started moving sporadically, thrusting over and over again until he came undone in your ass filling it up with rope after rope of his hot gooey cum. “Yes, yes fuck yes,” he whimpers, slowing his pace and riding out his high spurt after spurt of cum flooding your gaping hole. “Feels so good,” he breathes out, feeling dizzy as he throbs continuously in your hole, giving you every single last drop of his warm cum.

He collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing heavily as rolls his hips a little more, working you both through your orgasms. “Hmm, Seung.” You hum in delight as he rests his head beside yours, kissing and licking your cheek until his hips come to a stop.

“Was that good?” He asked tiredly, and you couldn’t even believe he thought he had to ask that you were literally soaked in your arousal and his cum trembling in the aftermath of all the pleasure he gave to you.

Of course, it was good.

“So good, seungie,” he hums, satisfied with your answer.

“I promised I would fuck you good,” he chuckled, kissing your earlobe, and despite his legs feeling numb, he got off of you, pulling out and getting off the bed to gather his clothes.

You laid there lifelessly, too worn out to even move cause that’s just how good he fucked you. “You want me to clean you up a bit?” He offered while pulling the sheets over your spent body.

“No, my husband will be home soon, so it’d probably be best if you leave,” you tell him with your eyes already closed.

“O-oh,” he nodded to himself and got dressed. “Sleep in tomorrow, yeah?”

You hum in agreement and open your eyes even though you could feel them starting to close again. “Goodnight, seungie,” you tell him with a tired smile.

“Goodnight, Mommy,” he winks and exits your bedroom quietly.

After going to his room, he lies in bed, smiling to himself now that his imagination has become a reality.

Too bad he couldn’t have you like that every night, but he’d take what he could get, even if it was only one time.

⟱⟱⟱

Thanks for reading please reblog and leave feedback🩵

#heeseung smut #enhypen heeseung smut #enhypen heeseung #enhypen #heeseung #lee heeseung #lee heeseung smut #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen lee heeseung #heeseung x reader #heeseung fluff #heeseung angst #enhypen lee heeseung smut #enhypen hyung line #enhypen fluff #enhypen hard thoughts

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splataii · 5 months

Text

toji x male reader

cw: dom male character, sub male reader,

wc 1.5k

freeloader toji who likes to pop in at your place n take a load off whenever he’s in the mood.

no text, no call, no nothing. just him showing up to sleep on your bed, watching his shitty tv shows on your couch after draining your fridge for everything it's worth.

you don't get no chance to say no cause he's way too busy telling you just what an absolute angel you are as he slips through your door. you won't even know he's there, promise. but it’s hard for him to keep such a promise when he’s such a terrible roommate.

he walks around half naked like he owns the place, sweatpants falling so low around his waist that his dick threatens to fall out with every step he takes..

when he feels like being more annoying than usual, he hangs around you, leaning against doorways and faking a yawn or two to stretch so you can catch the outline of his dick, and the way his body flexes.

it makes it hard to look him in the eyes when you're telling him to pull his own weight for the millionth time that week, and he knows it.

“you got a staring problem or what?” he teases, following the way your eyes trace down to the dick print in his loose grey track pants. guys like you are just way too fuckin easy. too flustered to finish, you let him off with a simple warning before leaving him be. but what he really wants is to force ya to quit talking his ear off by getting you on your knees and shoving his cock down your throat. maybe then he could finally put that mouth a yours to good use.

toji also gets so heated about the smallest things, moving you out the way so he can be the one to answer the door to all your one night stands and potential future boyfriends. taking way too much pleasure in how they shrink in on themselves when he sizes them up from the doorway, being terribly sweeter than normal to you with all his pet names and touchiness. it seems like his hand stays glued to your waist no matter how much you pry him off a you.

everytime another guy runs with his tail between his legs, you're pointing the finger at toji, but that man couldn't care less. it’s not his fault they're too pussy. he knows exactly the type a man a doll like you needs and he can give that to you better than any of those little boys ever could.

what's more is he has no sense of personal space. it’s always, “i was just looking for something,”

when he hovers so close you can feel his smile on your neck while you all bent over in the fridge, caged between his arms as his bulge rubs against the small of your back.

or “an accident” when he’s spreading out on your already too small couch and practically forcing you onto his thigh, subtly grinding you against it everytime he moves as his hand slips around your waist and under your shirt. he’s just tryna consolidate space, honest. it ain't his fault he's as big as he is. and it's definitely not his fault you’ve got such a dirty little mind.

and he's such a mess.. clothes, dishes, everything. you find them scattered just about all over the place. the worst offense, however, was a discarded package laying on your living room table. a fleshlight, you realized seconds too late, toji making his grand entrance the moment you're shutting the box closed.

you can tell by the shit eating grin on his face that playing it cool won't cut it, but you try anyway, pretending to get back to tidying up the table as he inches up close behind you.

“i don’t mind sharing,” he breathes, hand hovering on your waist a second too long as he reaches around you for his box, “if you let me watch,”

you stay still, waiting for him to laugh it off and turn back around, but he stays leaning over you.

“youre such a…”

“i’m such a what?” he tilts his head, hand subtly sliding down to the waistband of your pants, massaging where it meets your warm skin. he's rubbing in circles, fingers gently raking up and down your side till they're slipping under your pants.

your eyes trace the veins on his hand as you feel him squeeze at your bare thigh, your underwear hitching farther up as his thumb presses close against your clothed dick. your mind spins every time you feel him inching closer to your soft cock, taking in the thought of him pulling you back into his lap and sliding your pants to your knees so he could take care of you like you deserved. mind falling away, you let yourself lean back into his chest, your hand firmly placed on his arm to ground yourself.

