#i like how she kind of has that final revelation as she's talking about her

[fascinationstreetmp3]

Minthara's thoughts on Karlach

[reidmarieprentiss]

Red: Part Two

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

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, fluff, smut (18+)

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

Word count: 28.9k

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

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

main masterlist part one

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you have a job?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer was briefly rescued by an unsung hero—Rossi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rolling your eyes, you climbed off his lap and sprawled out on the couch, looking up at him expectantly. You were ready for whatever came next, your body still humming with anticipation. But Spencer did something completely unexpected.

Instead of wiping his hand off, as you had assumed he would, you watched as his gaze flickered down to the wetness covering his fingers. His brows furrowed slightly in curiosity, as if he were studying it. Before you could say anything, Spencer did the unfathomable—he brought his fingers to his mouth, slowly sliding them past his lips.

A deep, low moan escaped him as he tasted you, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as if he were savoring the taste.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, absolutely floored by the sight. Your heart raced, heat rushing through your body as you watched him, your own arousal building even higher. You couldn’t believe how much this innocent man was making you lose control.

“Fuck,” Spencer murmured when he finally pulled his now-clean fingers from his mouth, his eyes dark with lust. “You taste amazing.”

The look on your face must have been one of pure shock because Spencer quickly followed up with a concerned, “Was that okay?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Shut up right now and kiss me,” you said, your voice urgent and breathless.

Without missing a beat, Spencer leaned down, crashing his lips onto yours. The kiss was electric, fueled by the raw intensity of the moment. You could taste yourself faintly on his lips, which only made you hungrier for him. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and Spencer let out a low groan as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing against yours as if he couldn’t get enough.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt this level of desire, but with Spencer, everything felt heightened, like every touch and every kiss was sending shockwaves through you.

This was the filthiest, sloppiest, most passionate kiss either of you had ever shared with anyone. The intensity was palpable, your bodies pressed together so tightly it felt as though there wasn’t enough room in the world to contain the desire between you. You couldn’t get enough, your hands tugging at Spencer’s hair, sliding under his shirt to scratch his back, pinching his nipples, reveling in the way he responded—moaning into your mouth, his own hands gripping you with a hunger that mirrored yours.

It was hard to tell how long you kissed—minutes or hours, time seemed to blur—but eventually, Spencer pulled back, gasping for breath, his chest heaving. His eyes roamed over you, taking in the sight of your hair spread out like a halo on the couch, your chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, your eyes darkened with lust and, though neither of you had said it yet, a glimmer of what could only be described as love.

“Darling,” he panted, his voice rough and thick with need, “can we go to your bed? I want to treat you this time.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You were up in a flash, pulling your beautiful, sweet boyfriend with you, his hand wrapped in yours as you rushed toward your bedroom. You’d never moved so fast in your life, eager for what was to come, for the pleasure he promised.

Once in the bedroom, Spencer's hands wasted no time. He immediately tugged your shorts and underwear down, discarding them in a flash before pulling off your shirt with the same eagerness, leaving you completely bare before him. His eyes roamed over you with pure admiration, awe evident in every part of his expression.

“Did you get more beautiful?” he asked breathlessly, the sincerity of the compliment making you feel flushed.

You playfully slapped his chest, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Shut up,” you teased, leaning up to kiss him as your hands found the hem of his T-shirt, pulling it over his head. But just as you reached for his pants, Spencer gently pushed you back down onto the bed.

“This is about you, my love.”

The words hung in the air, sweet and heavy with meaning. My love. It was new, but it felt right—natural, even. Before you could respond, Spencer pushed you onto the bed and lowered himself to your chest, his lips closing around one of your nipples. His mouth was soft, tender, at first, but then you felt his teeth sink in, sharp enough to make you gasp, a promise of the mark he was leaving behind.

Your back arched, pressing your body further into him, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you as you lost yourself in the feel of him—of his mouth, his hands, his love.

Spencer’s mouth continued its exploration, alternating between your breasts and sending warm pulses of pleasure through your body. His attention to detail was incredible, every touch, every kiss feeling like a deliberate act of worship. He took his time, caressing you as though you were the most delicate and precious thing in the world. The intimacy of it all overwhelmed you, a mixture of tenderness and building desire swirling inside.

When his soft kisses finally began to descend down your stomach, a light giggle escaped your lips—it tickled, playful and gentle. But that laughter vanished the moment his lips found your inner thigh, sucking a mark into your sensitive skin. Spencer’s large hands gripped your thighs, spreading them open wide for him, his touch reverent but firm.

“Spen—Spencer,” you panted, glancing down at him. His big, beautiful brown eyes met yours, glazed with determination and lust, but also something tender. He kept his gaze locked on you as he kissed along your thigh, making your breath hitch. "Have you... done this before?"

He paused, releasing your thigh from his mouth with a small, almost playful pop. “No,” he admitted honestly, “but I have read plenty about the acts of cunnilingus, and I think I will be able to satisfy you. As long as you communicate with me, okay?”

The honesty in his voice, the seriousness of his intent, sent another wave of heat rushing through you. Spencer reached for one of your hands, which had been gripping the sheets so tightly. He held it gently, reassuring you, grounding you. You nodded eagerly, your breath coming out in shallow pants, giving him permission to continue.

And without further hesitation, Spencer dove back in, his kisses now dangerously close to your core. The anticipation was electrifying, and you could already tell—he was going to be good at this. Very good.

And good he was. The second Spencer's tongue touched you, it was like fireworks exploded behind your eyes, sending electricity shooting through your veins. The intensity of it all nearly overwhelmed you, especially when you heard his voice, low and mumbled against you. 

“Eyes on me,” he said, the words vibrating against you.