“..or i can always give you the real deal,” he hums your breathe hitching as he gropes at your growing bulge, his words hot on the skin of your neck as you feel his hardening dick grinding against the curve of your ass, “if, that's what his highness prefers,”

you can feel the smirk on his lips as he presses a kiss against the side of your neck, and you blink away whatever trance he had you in.

“dickhead,” you mutter, slipping out of his arms and away from him, pretending not to notice his eyes trained on you as you break away. not once does that stupid smile leave his face as he watches you leave him and his half hard cock alone in the living room.

and that's he worst part of it all.. the worst part a him.. how smug he fucking gets. no matter how much you tell him off, no matter how much he teases you, he knows you can’t never stay mad at him for long. just a few touches in all the right places, a couple spoken promises, and you're like putty in his arms.

it don't matter how much tension you got pent up from his antics; at the end of the day, you're his. and he's always gonna be there to relieve that stress for you the best way he knows how; by bending you over whatever surface is nearest and railing you till you can't think of anything but the shape of his dick stuffed down your ass.

“i was so lonely last night, yknow that?” tojis cock drills into you as you do your best to keep upright against the couch, “left me hard in the living room. had to take care of it all by myself,”

but you been knew that. he made no effort to hide it seeing how loud he was yesterday. you could hear him groaning your name and all the ways he wanted to have you from the comforts of your own bedroom, body hot as you kept your thighs pressed together, waiting for him to finish.

the moment you were back from your shift he was on you, pressing open mouth kisses as he made quick work of stripping you down. he had been waiting for what felt like ages to have all of you underneath him like this, so sweet and pliant in his arms, leaning into his heavy hands. coming undone at his every touch.

“what, nothing to say?” he grunts, grip on your waist tightening as you clench around him, sucking him back in with every thrust, his hands pulling your hips to fuck back into his, “or are you gonna let this ass do all the talking?”

you shake your head, helplessly grinding against the back of the couch as he splits you open on his dick.

“‘s too much,” you cry in between broken moans, burying your face in the nearest pillow in an attempt to hide how good he feels inside you. but he comes to a slow harsh grind of his cock, hands running all up your sides until they're resting on your shoulder.

he pulls you out of your pillow, forcing you to hear the lewd sound of his cock pulling out and leaving you empty. toji grunts, your tight hole not wanting to let go before its clenching around nothing, his pre dripping down the curve of your ass and off your thighs.

you do your best to stay steady on shaky arms, desperate whines muffled by your own hands as you feel him lining up again.

“you can take it sweetheart,” he rasps before ramming back into you, your ass spasming at the harsh thrust of his cock as he stuffs you full. your hand falls away from your lips, unable to hide the moans he rips from you as he pulls out and forces his cock into your ass again and again, making sure that the only thing your body will be able to remember is the shape of him inside you.

“that's it, doll,” he smiles, leaning down to kiss at the tears threatening to fall from your eyes as his strong arms keep you upright, “now let me hear you,”

#splataii writes #ummm so ig it wouldnt be too bad if he stuck around #bottom male reader #male reader insert #male reader smut #x male reader #sub male reader #dom male character #top male character #male reader #toji fushiguro #toji x male reader

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pankowblues · 1 month

Text

rafe x influencer!reader

not proofread

requestest by @misodiary

requests are open

summary - GRWM with Rafe

Your alarms goes off at 7:00am as you have a photo shoot at 9 and you thought you’d document your day today cause I’d be good for views and subscribers. By the seaside starts playing and Rafe groans

“Ugh turn it off” he says in that morning voice of his. Makes me wanna do things to him.

“Alright alright hold on” you wiggle out of his grasp to turn the alarm of and look back at him.

“Good morning baby”

“Good morning” he says rubbing his eyes. He slowly starts to wake himself up since he’s dropping you off then heading to the country club with topper and kelce. “Im gonna head to the shower I need to start getting ready right now” you start to get up out of bed and head towards the bathroom after grabbing your towel.

“Wait without me?” He says with the smallest frown ever. “Yes Rafe we both know we’ll get nothing done in the shower if we both go” You say giggling and heading into the shower

You finish your shower and get out with your towel on and hair up in a towel and by the time you came out Rafe’s up ready to shower. You grab your camera getting ready to film.

“Oh hell no” Rafe says grabbing the camera “put some clothes on then start the video”

“Omg” you say laughing “don’t worry Rafe I will now give me my camera” you say smiling. “No put some clothes on then I will” he says seriously but calmly. “Alright alright” you get your clothes on which was an off shoulder navy blue top and some black pants and come back out.

“there’s my pretty girl” he says pressing a kiss to your shoulder and handing you the camera. “Thank you very much” you say blushing.

You set up your camera on your vanity and film the intro and start the GRWM and while you start dabbing out the setting powder Rafe comes into frame. Your fans already know Rafe very very well so your guys whole relationship is nothing new to them.

He comes up behind you and hugs you "heyyy guys" he says to the camera. "For anyone who's new this is my beautiful caring boyfriend Rafe Cameron." You say as Rafe points to the powder puff in your hand asking what it is and does. "You press your setting powder in with this." You tell him explaining how to use it and what it does. "Here try it." You offer him the powder puff. "Get up let me sit and you can sit on my lap." You give the camera a seriously look before smiling. You get up and move so he's sitting down now and your on his lap. He starts dabbing the powder puff on your face with his tongue sticking out slightly in concentration and his bangs getting into his eyes just a bit. You push his bangs back with your finger and he smiles.

"Done!" You look away from him and look at your mirror too see he did a pretty good job. "Guys if anyone needs a makeup stylist call Rafe." You say jokingly. "No the only person I'll ever do this girly shit for is you and our future kids." He says playing around but to be honest 100% telling the truth. You just completely ignore the your future kids part and move onto the next topic.

You finish your GRWM with you and Rafe playing around a lot but somehow managing to get everything done on time. You say your outro with Rafe shouting "She's mine!" right before you end it.

taglist: @rafecameroncoke, @0xstarzx0, @wearemadeofstardust0, @v4mqvs, @misodiary

A/N: officially my worst story in my opinion

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7ndipity · 10 months

Text

Every Little Thing

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: When you overhear Yoongi talking about how clingy you’ve been lately, you decide to take a step back from your friendship to give him space. But your sudden absence goes far from unnoticed by him.

Word Count: 2k(wtf?!)

Warnings: angst, swearing, only partially proofread

A/N: Thanks so much to the lovely anon who requested this! This story, I... I don’t know what happened, I went from struggling to get it to work at all to getting waayy too carried away. I kinda had to stop myself at the end before it shifted into something else, but maybe if y’all want a part two, we can pick up from there?

Masterlist

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As you got off the elevator, you couldn’t help the faint bounce in your step as you made your way to Yoongi’s studio, your bag slung over one shoulder, a grocery bag of snacks and drinks for the two of you to share.

Ever since you and Yoongi(and in turn, the rest of the members) had become friends, The Genius Lab had become a hideaway of sorts for you. Whenever you were feeling stressed or overwhelmed, you knew you could call Yoongi, and he would tell you to come over, letting you camp out on his couch while he worked, occasionally asking for your thoughts or opinions on a specific song or line.

As you neared his studio door, you noticed it was slightly ajar, allowing the voices from inside to slip out into the hall, quickly recognizing them as Yoongi’s and Namjoon’s.

“You wanna come to lunch with me and Hoseok?” Namjoon asked.

“Agh, I can’t, I told Y/n’s we could hang out today.” You heard Yoongi’s chair creak as he stretched, letting out a groan.

“Again? That’s like the third time this week, people are gonna start thinking you’re a couple or something at this rate.” Joon joked, making your cheeks flush lightly.

“Nah, it’s nothing like that,” Yoongi replied, sounding tired. “They’re just being clingier than usual, you know what they’re like.”

You frowned at his words. What did he mean by that?

“I know it’s just cause they’ve been stressed lately,” Yoongi continued. “But honestly, it’s gotten to the point where it’s weirder for them to not be here.”

Joon chuckled. “I’m surprised you don’t find that annoying.”

“I didn’t say that I don’t,” Yoongi said. “But it’s Y/n, so I let it slide. Anyway, on that track you showed me-”

You stepped back from the door, the sudden tightness in your chest making it slightly difficult to breathe as you quietly made your back down the hall to the elevators. As the metal doors closed, you replayed what you had overheard in your head.

Yoongi had always told you that he didn’t mind you hanging around, but maybe you had started to abuse that privilege, grown too dependent on him. Was that how he really felt about you? Had you become a nuisance? And if so, why hadn’t he said anything?

Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you quickly found his number and hit the call icon, trying to swallow down the lump in your throat before he picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, are you almost here?” He answered, sounding much brighter than a few minutes ago.

“Uh, actually, I don’t think I can make it today.” You said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Is everything okay?” He asked, concerned.

No, one of my best friends hates me. “Yeah, everything’s fine, something just came up, sorry.” You bit your lip, managing to slip out of the building without running into any of the other members and making your way down the street to the bus stop.

“Okay.” He sounded unconvinced. “Is it anything I can help with, or-?”

“No, no it’s-, it’s a work thing.” You said, the words falling flat on your own ears. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Alright.” He said reluctantly. “Bye.”

“Bye.” You hung up, letting out a deep breath.

You could tell he hadn’t believed you, but you didn’t really care at the moment. If he wasn’t going to be honest with you, why should you be any different?

Suddenly presented with the afternoon to yourself, you decided to head to the park, wandering along the river as you thought over everything.

You and Yoongi had come here together not long after you had moved to the city, the last few blooms of the cherry blossom season clinging on stubbornly to their branches. He’d promised to bring you back the next year, so you could see them in their full glory at peak bloom.

Of course, life and work had gotten in the way, as they often did, and before either of you had realized, the season had nearly passed again before he could keep his word. You’d told him at the time that it didn’t matter, you’d just been happy to spend time with him, a recurring theme for you apparently…

Had you been a bother to him back then as well? You didn’t believe so, but the earlier sting of his words had left you questioning everything, even if you knew it might be an over-reaction.

It was dark by the time you made it home, flopping down on the sofa with a tired sigh as you contemplated your options.

So you’d been bugging him lately, that was an easily fixable problem, right? Just leave him alone for a bit, it was as simple as that, wasn’t it?

You weren’t so sure as your phone suddenly buzzed on the cushion next to you, drawing your attention to Yoongi’s name illuminated on the screen. You’d forgotten you said you’d call him.

‘Hadn’t heard from you, just wanted to make sure you’re okay?’ The text read.

Now who’s the clingy one? Was your immediate first thought.

‘I’m fine, just tired. Talk to you tomorrow.’ You typed shortly before turning off your phone and going to bed, with no intention of texting him the next day unless he did so first.

For the next week, you tried to keep up with your new normal; you didn’t go by the studio, you avoided texting him unless he did first, and generally avoided his invites to hangout with vague excuses.

One place you couldn’t avoid him though was dinner with the other members. It was a monthly tradition that you usually looked forward to, but as you stepped through the door of the restaurant, you only felt a wave of nervousness, for what though exactly you didn’t know.

“Y/n!” Tae quickly hopped to his feet to give you a hug, the others all greeting you enthusiastically. You noticed Yoongi didn’t speak, only nodding to you politely, but his eyes never left you for a second, seeming to study your every move.