You forced your eyes open and looked down, the sight nearly sending you over the edge. Spencer, his head buried between your legs, met your gaze with intense eye contact as his tongue continued to explore you. The sensation, paired with the way he moaned into you, made your whole body tremble. It was impossible to deny how much he enjoyed it, the way he tasted you straight from the source, his pleasure evident in every sound and movement.

As phenomenal as it was, you still craved more stimulation. And Spencer had asked you to communicate, so you squeezed his hand, your voice shaky. “Baby?”

He hummed into you, the vibration making you whine and twitch involuntarily. “Can you... unghh—can you find the clit?”

Spencer chuckled softly, clearly amused but also eager to show that his knowledge wasn’t just theoretical. Almost immediately, he hit the target, causing your body to jerk at the sudden burst of pleasure.

“Go–good,” you gasped, your voice thick with need. “Now suck.”

And he did.

Spencer didn't need to be told twice. The second you asked, he focused his attention on your clit, enveloping it gently between his lips. A low moan escaped his throat, vibrating against you as he began to suck softly, testing the waters. Your body jolted at the sensation, your back arching as an involuntary gasp tore through you.

"Yes, just like that..." you whispered breathlessly, your grip tightening on his hand, the other fisting the sheets as waves of pleasure rolled through you. It was overwhelming in the best way, and Spencer wasn’t just doing well—he was doing phenomenally. His tongue flicked and swirled as if with practiced precision, the moans he let out making everything ten times more intense.

You could feel yourself getting closer, the tension building rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter in your core. Every flick of his tongue, every pull of his lips was bringing you higher, faster. It was as if he knew exactly what you needed, and the connection between you both in this moment felt almost sacred.

Your legs began to tremble, and your breathing grew more erratic. "Spence, I’m—oh my god, I'm so close," you whimpered, your hand instinctively moving to tangle in his hair, gripping tight as the pleasure threatened to push you over the edge.

Spencer hummed in acknowledgment, his eyes still locked onto yours, unwavering, making the moment even more intense. His grip on your hand tightened as if encouraging you to let go, to surrender to the pleasure completely.

And when his tongue applied just the right amount of pressure, his lips sucking gently but firmly on your clit, that tension finally snapped. Your body convulsed, a guttural moan escaping you as the orgasm crashed over you, waves of ecstasy leaving you trembling and gasping for air.

"That's it," Spencer murmured, his voice low and raspy, sounding both proud and a little in awe as he watched you unravel under him.

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, looking down at him with a dazed smile. He hadn't pulled away yet, still gently caressing your sensitive skin with the softest of kisses, making sure you were coming down from your high as gently as possible.

“Spencer...” you managed to breathe out, your voice a mix of disbelief and pure satisfaction. You hadn’t thought it possible, but he had completely exceeded your expectations.

He grinned up at you, his mouth still glistening with evidence of your release. “I guess the reading paid off, huh?” he teased, his voice full of affection and just a hint of smugness.

You chuckled weakly, your whole body still tingling with aftershocks. "Oh, it definitely paid off..."

“Earth to Y/N,” Spencer teased, coming up beside you, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. His warm breath tickled your skin as he added with a soft laugh, “Are you alright?”

You blinked out of your daze, still recovering from the incredible experience, and turned to look at him with wide, astonished eyes. “Anytime you need a study buddy," you said, your voice filled with awe, "anytime, you call me."

Spencer chuckled, his cheeks tinged pink as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. "I'll keep that in mind," he replied with a wink.

After you returned to earth, Spencer gently helped you up and led you to the bathroom, drawing a warm, soothing bath. He carefully eased you both into the tub, your back resting against his chest, the comforting warmth of the water surrounding you. The intimacy of the moment was in the simplicity of it—just the two of you, cocooned in the peaceful, quiet space.

As you both settled in, the conversation flowed naturally, a mix of everything and nothing. Spencer told you more details about his extensive schooling, sharing amusing stories about his early university days, while you, in turn, told him about how you ended up adopting Poof, your beloved cat.

At one point, Spencer furrowed his brow, realizing something. “Speaking of, where is Poof?” he asked, looking around as if your mischievous cat might suddenly appear. “I feel like I haven’t seen him in a while.”

You giggled, your hand absently stroking Spencer's leg beneath the water as you explained. “Oh, he’s become the building cat," you said with affection in your voice. "The townhouses are connected by fire escapes in the back, and Poof likes to explore. He moves back and forth between the different houses. I guess you’ve just been missing him.”

Spencer chuckled softly, resting his chin on your shoulder, clearly intrigued. “A little adventurer, huh? Well, hopefully, I’ll catch him in action one of these days.”

You smiled, leaning back more into him, feeling completely at ease as the two of you basked in the comfortable rhythm of your conversation and the quiet warmth of the water.

—

Spencer sat stiffly in the chair across from Chief Strauss’ desk, his hands folded in his lap as he waited for whatever new torment she had in store for him. He was sure his tests were clean, they always were. But he also knew Strauss had been gunning for him for years now, and this meeting was likely just another way to shake him down, to keep him on edge.

As he stared at the piles of neatly stacked papers on her desk, Strauss held up a finger, signaling for him to wait as she answered an incoming call. Spencer huffed internally, trying to push down the frustration bubbling up inside him. But when she answered the phone, something about her tone caught his attention.

"Chief Strauss," she said, her voice all business at first, but then, to Spencer’s shock, a smile broke out across her face. "Oh, hi, Red, how are you, dear?"

Spencer’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing slightly. Red? It couldn’t be…could it? His mind raced, desperately trying to make sense of it. The name, the affectionate tone—it sounded eerily similar to the nickname you had mentioned your aunt called you. But that was just a coincidence, right? 