“Y/n, do you want my seat? I know you usually prefer to sit by Yoongi-hyung.” Jungkook asked, starting to get to his feet, but you quickly waved him to sit.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to move for me, I’m fine over here.” You said, settling in the free seat next to Jimin, which happened to be directly across the table from Yoongi.

Everyone quickly settled into their usual routines and conversations, the mix of voices blurring into an almost comforting buzz, allowing you to zone out for a moment and relax, but a single low voice managed to snap you back to attention.

“I haven’t seen you all week.” Yoongi said quietly, a noticeable heaviness in his voice.

“Yeah, things have just been kinda busy.” You tried to say convincingly, but it was hard to pull off under his gaze. Luckily, Jin asked you about something from the show you’d been watching and gave you an easy out of the conversation.

You managed to get through the evening well enough, talking with the others, even making plans with Jimin for him to help you pick out some new furniture for your apartment. You’d felt Yoongi’s eyes on you all evening, but hadn’t said anything.

It was later that night when you were pulled from sleep by the sound of someone knocking persistently on your front door.

Cautiously, you climbed out of bed and padded to the door.

Who’s there?” You called anxiously, trying to remember where you’d put your old baseball bat, in case you needed to defend yourself.

“It’s Yoongi.”

You froze, staring at the door in surprise for a second before going over and peering out the peephole.

Sure enough, he was standing on your doorstep, causing a brief sense of relief that was quickly replaced with confusion and the same nervousness from earlier.

Not quite knowing what else to do, you cracked the door open slowly, taking in his slightly disheveled state; hair mussed and faint bags under his eyes. He looked the same way as when he would pull all-nighters at the studio.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

“Why’ve you been avoiding me?” He responded with his own question, staring you down.

“I-, I haven’t-”

“Don’t lie.” He stopped you.

Glancing around quickly, you pulled him inside, not wanting to have this discussion in the hall.

“You’ve been dodging my texts and calls, you wouldn’t sit with me at dinner, you asked Jimin for help with furniture shopping, which you know he’s terrible at.” He continued as you closed the door. “So, tell me please, what has happened to make you start ditching me?”

“Why didn’t you tell me that I was annoying you?” You snapped.

He stopped, staring at you in confusion. “What?”

“I heard you and Joon talking last week,” You said, his face falling as the memory came flooding back. “About how clingy I’ve been, and how I’ve been annoying you by hanging around so much.”

“You haven’t been-”

“Don’t.” It was your turn to cut him off. “Don’t try to tell me that it’s not true or you didn’t mean it. What I want to know is why you weren’t just honest with me?” You hated the way your voice started to shake as you spoke. “Why didn’t you just tell me to fuck off or something? Why do you put up with me if I'm such an annoyance?!”

“Because I fucking love you!” He blurted out.

You froze, staring at him in shock. “What?!”

“I-, I love you.” He said quietly.

“You love me?” You repeated, hurt and frustration still churning in your stomach, not letting you take his words to heart. “You love me, but you think I’m annoying?”

“I think everyone’s annoying!” He tossed his hands up in frustration. “The difference is that I like your annoyance!

“I like that you’re loud and weird and make terrible jokes, I like that you nag me to take better care of myself.” He said. “I like that you’re happy holed up in my studio with me. I like that you sing along to every song that you recognize, even without realizing that you’re doing it.”

He took a cautious step closer, pleading with his eyes as he spoke.

“I like every little annoying thing that you do, because they’re what make you you. I’m so sorry that I made you think anything otherwise.”

You hadn’t moved as he spoke, fighting the tremble in your lip as your eyes had misted over with tears.

“Y/n?” He asked anxiously.

You didn’t speak, choosing instead to lunge forward, wrapping your arms tightly around him in a bruising hug. He staggering back slightly at the force of the collision, arms immediately coming up to hold you in an equally tight embrace.

“I missed you.” You sniffled, burying your face in his chest.

“I missed you too.” He replied, holding you tighter, pressing a soft kiss to your head. “I’m also sorry for telling you I loved you in a shitty way.”

“Eh, it’s kinda on brand for us, honestly.” You teased, making him let out a huff of laughter.

“I guess you’re right, fuck.” He shook his head.

“You wanna try again?” You offered.

He pulled back to look at you. “Really?”

You nodded. “If you want to.”

He nodded, pulling away enough to take your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles as he pressed his lips together nervously, eyes shaking slightly as he met your gaze.

“I love you, Y/n.”

He’d barely gotten the last word out before your lips were on his, effectively shutting you both up for the next several minutes.

When you finally pulled back, his eyes were blown wide, lips swollen and red from your assault, his breaths coming out in shaky puffs.

“I love you too, by the way.” You said, grinning at his slightly dazed expression.

“Cool, c’mere.” He said, pulling you back in, making you giggle as he eagerly reconnected your mouths.

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

#yoongi drabble #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x reader #yoongi scenarios #yoongi oneshot #bts x y/n #bts x reader #bts requests #bts angst #bts fluff #bts drabble #bts one shot #7ndipity

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ambrosiagoldfish · 5 months

Note

Adam x third spouse part 3 I’m begging pookie ❤️

like a time skip to when Charlie appeared and proposed the idea

Benifit of the doubt Pt.4

Adam x 3rd Spouse! Reader

Warnings: General Adam TW’s, a little bit sad for a moment but it’s ok. Gn! Reader! honestly that’s about it I think?? Wow this is the first time it’s been this short in this series.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

Request Box: Open

Word Count: 4617~

A/n: So… it’s been almost 2 months… whoops. In all seriousness though I’m sorry it’s been so long. I’ve just not been in the mood to write and a lot of stuff has been happening (which is finally over) and I’m glad I could finally post this. I was also, if I’m honest, nervous to post this, cause I’m not sure if everyone’s ready for the direction of the story. But I have made it clear that I wanted to do a time skip to the show at somepoint and decided to do it now! If you enjoy this, please let me know cause I’m really nervous about (Not my words of affirmation love language coming out-) ALSO to the requester, I know you said part 3, but I used it for part 4. I got your request as I was making part 3 soooo my bad. Hope you don’t mind tho <3 this will be the last part before the angsty finale (and maybe an epilogue)

Reblogs are always appreciated!

Anyways this was NOT beta read unfortunately, I tried to get as many errors out during the writing process so hopefully it’s fine. Also, there’s probably some words I might have wanted to italicize or make bold that aren’t, but I’m too tired to care honestly.

Tags: @tired-of-life-86 @nervoussystemss @qopia @lovelyemily @hcneyiced @v3r41ynn @ghostdoodlen @nxptvne-13 @ximenavc-che @edgyfluff @ericityyy @diffidentphantom @faimmm @slasher-whore69 @1-randomized @ozzersauce @fanlovedlt @alientee (if I forgot someone or you want to be added just tell me !!)

Days turned to weeks, to months, to years. Until eventually an eon had passed. An entirety filled to the brim with an indescribable happiness and love, threatening to spill over at any given moment. You loved Adam and Adam loved you.

To say it was all happiness would be a lie, there were some moments of sadness and pain, but all relationships were like that, even ones that lasted for eternity. You both always bounced back, apologize and moved on with a stronger bond than before. And you loved every second of it.

A lot has changed in these last few eons. Adam formed a band and is now the most popular guitarist in all of heaven. You both made new friends, some got into heaven while others were made there. Emily was one of these people to you, she looked up to you for being older than her. You’ve existed for almost all of human existence so, of course she’d look up to you.

Adam had also made new friends, his band members, some officials in heaven, but someone he’s grown close to recently was Lute. You're really happy about his friendship with Lute. She seems like a strong and loyal friend, someone that can keep him grounded while still encouraging him to be more himself. Overall, you really liked her.

How they became friends though is something… less tasteful for you. All the way back when Heaven and Hell had their first meeting on what to do with the surplus of sinners in hell causing an uprising. Neither side came to an agreement in the end, you do feel partially to blame for that, but you still stand by what you did.

You never returned to any of the follow up meetings

But Adam did, surprisingly to you. In the end, you were called to talk with Sera and Adam. You were told of the agreement between Heaven and Hell, about the yearly “cleanse” that Adam and his “Exorcists” would have to commit. At first you were shocked, sure, you didn’t have the best experience with sinners and especially with the rulers of hell, but was death really necessary? You didn’t know what to say, and Adam clearly saw this.

“Babe, you alright?” He puts his hand on your shoulder rubbing his thumb in circles. You place your hand on his.

“Yeah it’s just a lot to take in. Are we sure it has to be done… that way?”

Sera looked down in pain “they’re… uprising and are becoming to much of a threat to heaven.”

You sighed as Adam took you in his arms. Adam was fully aware that you don’t share the same sentiment towards sinners as he does. His hatred towards the unholy souls down in hell was brought about by events that you simply cannot understand. Which he is thankful for, he never would want you to experience what he did.

“If there isn’t anything else we can do then… I guess we have no choice. But I don’t want to… kill anyone, even if they are sinners.”

Adam holds you closer “You won’t have to,” you smile at him, the now familiar flickering of his LED mask meeting your gaze before softly frown “you ok?”

You nod, “yeah, just…I wish there was another way.”

That was it. Adam would take his exorcists down to hell to kill as many sinners as they could each year. Adam knew you didn’t want him to talk about it , he kept it as separate as he could from your life. You did have to attend meetings regarding it, as one of the very few people to know about it, that was your duty.

You were fine with having that part of the job. You weren't sure if you could kill someone, sinner or not. So, for the countless years to follow, you played your part with every new extermination, attending meetings to deal with the repercussions of each cleanse.

Adam would also have to attend the occasional meeting. Which is exactly what today was. Sera had called you both in to talk.

“Thank you both for coming. I have to inform you that you will be attending a meeting tomorrow.”

Adam groaned “What! Again? This is like the 4th fuckin’ one this week! Ugh fine! Where is it this time? halo city? Cherub towne” Adam’s voice mocked the locations you’ve both been sent to countless times with a high pitched voice. Even you have to admit that the meetings could drag a bit.

Sera's face turned into a slight grimace as she looks away from you both, she sighs and continues “The meeting will be in… hell.”

“What!” Both your voices raise in shock

“Sera, you know I don’t want to go down there again!”

“Why can’t you just send the other fucking dipshits who know about-“ Adam crossed his arms defiantly

“Stop,” Sera raises her hand toward you both “no one wants to go there, and I know you both especially don’t.” She pauses “But you both are the only available angels who know of the cleanse that aren't busy. Please… I understand your disdain but heaven’s business comes first.”

“Who are we even gonna be talking to -Wait a damn minute- Don’t fucking tell me we have to talk to him.”

“I'm sorry…” You all sat in silence for a moment before Sera begins to speak again, “But you both won’t have to worry about physically being there, we have prepared holograms for you, so neither of you would be in any danger.”

“I'll have an Angel escort you to the ‘meeting’ room tomorrow, please, get some rest. I’m sure you both have had a long day.”

With that, you and Adam went home, you were definitely not feeling well about the meeting, but the fact you wouldn’t actually be there calms your nerves a bit. You had to be a little honest with yourself, hell wasn’t really the issue for you, it was more so the people. Lucifer for one, that made you feel uneasy.

The next morning, you and Adam got ready, you had to motivate him a little. He was clearly not excited for this meeting like you. The entire way there he held you close, even though nothing could have hurt you it made him feel better knowing how close you were.