Strauss continued her conversation, oblivious to Spencer’s sudden change in demeanor. "Yes, yes, of course. I’ll make sure it gets done. Oh, and how is little Poof doing?"

Spencer's heart stopped. Poof? No. There was no way this could be a coincidence now. His mind raced as he pieced it together. Red … Poof …Your aunt. His eyes widened in realization, but he kept his face neutral, trying not to betray the wave of shock crashing over him.

Strauss glanced at him briefly as she continued her conversation, still smiling. Spencer's thoughts were spinning. Was your aunt Erin Strauss?

Spencer was spiraling, his mind whirling with disbelief as Chief Strauss hung up the phone, turning her attention back to him. He was trying to maintain composure, but it was like everything around him was crumbling. She had called you Red. She had mentioned Poof. It was all too much.

“So, Reid,” Strauss began, clasping her hands on the desk in front of her. Her tone shifted back to business. “How have you been managing? With the recovery, I mean. I understand the tests have been clean, but I want to know how you’re really doing.”

Spencer’s jaw tightened. His nerves were already shot, and now with this revelation about you weighing on him, he couldn’t hold back. His voice came out sharper than he intended.

“Why does it even matter?” Spencer snapped, glaring at her. “You’ve been waiting for me to slip up, to fail. You never believed in my recovery from the start.”

Strauss raised an eyebrow, her expression hardening. "I’m trying to protect you, Reid, as much as I’m trying to protect others from you."

Spencer's stomach twisted. “Protect me? From what exactly? You’ve been gunning for me ever since I admitted to my addiction. You hate me.” His voice shook, his frustration bubbling over.

Strauss took a deep breath, her face softening, but her words cut deep. "I don’t hate you, Spencer. But I know what addiction can do to a person, to a family."

Spencer narrowed his eyes, his voice thick with suspicion. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"My sister and her husband," Strauss said, her voice wavering slightly, "they died from drugs. Overdosed. My niece is an addict too, lost to us."

Spencer felt a chill wash over him, and his voice dropped as he asked, "Y/N’s parents?"

Strauss swallowed thickly, nodding, her eyes momentarily flicking away from his. "Yes. And do you think I’m going to stand by and watch her get hurt again? Watch another person she cares about spiral into that life?" Her gaze locked back onto Spencer’s, now filled with a fierce determination. "No, Spencer. I’m not going to let you ruin her life like her father did."

The words hit Spencer like a physical blow, leaving him breathless. His heart raced, anger and guilt twisting together painfully in his chest. This threat—Strauss’s belief that he was a danger to you, that his history with addiction made him a risk—was like a punch to the gut.

"I’m not him," Spencer whispered, his voice barely audible. His hands clenched into fists on his lap. "I’m not going to hurt her."

Strauss’s gaze softened slightly, but her tone remained firm. "I hope you’re right, Reid. But I can’t afford to take chances when it comes to her. Not after everything she’s been through. So, yes, the drug tests stay. And if I see one misstep, I won’t hesitate to remove you from this team, or from her life."

Spencer felt his anger boil over, his fists clenched as he leaned forward in the chair. “You can’t stop me from seeing her, we’re both adults. You have no right to interfere.”

Strauss leaned back in her chair, calm in the face of his anger. Her voice was low, but it cut through the room with precision. “Does she know about your addiction, Spencer?”

The question hung in the air like a ticking time bomb, and Spencer froze. His face told her everything she needed to know—he hadn’t told you. 

Strauss’s lips curled slightly, not in triumph but in grim acknowledgment. “Then you better not mess up,” she said, her voice cold and menacing.

Spencer stood up abruptly, the air feeling suffocating in her office. He was furious—not just with Strauss, but with himself. He knew he’d been holding something back from you, just as you had from him. He hadn’t told you about his past, hadn’t opened up about his addiction, the demons he fought to keep buried. And now he was in this twisted position, where your aunt knew more about him than you did.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

He stormed out of Strauss’s office, his heart racing, feeling cornered in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. He was upset that you hadn’t told him who your aunt was, hadn’t trusted him with that part of your life. But deep down, he knew he was no better. He had held back too—out of fear, out of shame.

As he left the building and stepped out into the cold air, Spencer’s mind whirled. He had to talk to you. He had to come clean before everything unraveled. You both deserved the truth.

—

You knocked on Spencer’s door that evening, a bottle of wine tucked under your arm and a loaf of fresh French bread in your hand. You’d spent the afternoon preparing his favorite pasta dish, hoping for a quiet, cozy night together after the busy week you both had. When Spencer opened the door, you gave him a warm smile.

“Hey, baby,” you greeted, leaning up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. 

But the look on Spencer’s face made your heart drop. His eyes were dark, his expression serious. The atmosphere was heavy, and you could tell immediately that something was wrong. 

“When were you going to tell me that Strauss is your aunt?” he asked, his voice steady but laced with frustration. 

You froze, the smile fading from your face. “What?”

“I found out today,” Spencer continued, stepping aside to let you in but not looking at you. “From her, actually. I thought... I thought we were being honest with each other.”

You sighed, setting down the wine and bread on his kitchen counter, turning to face him. “Spence, I was going to tell you. I just… I got scared.”

“Scared of what?” His eyes searched yours, looking for an explanation that could make this better, that could ease the confusion and frustration swirling in his mind.

You ran a hand through your hair, fidgeting slightly. “Scared because you work for her. I didn’t want things to get complicated or messy between you two. I didn’t want you to think I was keeping it from you on purpose.”

Spencer’s face softened slightly as he processed your words, but he still didn’t seem fully convinced. “Why wouldn’t you just tell me, though? I wouldn’t have cared about who your aunt is, I care about you.”