On the way there, you also got Adam some ribs, his favorite. You thought it would help his nerves a bit. Turns out, Lute was the one Sera assigned to escort you both there. That also made you both a little calmer knowing a mutual friend would be there.

The three of you waited in the ‘meeting’ room for a while, about an hour. At first you thought the meeting might had been canceled or moved and you just weren't told. But then, Lute walked up to you both.

“Sir! The Seraphim has told me to inform you that there’s been a change in plans!”

“What? The fucks that mean?” Adam said stuffing a rib into his LED mouth

“Lucifer won’t be attending the meeting, instead… his Daughter will be here in his stead.” Lute’s mask showed a continuous frown and stern expression as she spoke.

“Daughter?” Your voice shook a little. This was news to you, as long as you’ve existed you had never heard he had a daughter while in hell. You look over to Adam to see His LED eyes were wide in shock but his mask turned into a smile as he sighed.

“Phew boy, we sure dodged a big ass bullet, huh Sweetcheeks?” He laughed as his arm pulled you closer. The whole thing caused you to join in. Suddenly your nerves felt a lot better than before.

“When should she be arriving, Lute?”

“Within the hour.”

Adam scarfed down another plate of ribs as you all wait for the “princess of hell” to arrive. The entire time you just had to wonder what kind of person she’d be. The daughter of Lucifer and Lilith. The more you thought about it, the more bizarre it seemed.

But suddenly your thoughts were interrupted by the sliding doors opening to the meeting room and a girl steps in, asking if anyone is there.

“She can’t see us?”

“Yeah, Sera gave me a long ass lector on how this stuff works before we got here. Let’s see here…” Adam pushes a button causing a click to sound out as he says “Sup!”

The girl jumps back and falls to the floor, shocked by Adam’s sudden appearance in the room. She introduces herself as Charlie. Adam offers her to shake his hand, only for it to go through.

“Ha! I fuckin’ got you! Did you fucking see that? Good shit.”

You let out a slight laugh, as you sit and watch the meeting happen. Well, you say “meeting” but nothing about it seemed very professional. Adam for the last hour (you honestly wasn’t sure at this point) had been talking about the most random of things.

You or Lute occasionally shakening your head yes or no while listening to him, while Charlie seemed quite tired already. Not that you could blame her, people who weren’t used to Adam’s banter definitely weren’t cut out for it. But You love every word that comes out of his mouth.

Eventually Adam decides that it’s time to get into what you all came here for. Pulling out a bunch of papers, Charlie begins explaining her solution to hell’s overpopulation. You were only really half listening at first, at least before she mentioned that her solution could stop the extermination which peaked your interest.

She explains her “Hazbin Hotel” and its purpose to rehabilitate sinners, you wanted to hear more of it but Adam cut her off.

The meeting didn’t really go that well, At least for Charlie. But the whole thing left quite the impression on you. The idea of ending the extermination was stuck in your head for so long, and now you had someone who had an alternative.

“Adam, are you sure that it couldn’t have worked?”

Adam looks at you in surprise “What? Do you think that shitshow could have actually worked?” He laughed as he placed a hand on your back. “Don’t even pay it any mind, alright Babe?”

“I know, it’s just… you know I don't like the extermination. So another way to lessen the population of hell should at least be looked into.” Your voice was soft enough to barely hear.

Adam’s gaze softened but he didn’t say another word, only wrapping his wing around you pulling you closer. You lean towards him, snuggling into his soft robe. No matter how much you wanted to ignore it, you couldn’t. You needed to do something, anything.

So that night, after Adam fell asleep, you asked to talk with Sera. Leaving a note for Adam saying you went to buy something just in case he woke up.

“What is troubling you?” Sera’s voice was clear and concise.

You looked toward the ground, your nerves feeling tighter than ever, as you struggled with how to put your words together. “You're aware of all that happened in the meeting with Lucifer’s Daughter, right?”

Sera nods her head “of course, all meetings are documented about as they happen.” She tilts her head slightly “What about it?”

“Well!” You steel yourself before continuing “I would like permission to observe Charlie Morningstar’s ‘Hazbin Hotel’”

Sera’s eyes widen, breaking her calm demeanor before giving a firm “No”

“But-“

“It’s too dangerous for you to be there, Adam wouldn’t want that anyways”

“He would listen if it was an order from you!” Your eyes felt watery but you continued “Please Sera… I know you don’t want the extermination to continue. Just let me do this!”

Sera looked away from you, her feelings evident on her face, any mask now down. ‘Just a little more’ you thought

“Sera, I promise you, I’ll be careful! We don’t even have to fully support them yet, just let me observe them. It would be devastating if so many souls parish if we failed to seek all options!” You beg

Sera sighed, shakingly “…I’ll see what I can do.”

Your eyes gleamed up at the tall woman “Sera, thank you, thank you!” You wanted to hug her but out of courtesy, you advised against it.

Sera tells you that she can’t guarantee anything but she will try as she sends you home to rest.

A few days past after that and you haven’t heard anything from Sera. It was a little worrying and felt like a bad sign to you. That was, until you were informed by Sera that your request was accepted!

“But.” Sera stops you before you can celebrate “You're only there to keep track of the progress and to make sure nothing is happening under our noses” You nod your head in understanding

“Also…” she pauses “If anything involving this hotel happens, you will have to take full responsibility, understood?”

You nod again “yes I understand. Have you… told Adam yet?”

She shakes her head

“Ok… can you… not tell him it was my idea, please. I don’t think he’d agree if he knew.”

Sera sighs before nodding her head “Very well, I’ll tell him after you leave”

“Thank you.”

You return home, when you got back Adam was already gone, Sera must have already called him to the office. You dreaded when he got back. You didn’t want to see him upset, it hurt you to know how worried he was for you.

A few hours later, Adam comes through the door in a panic. He stomps up to you and pulls you into a warm and intense embrace.

“Don’t go down there. I need you here with me” his voice hitches as his wings wrap around you both, curling you both into a warm and feathery ball.

“Adam…” you paused, was this really the best thing to do? No, It had to be. If this goes well, not only will the extermination stop but Adam wouldn’t have to go down to hell ever again.

“Adam, you know I can’t go against Sera’s orders.” You kiss his cheek “and I won’t be gone forever, I’m only supposed to be there till the next cleanse. Not to mention, I’ll always come back to see you.”

Adam grumbled a little “I know, I just… don’t like you being in the same place that bastard is, and in his brat’s stupid hotel! ”

You laugh softly “Adam…” grabbing his hand, you put yours in it, showing off the gold ring on your finger “I’ll never forget my promise. You know that, right?”

Adam looks at the ring, the gold wrapped around your finger with a perfectly snug fit. Everytime he looked at it was just a reminder of your love for him. That promise was something he could never forget. He slowly raises your hand to his LED mask, kissing the back of it. “Of course not.”

“Good. I promise I’ll be fine, ok?”

He nods. Hand in hand, you slowly lead you both to the bed. The both of you lay next to each other, your bodies linked together like knots. You slwoly remove his helmet from his head, laying it on the nightstand.

Your hands move up his body before landing on his face, cupping his cheeks before pulling him to a kiss before snuggling into his chest.

Finally it was Time for you to leave. Sera allowed you to create portals back to heaven in case anything happened and you were in need of assistance. Adam walked you to the front gate.

“Ok, do you have everything? You didn’t forget that fucking angelic dagger I had Lute get for you right-“

You shush him “Adam, I told you I’ll be fine!”

He’s sighs “Damn it- I know that but just make sure to text me while your there ok-

You kiss him deeply “Adam. I know, you’ve told me a hundred times.” You smile as you cup his face “I love you”

He sighs “Love you too Sweetcheeks”

With one final kiss, you give Adam a tight hug before waving goodbye as you went through the flaming portal. As you went through, you take a second to look at your surroundings. In front of you was a tall building. You take a few steps back to see LED lights of a sign flashing the words ‘Hazbin Hotel’

You let out a sigh of relief. You had been a tad bit worried you’d spawn somewhere random and you’d have to find the building yourself. But it seems heaven at least spared you of that.

The red skies of hell were quite different from the pristine blue ones of heaven. Even though you just got here, you could already hear the sounds of screams and explosions in the distance. How welcoming.

You steel yourself and with three hard knocks to the door, you wait for someone to open it. Muffled Scurrying sounds of footsteps approach the door before it creaks open revealing the young blond woman in the doorframe, Charlie Morningstar.

“Hi! I’m-“

The door is slammed shut, Before opening again

“Be not afraid-“

It shuts again…

Well, this may be a bit harder than you initially anticipated. You go to knock again only for it to open once more. This time, the door doesn’t close again, instead the girl mutters a quick “Hi” before going quiet.

“Hello! I didn’t mean to scare you!” You give a small laugh before continuing “I believe we met a couple days ago?” You bring your hand towards her for a shake, to which she reciprocates.

“During the meeting with.. Adam? Right?” She grimaced when she mentioned Adam, which you decided to ignore, you simply smiled and nodded. ”but I don’t believe I caught your name?”

You tell her about yourself, about how your there to stay and monitor any progress the hotel may have. You made sure to pronounce ‘may.’ While you were hoping for this idea to show some kind of positive results, even you weren’t sure if it’d would work.

“Charlie? who’s at the door- WhatHolyShit-“ a woman with a red X over her eye suddenly shouts in surprise. You look over at her, She looked very familiar…

“Wait, you are-“

“Vaggie! Charlie’s sinner girlfriend! And you are?!” The woman known as Vaggie, highlighted the word sinner while performing a “be quiet” gesture with her hand. Your eyes widen a little at the ex-Angel in front of you but you simply smile a nod “I’m Y/n, I don’t believe we’ve met, yes?”

Look, lying is the last thing you’d want to do as a citizen of heaven but you figured that it would be fine if it was to protect someone. Vaggie nodded, her face scrunched up in a tense look.

“You feeling ok Vaggie? You’re looking a little… red?”

“I’m fine! *ahem*, Hun, how about you give them a tour of the hotel.”

Charlie gasped “Yes that's perfect, you may as well get acquainted with everyone if you’re going to be here more often!”

Charlie ran off, telling you “this way! This way!” Over and over. Before you went to follow her, you leaned toward Vaggie and said a quick “Relax, I won’t tell anyone.”

She lets out a sigh before muttering “Thank you”

You both follow Charlie as she shows you the various rooms in the hotel before leading you back to the hotel’s lobby and lounge area.

“Hey! Hello everyone!” Charlie’s voice picked up a little “I’d like to introduce you to our uh… new staff member?” You nod in agreement with the title. The room in front of you was shrouded in looks of both horror and amazement.

“What the hell’s an angel doin’ here?” A lanky spider demon spoke up first

“It’sss an ambush! seek Cover!!” The Snake demon shouted, seemingly grabbing an army helmet from thin air before taking a deep dive behind the couch.

“No Pentious-” She sighs “they’re here to monitor the hotel! Heaven sent them to scout any potential progress the hotel will have”

“It’s nice to meet you all” you look at the people in front of you, to say it was a colorful cast would be an understatement.

“These two are our current tenants of the hotel! Angel dust and Sir Pentious!”

The snake slithered slowly from behind the couch up to you, while the Spider demon remained rested on the couch

“Oh… *ahem* Excuse me dear! I am Sir. Pentious! Formally known as ‘the Architect of destruction’!” He laughs, a slight hiss sounding in his voice.