You took a deep breath, stepping closer to him, reaching for his hands. “I know, Spencer. I know. I just… I didn’t want things to get weird at work for you. And honestly, I didn’t know how to bring it up. I’ve been afraid of how it might change things, I didn’t want to add more stress.”

Spencer’s shoulders relaxed a little as he listened to your explanation. He squeezed your hands, a silent gesture of understanding. He could see the sincerity in your eyes, the hesitation that wasn’t born out of deceit but out of fear of complicating things for both of you. 

“I get it,” Spencer said softly after a moment. “I just… I don’t want us to keep things from each other. It’s important to me that we’re open.”

You nodded, squeezing his hands back. “I promise. No more secrets.”

Spencer smiled slightly, his frustration easing. He let out a deep breath, feeling the tension leave his body. For a moment, he considered telling you about his past—about the addiction, the drug tests, everything that Strauss had thrown at him earlier. But when he looked into your eyes, remembering the way you spoke about your family, the raw pain in your voice, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet. He didn’t want to burden you with it, not when things were finally starting to feel right between you.

“Let’s just... enjoy dinner,” Spencer finally said, a small smile playing on his lips as he pulled you closer into a hug. “I’m sorry for bringing it up like that. I should’ve waited.”

You sighed in relief, burying your face in his chest. “No, I’m glad you did. I don’t want to keep anything from you either.”

You both held each other for a moment longer, letting the tension fade as the warmth of your embrace brought back a sense of normalcy. Spencer kissed the top of your head before stepping back and heading into the kitchen, ready to move forward, even if some things were still left unsaid—for now.

—

Just a few weeks later, Spencer finally had a full weekend off, he decided it was the perfect opportunity for a little getaway. He packed up everything—yourself, Poof, and plenty of supplies—and whisked you away to a cozy Airbnb nestled by the lake. 

You could hardly contain your excitement, bubbling over at the thought of spending uninterrupted time with your two favorite guys. Spencer had asked you to drive while he took charge of navigation, and the car ride was nothing short of a delight. 

“Turn left here, darling,” Spencer instructed with an air of confidence.

"Are you sure it’s not right?" you teased, feigning confusion as you gripped the wheel.

Spencer let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head with mock exasperation. “I’m positive. I do have an eidetic memory, you know.”

“Well, if we get lost, I’m holding that memory of yours accountable!” you shot back playfully, a smile spreading across both your faces.

When you finally pulled up to the lake house, you couldn't help but gasp. It was picturesque—a beautiful, quaint cabin surrounded by towering trees, with the glistening lake stretching out in the background. 

The look of pride on Spencer’s face at your reaction made your heart swell. You were completely and utterly in love. As you stood there, taking in the stunning view and the sheer thoughtfulness of his planning, you felt like this weekend was the right moment to finally tell him how you truly felt.

That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you and Spencer moved seamlessly through the cozy kitchen, putting together the perfect comfort meal of grilled cheese and tomato soup. Poof danced happily around your feet, always at the ready for any fallen scraps. The two of you playfully bumped hips, stole soup-covered kisses, and teased each other in the warm glow of the cabin’s lights.

After dinner, which was full of laughter and mock arguments over who could make the better grilled cheese, you cleared the table together, setting up a chessboard for a battle of wits. You knew Spencer was a prodigy, but still, you had hope. The first few rounds were... well, an obvious defeat. But then, to your surprise, you managed to win. Once. Twice. And then three times in a row! What you didn’t know was that Spencer was letting you win, his resolve crumbling at the sight of your frustrated pout. He’d pretend to mull over a move for far longer than needed, before “accidentally” making a poor choice that would lead to your victory.

Eventually, you’d had enough of the mental sparring, and Spencer’s kisses grew softer and deeper. Together, you moved outside to the wooden deck, wrapped up under a blanket, the stars reflecting in the lake’s glassy surface. The night air was crisp and fresh, a gentle breeze brushing your cheeks as you cuddled closer. 

Spencer pointed upward, tracing his finger along the sky, excitedly talking about constellations, their names, and the myths behind them. But you weren’t looking at the stars—your eyes were on him, captivated by the way his face glowed in the moonlight, his passion lighting up every word he spoke.

Without thinking, feeling overwhelmed by the moment and the deep love that filled your chest, you whispered, “I love you.”

The words felt like they hung in the air, sparkling and true under the canopy of stars.

Spencer’s face lit up as he tilted down toward you, and in that moment, it seemed as if the stars had all come to rest in his eyes, twinkling brightly with wonder and adoration. His voice was soft but filled with an almost childlike excitement, the kind reserved for a Christmas morning surprise, “Really?”

“Really,” you assured him, voice steady, your gaze never wavering from his, allowing the truth of your feelings to shine through. 

He swallowed, searching your eyes as if trying to imprint every detail of this moment into his mind. “You love me?” he asked again, needing the confirmation, the words sounding so surreal to him.

“I love you, Spencer Walter Reid,” you declared, each word measured and intentional, and you watched as joy transformed his features, his eyes closing briefly in overwhelming happiness.

The next thing you felt was Spencer’s lips on yours, pressing gently at first, the kiss filled with all the tenderness and unspoken words you’d both kept hidden until now. It was sweet, slow, and beautiful, and you could feel Spencer trembling slightly, as if holding back everything he wanted to say with his lips alone. He pulled back just a breath, letting his forehead rest on yours as he whispered with a trembling smile, “I love you too.”

And then he dove back in for more—kisses deeper, breaths heavier. Your hands tangled in his hair, his fingers tracing the contours of your back, pressing you closer until there was no space left between you. What started as slow and sweet quickly turned heated, and Spencer’s kisses grew hungrier, his tongue tasting every part of your mouth, his hands wandering further down.

It was only when you felt the cool night air on your exposed skin that you giggled and gently pulled back, breathing heavily against his lips. “We’re outside, baby,” you murmured, your voice a mix of breathlessness and warning.

Spencer hummed, the sound vibrating through his chest, and with a playful smirk, he pulled you to your feet, not letting your lips part from his. “Then we’d better get inside,” he said, his voice low and urgent, the promise of more lingering in the air as he led you toward the warmth of the cabin, hands intertwined, the night just beginning.

As you were guided along by Spencer's eager hand, your laughter filled the small cabin, echoing off the wooden beams of the cozy bedroom. The room itself was warm, glowing with the soft hues of amber light from the fireplace, its crackling flames adding to the perfect atmosphere. The bed looked irresistibly inviting, its blankets perfectly rumpled in a way that made you want to dive right in. But what really made the room perfect was Spencer—his face lighting up in a way you’d rarely seen before, his exaggerated wink playful and filled with the purest joy. 

When Spencer sat on the edge of the bed and stretched his arms out for you, you wasted no time stepping into his embrace, your body molding perfectly into the space between his legs as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, leaning into the warmth of him. He buried his face in your chest, his voice muffled but filled with emotion as he mumbled, “I love you so much.”

You smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head as you teased softly, “I love you more.”

Spencer shook his head immediately, hair brushing your chin and sending little shivers down your spine. “Not possible,” he declared, his voice firm, like he was making a statement that was undeniable.

“Oh, I don’t know, baby,” you taunted lightly, trying to stifle the grin that was spreading across your face. But Spencer pulled back, his eyes locking with yours in a way that made you feel like the only person in the world. 

A look of challenge danced across his features, his brows lifting as he quirked a smirk at you. “You don’t believe me?” he asked, voice deepening with a teasing edge.

You shook your head, biting your lip to keep from laughing, a playful glint in your eyes. And in a flash, Spencer’s face morphed into one of mischievous determination. “Oh, you little—” he began, his voice dripping with affectionate frustration as he quickly flipped your positions, pushing you back onto the bed and towering over you.

“Spencer!” you squealed in laughter, propping yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him as he tossed his shirt aside without a second thought, revealing his smooth chest. He leaned over you, caging you in with his arms on either side of your head, and his face was so close you could feel the warmth of his breath fanning across your lips.

“Shh,” he whispered with a smirk, “I have to show you how much I love you.” And with those words, you knew that every second of this weekend together would be filled with a love so fierce, so genuine, that it was going to be impossible not to fall for him all over again.

Spencer's mouth moved eagerly down your neck, his lips trailing soft, warm kisses that made your skin tingle in their wake. He nipped at your earlobe, tugging it gently between his teeth, and the sensation drew a light, breathy moan from you, your back arching ever so slightly into him. The sound seemed to spur him on, and he continued his descent, pausing to suck gently on your pulse point as his hands explored your sides, fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your waist.

When his hands found the hem of your top, he slowly pushed it upward, his palms grazing your ribs, sending shivers through you. You let out a sigh, already feeling yourself melt under his touch, and obediently raised your arms so he could remove the fabric entirely, leaving you bare from the waist up. Spencer's eyes darkened with desire, and you could see the way his lips parted slightly as he took you in, your form illuminated by the soft glow of the room.

“No bra?” he asked, a teasing edge to his voice, though his gaze was nothing short of reverent as it roved over your body. One brow quirked up in curiosity, his lips twitching in a smirk.

You laughed, a breathy, contented sound, shrugging as you met his gaze. “I’m on vacation.”

Spencer's smirk widened, and he nosed his way down between your breasts, inhaling deeply as if savoring your scent. His lips brushed against your skin in a whisper of a kiss. “I knew it was a good idea bringing you here,” he murmured against your skin, his voice husky with want and affection. 

And as he continued his exploration of your body with his mouth and hands, you were filled with warmth and a sense of belonging, knowing that this was exactly where you were meant to be—with him.

The sensation of Spencer’s mouth on your skin sent sparks throughout your body, your breath hitching as his lips closed around your nipple, sucking gently. You arched your back instinctively, pressing yourself closer to his mouth, wanting more, needing more. He hummed contentedly, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure right through you. 

His tongue swirled around the sensitive bud, switching between flicking and gentle sucking that had you gripping the sheets beneath you, your fingers twisting into the soft fabric as your eyes fluttered shut. Every movement was slow, deliberate, and filled with devotion, as if he was determined to savor every second of your pleasure. 

As he worshiped your breast, his free hand trailed down your side, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, fingers feather-light against your skin. You could feel the warmth of his touch through the thin fabric of your shorts, and when his fingers brushed the waistband, your hips bucked upward, desperate for more contact. 

Spencer’s lips left your breast with a soft pop, his breath warm and ragged as he whispered against your skin, “You taste so good... I could do this forever.”

His words, filled with awe and passion, made you moan in response, threading your fingers through his hair and holding him close to you. And you didn't want him to stop; you wanted every touch, every kiss, every second of his attention to be on you, completely and utterly lost in the moment together.

Spencer’s lips found yours again, kissing you deeply, hungrily, as if he was trying to pour all the love he felt into every brush and caress. You sighed into his mouth, your own hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, if that was even possible. And then, as if reading your mind, you felt his hand venture downward, fingers slipping under the waistband of your bottoms, and you gasped at the intimate touch, the sensation so electric it made your toes curl.

“Fuck,” Spencer breathed against your lips, his voice heavy with awe and desire. “You’re so wet.”

The sound of his voice saying those words sent a shiver straight through your core, and you whined softly, squirming under his touch, desperate for more. Your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking his fingers, trying to guide him where you needed him most. “Spence, baby,” you whined again, your voice breathy and pleading as you pressed kisses to his jaw, “please...”