He offers a handshake which you accept. To which you immediately regret. ‘ Slimey’ you thought, before wiping your, now wet hand on your clothes.

The spider demon, who you now know as Angel Dust, just gives a wave with one of his 4 arms.

“And-“ Charlie extends the word as she quickly walk to a bar by the entrance “this is the recreational area, run by our Bartender, Husk!”

The winged bartender seemed entirely uninterested in your presence or even Charlie’s. The most you got was a small glance before he takes a swig of his alcohol and walks off.

“He’s not the most… social guy in hell” she awkwardly laughs before moving on to the next person. “And this is Nifty, our one and only maid at the hotel! Nifty say hi.”

The short woman scurried moved around you, her eye quickly looking at every every nook and cranny of you as she moved. She made numerous attempts to touch and grab various things on you, your clothes, wings, and eventually she tried to climb up you to get to your halo. That’s when you finally grabbed her in place “you're a… fast one, huh? Nice to meet you!”

“And last but not least! This is Alastor, the hotel’s executive producer and our first -and only- overlord sponsor!”

Immediately, you could tell there was something off about Alastor. The entire aura he gave off was as if he was restraining something completely and utterly ungodly. The static that surrounded him was just one of many whispers you could hear from his soul.

“Hello! It’s quite a pleasure to meet someone of your… holy status!” He offers a hand to which you, hesitantly, shake. “And what do we owe the pleasure for your service?”

“They’re going to be here to keep track of the progress of the hotel…” Charlie paused “you know I’m starting to sound like a broken record- here, it’s late, how about we all get some sleep and we can talk about it in the morning!”

“Fine by me, I am waaay too sober to be having social interaction this late” Angel picks himself up and stretches “I’m gonna hit the hay”

“Here I’ll show you to your room!” Charlie smiles “We -obviously- didn’t have time to make your own so I hope you don’t mind using one of the guest rooms” she laughs

She and Vaggie walks you to your new room before leaving you be, The room was nothing more than just your average hotel room. Of course it did have its differences, a multitude of… eyes seem to be on the wall, staring at you. Well, that’s not the least alarming.

You place your stuff down and begin unpacking, you mostly just brought the basics. Clothes, hygiene stuff, your phone, and, most importantly, a framed photo of Adam.

You sat the photo on your nightstand, angling it just right so that it would always be visible to you. As you do so, you think about the memory the photo brings, you took it on one of the first dates you went on with Adam. It was a relatively tame date, you and Adam, having a picnic by a lake at night. You brought candles so you both weren’t completely in the dark, and you just loved the way he looked, his golden eyes watching the water. The dim candle light illuminating his face with a warm golden shade. Adam hates photos of him with his mask off but… You just had to keep that moment in time forever.

*Ding* *Ding* *Ding*

Speak of the- well, you know the rest. The bright light from the phone comes with the notification sound displaying Adam in bold letters. You smile as you read his messages.

Dixkmaster69

Heyy Sweetcheeks, it’s been a bit since you left

You there??

Fucking answer

You let out a small laugh at Adam’s barrage of messages. He’s not used to you being away from him for more than a day, huh? Not that you could blame him, this is honestly nothing compared to how you feel each year he has to do the extermination.

Sweetcheeks

Hey love

Everything’s fine, I’m ok.

Aside from not having you with me :’(

Dixkmaster69

Fucking finally

You know you don’t have to do this

If I bitch enough to Sera I can get you back by tomorrow

Sweetcheeks

Please don’t, Sera already has enough on her plate.

I promise I’m going to be fine

I’ll be back before you know it.

Dixkmaster69

I know

This shit just worries me

Gonna miss hearing your sexy ass voice at night too ;)

You blush at the message before sighing. Whenever you or Adam approached a topic that made him uncomfortable, he would always try to change the subject to something that made him feel better. You knew why, Adam’s someone who rarely talked about his feelings, even after all these eons together that was something he hadn’t changed. You knew exactly what he needed, even if he didn’t explicitly tell you.

Sweetcheeks

I already miss yours too <3

Do you want to help me fall asleep with that heavenly voice of yours on the phone?

Dixkmaster69

Whatever you want Sweetcheeks <3

You smile when, almost immediately, Adam begins calling your phone. You click the lights off before You make your way in your new bed, not even bothering to change out of the clothes you’ve been wearing. You grab the cover and pull it over you and tapping the answer button.

“Sup”

You yawn “Hey handsome, I missed your voice”

You hear his voice hitch before he caused on “Of course you did, no one has a better voice than the dick master. But uh, yours is a close second”

You’re let out a tired giggle, “such a charmer, you. How’s your day been huh?”

“Oh! don’t even get me started on that- Lute took me to get some ribs to ‘calm my nerves’ or some shit and they had me, ME, wait in line for like 15 minutes! The fucking audacity!”

You smile to yourself as Adam tells you about his day, the sound of his voice was like a sweet lullaby to your ears and you couldn’t get enough of it. But eventually…

“And then when I got home, I couldn’t find my damn charger and it took me like 40 fuckin’ minutes to realize it was under our bed, do you have any idea of how it keeps getting there?” He waits for you to respond only to be met with silence. “Uh bitch, I’m talking to you.”

More silence… well no, actually if Adam focused on listening, he could hear the faint sound of your snoring from the phone. Adam sighs,”Long day, huh?”

Adam lays back in your shared bed, getting comfortable. He sets the phone beside him, plugging it in while keeping it on speaker. He yawns, “Goodnight Sweetheart, can’t wait to see you again”

Slowly, the soft sounds of both yours and Adam’s snores filled each others rooms, a distant, but intimate connection. Even in slumber, you couldn’t stop thinking of your handsome and caring soulmate.

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