His eyes met yours, dark and full of hunger, and he gave you a little smirk, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. “Tell me what you need, darling,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over yours as his fingers teased just outside your lips, keeping you on the edge of wanting. “Let me hear you say it.”

Your breath hitched, his teasing making you ache with longing. “I need you, Spence,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I need you to touch me, please.” 

He hummed approvingly against your mouth, giving you a tender kiss before letting his fingers dip down, finally giving you what you so desperately craved. His touch was slow, deliberate, but his eyes never left yours, wanting to see every reaction as his fingers entered you.

You had anticipated the gentle, lingering touches from the last time, but Spencer had other plans. The tenderness was gone in an instant, replaced by an urgent, almost primal need to make you fall apart in his hands. The pace he set was relentless—his fingers moved in and out of you hard and fast, pushing deeper each time, and the sensation of his palm rubbing against you with every thrust was electrifying.

“Spencer—oh god!” you cried out, gripping the sheets beneath you in a white-knuckled grasp. He wasn’t just touching you—he was consuming you, each movement of his hand pulling you closer and closer to the edge, a chaotic frenzy that left you breathless. Every stroke sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, leaving you trembling beneath him.

His lips crashed against yours in a hungry kiss, all tongue and teeth, as he groaned into your mouth. “I love watching you like this,” he whispered against your lips before sucking on your lower one, his voice a low, heady drawl. “Falling apart on my fingers...”

The overwhelming sensation of Spencer’s fingers moving within you, the roughness of his palm pressing against you just right with every thrust, made you see stars. Your back arched off the bed, desperate for more, nails digging into his back, dragging red lines down his skin. You could barely speak, your words spilling out in choked, breathless cries. “Spencer—fuck—”

He leaned down, his mouth right at your ear, his breath hot as he spoke, voice dripping with husky intensity. “Does that feel good, baby?”

You nodded fervently, unable to form coherent words as you surrendered to the relentless pleasure. “Uh huh,” you managed to pant out, a whimper escaping your lips as your hips bucked wildly to meet the rhythm of his hand. 

His grin was wicked as he watched you unravel beneath him, knowing exactly how his touch was driving you to the edge. His fingers never faltered, pushing deeper and faster, and the friction of his palm rubbing against your sensitive skin was enough to make you tremble. “I can feel you tightening up around me,” he murmured, voice low and dripping with lust. “Are you gonna come for me, love?”

You let out a desperate, needy moan, the pressure building to an unbearable peak, and all you could do was nod frantically, your eyes squeezing shut as the coil inside you tightened, ready to snap. “Yes, yes, I’m—I'm so close—”

You felt dizzy with the rush of it all, the world around you spinning as he drove you further toward that cliff of pure, euphoric release. You weren't sure how long you could hold out; your body felt on fire, the pleasure bordering on overwhelming. Each breath was a gasp, each moan louder than the last, and all you could think about was how badly you needed to fall over that edge. “Spence—I’m gonna—I can’t—”

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice rough and laced with raw desire. “Let go, Y/N. Come for me, right now.” His pace quickened even further, and you knew you wouldn’t last a second longer. And you didn’t, completely unraveling at his words, your body arching up into his as waves of pleasure surged through you. Your moans filled the room, raw and unrestrained, and he never stopped, his fingers working you through the intensity of your release.

You trembled beneath him, your legs shaking as the last waves of your orgasm washed over you. Spencer looked at you, eyes filled with pride and wonder, like he’d never seen anything more beautiful than you coming undone because of him.

Slowly, he withdrew his fingers, gently caressing your trembling thighs as you caught your breath. He brought his fingers to his mouth, his eyes locked on yours as he cleaned them off with his tongue, tasting you again. The sight sent a renewed thrill through you, and all you could do was reach up and pull him down for a hungry kiss, needing to feel him against you, to taste yourself on his lips.

“Thought you couldn’t finish like that?” Spencer teased, his voice low and playful, recalling the first time he'd touched you like this.

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head in pure bliss. “I didn’t think I could,” you admitted with a grin. Then, in a teasing tone, you added, “Have you been practicing? Should I be worried?”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, and he quickly looked away, suddenly bashful. “N-nope. I just—uh, did some... research.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to hold back another laugh as you saw the shyness in his eyes. “Research, huh?” you asked, leaning in closer. “What kind of research, Doctor? Did you... watch porn?”

Spencer’s blush deepened, and he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Maybe... a little,” he admitted in a soft mumble. “But only to—to learn, for you,” he added quickly, his eyes meeting yours with genuine sincerity.

You couldn't help but laugh softly, a warm, affectionate sound as you reached out to run your fingers through his hair. “Oh, my sweet genius,” you teased gently, cupping his face and turning him back to look at you. “You did all that research just for me? That’s so... adorable.”

His eyes finally met yours, a mixture of pride and lingering shyness in his expression. “It worked, then?” he asked cautiously, almost as if he needed reassurance.

“Oh, it definitely worked,” you replied, grinning widely before leaning in to kiss him sweetly. “And for the record,” you murmured against his lips, “if you want to keep up the research, I’m all for it.”

Spencer chuckled softly, his earlier nerves melting away as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. “In that case,” he said, a playful gleam in his eye, “I have a few more things I could show you.”

“Oh yeah?” you teased back, raising an eyebrow and grinning. “Whatcha got for me, big boy?”

The nickname made him blush a deep pink, but he just rolled his eyes in that familiar, affectionate way before letting his hands roam down to your hips. With gentle care, he slipped off your bottoms, leaving you bare before him. You stayed silent, feeling a mixture of excitement and anticipation flood through you as Spencer stood and began to remove the rest of his clothes.

The moment his pants came off, you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips, your eyes widening at the sight before you. “Spence?” you breathed out, your voice filled with both surprise and desire.

He grinned sheepishly, clearly trying to play it cool, but you could see the boyish excitement behind his eyes. Then, as if remembering something important, he reached down into his pants pocket and pulled out a small foil packet, holding it up with a charming smile and revealing a condom.

“I thought... I’m ready,” he said, his voice steady but filled with tenderness.

Your smile softened at his words, and you felt your heart swell with warmth and affection. “Yeah?” you replied sweetly, opening your arms to him. “I’m ready too.”

Spencer crawled back onto the bed, moving into your embrace, his body fitting perfectly against yours. His breath was warm against your skin as he leaned in closer, and with so much love in his voice, he whispered, “I want you to be my first.”

Your hand caressed his cheek, your thumb gently brushing against his soft skin. “Hopefully your last too,” you whispered back, sealing your words with a deep, passionate kiss, your bodies melting together under the glow of the soft lamplight.

“Do you need help putting the condom on, baby?” you asked, your voice sweet and full of kindness.

Spencer's cheeks flushed a light pink as he shook his head. “I, uh, I might have practiced,” he admitted sheepishly.

You couldn’t help but giggle, your heart swelling with even more affection. “How is it possible to keep loving you more and more every second?” you asked, the sincerity clear in your voice.

Spencer chuckled, leaning in to kiss you deeply, letting his lips linger against yours for a moment before he pulled back. He focused intently on rolling the condom on, and you found the way he bit his tongue in concentration absolutely endearing. It was a small detail, but it only made you fall deeper for him. 

When he finished, he looked back up at you, his eyes filled with that gentle, earnest love you’d come to know so well. “How do you want me?” you asked softly, wanting to make this perfect for him, for both of you.

Spencer’s gaze softened even more, and his hand came up to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “Just like this,” he murmured, his voice low and full of warmth. “I want to see you, all of you.”

You gave him a reassuring smile, opening your legs and wrapping them around his waist, pulling him closer. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you, your bodies close and your hearts even closer.

As Spencer’s tip teased through your slick folds, you couldn't help but let out a high, keening sound, the sensation electrifying. Spencer’s own response was a low groan, the vibration of his voice adding to the intensity between you. 

His brow furrowed slightly as he tried to keep control, feeling how ready you were for him. “I’m... probably not going to last long,” he admitted, his voice laced with nervousness and excitement.

You reached up to cup his cheek, pulling his gaze to yours, offering the softest smile. “I don’t care, Spence,” you said, your voice steady and full of love. “I just want to be with you.”

Spencer’s eyes softened even more, and he nodded, more to himself than to you, as if to reassure his own nerves. Slowly, carefully, he lined himself up, and with a gentle, deep breath, he began to push in. 

The feeling was overwhelming for both of you — he was entranced by the heat and tightness enveloping him, and you were spellbound by the fullness of having him inside you for the first time. You both let out soft gasps, your hands finding his as you squeezed tightly, tethering each other through the rush of emotion and sensation. 

He paused for a moment, buried to the hilt, his forehead resting against yours as you both breathed together, as one. “You feel… unbelievable,” he whispered, his voice full of wonder, as if he couldn't believe this was really happening.

“Fuck, baby, I’ve never been this full,” you moaned, your voice thick with pleasure and awe at the way he stretched and filled you so perfectly. 

“Shit, Y/N,” Spencer groaned, his hips already making shallow, instinctual thrusts as he tried to hold himself back. “You can’t say that—” he panted, feeling your words shoot straight through him. “This will be over way too fast.” He looked down at you, the flush of his cheeks meeting the pink of his lips, and the way his face was contorted in bliss made you tighten around him. You couldn’t help it. The way he was falling apart so easily was the hottest thing you'd ever seen. 

“Fuck!” he shouted, his control slipping as he pounded a fist into the pillow beside your head, burying his face against your neck for a moment. “Can I—can I move?” His breath was ragged and desperate. “I need to move. Please.”

You nodded frantically, needing him just as much, your hands sliding down his back to grip his hips, urging him to let go. “Fuck me, Spence,” you whispered right against his ear, your voice soft yet commanding. And that was all the permission he needed. 

He started moving, pulling out just enough to feel the drag of your walls before thrusting back in, his rhythm quick and needy. He was lost in the feeling of you, and each movement sent waves of pleasure through both of you, driving him closer to the edge with every stroke.

Spencer’s hips moved steadily, finding a rhythm that left both of you breathless. He surprised himself, really, the way his body instinctively knew how to take care of you, how to give you everything he could in each thrust. The intensity between you built, hot and fast, with every roll of his hips, with every gasp and moan that filled the small, cozy room.

You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, anchoring him to you like you never wanted to let go. Your arms wrapped around his neck, bringing his forehead against yours as the pleasure built between you, the closeness of your bodies only deepening the connection you felt. “I love you,” you whispered right into his ear, your voice trembling as you said the words that were so true and so filled with emotion it made your eyes sting with happy tears.

Spencer’s eyes fluttered shut at your words, his breath hitching before he responded, “I love you too, darling.” And then he kissed you—deeply, passionately, like you were his entire world and nothing else mattered. His lips moved with urgency, soft and fervent, as his pace quickened, thrusting deeper and more desperate, as if he was pouring everything he felt into you, wanting you to feel every bit of his love with each motion. The world outside seemed to fade away, and it was just the two of you, wrapped in love and warmth and the sweetest kind of bliss.

Spencer's mind was racing, but finally, his instincts kicked in, sending him a signal—an idea of exactly what you needed. He wanted to make sure that you felt everything, that he was giving you all the pleasure he could. With a slight adjustment, he pulled back just enough to slide a hand down to where the two of you met, his fingers deftly finding your clit and rubbing in quick, steady circles.

“Oh!” you cried out, your whole body jolting with the sudden burst of pleasure. Your back arched high off the bed, presenting your chest to Spencer like a gift he was eager to receive. Without a moment’s hesitation, his mouth found your breast, wrapping his lips around your nipple and sucking, the combination of sensations sending sparks down to your very core.

The feeling was overwhelming—Spencer’s hips driving into you in a rhythm that felt just right, his fingers working you to the brink, and his mouth hot and wet on your sensitive skin. Your moans filled the room, your fingers burying themselves in his hair, pulling him closer as your entire body trembled, the edge of release so close you could almost taste it.

“Oh my god—oh, god!” you screamed, your voice breaking as the pleasure built to its peak. “Fuck, I’m gonna come!” And then it hit—your core clenched around Spencer with such intensity that he nearly lost his rhythm, almost slipping out of you as your body reached its climax. 

And if Spencer thought you felt amazing before, now? Now, with your release, everything felt heightened, your walls fluttering around him, tightening and then loosening in waves that left him gasping. The slickness of your arousal made every thrust so much easier, so much more electric, that it sent shockwaves through his entire body. It wasn’t long before the overwhelming sensation tipped him over the edge, and his pace grew erratic, desperate, until he reached his own peak.

“Oh, fuck,” he panted, his voice strained with pleasure as he thrust one last time, burying himself as deeply as he could. “Shit, baby, fuck, I—I’m coming,” he stuttered, his eyes squeezing shut as he let go, every muscle in his body tensing before his release washed over him in shuddering waves.

His head fell to the crook of your neck as he finished, holding you close, both of you breathless and trembling in the aftershocks, your bodies slick with sweat and blissed out from the intensity of it all. Spencer stayed there, still buried inside of you, both of you just holding each other in the soft glow of the room, relishing the warmth, the closeness, the love.

The rest of the weekend passed in a blissful haze, wrapped in kisses, long cuddles, and moments of intimacy that made you feel closer than ever. Spencer shared his own stories, some quirky, some heartfelt, while you let him into corners of your past that had remained sealed for years.

One evening, as you were snuggled into his chest, the comforting scent of him surrounding you, you whispered something that had been tugging at the edges of your mind all weekend. “Aunt Erin started the nickname Red…” you murmured, your voice soft against the rise and fall of Spencer’s breathing. He said nothing but tightened his arms around you, letting you know he was listening. 

“But Mom and Dad called me Red too,” you continued, voice cracking slightly at the memories. “For Mom, it was a term of endearment, something she shared with her sister. It felt special... warm.” You paused, taking in a deep breath. “But for Dad… it was manipulative. He used it like some sort of charm, thinking if he called me by a special name, I’d forget everything—the pain, the anger—and welcome him back with open arms.” You swallowed, feeling the lump in your throat. “And then my sister... she started using it too. Only when she needed something—money, a place to crash. For a long time, it was tainted for me, a reminder of everything I wanted to forget.”

Spencer’s thumb stroked soothingly over your arm as you spoke, his quiet presence grounding you. “But you… you revived it for me,” you said finally, looking up into his warm, understanding eyes. “When you call me Red, it feels like it means something good again.” 

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as he whispered, “I’ll always make sure it means something good. I promise.” 

You let out a shaky breath, a mix of relief and contentment washing over you. In that little lakeside haven, all that existed was the two of you and the love you shared—everything else just melted away.

—

The trip was exactly what both of you needed. A chance to unwind, to just be together without the pressures of everyday life. When you returned the next day, Spencer was quick to ask if you could drop Poof off at your place and then come back to his apartment. He claimed it was just in case he got called away for a case in the middle of the night and needed to be near his things. But you knew better—it was really because he loved the way his sheets smelled like you when you were gone.

You didn’t argue, though. After all, the feeling was mutual, and you cherished any excuse to be wrapped up in Spencer’s space. So you made the trip back home, feeding Poof, and then promptly returned to his place to settle in for a relaxed night. The morning came too quickly, and he left for work with a gentle kiss pressed to your forehead and a spare key taped to the fridge with a note: “For whenever you need it. –S.”

Later, after you finally pulled yourself from the cozy bed and began to get ready for your day, you found yourself wandering around Spencer’s apartment, making coffee and searching for your favorite sweatshirt of his—the one that was ridiculously oversized, the one you loved to wrap yourself up in. Usually, it was draped over the back of the couch or hanging near the door, but today it was nowhere to be seen.

Thinking it might have just ended up back in his closet, you made your way there, rummaging through his neatly hung clothes. And there it was, folded on a shelf like it had been waiting for you. You reached for the familiar fabric, feeling the comforting softness in your hands, but as you moved it, something else caught your eye—a small box tucked away behind the stack of sweaters.

Your stomach twisted into knots when you read the label: Dilaudid

No. No, no, no. You felt your blood run cold, and for a moment, you were on autopilot. Hands trembling, you reached for the box and placed it on the bed, the world around you narrowing to just that single object. When you opened the lid, a flurry of papers greeted you—hospital discharge summaries, case files, rehab forms, and NA slips—all bearing Spencer’s name. Each one a piece of a puzzle you didn’t know existed, each one revealing a part of Spencer you had never seen before.

Your breathing grew shallow as you flipped through them, the weight of their contents heavy in your hands, in your heart. You knew what all of this meant; you'd lived through the nightmare of addiction with your own family. And then, as if that wasn’t enough to send your world spiraling, you found it—an unopened needle and a vial of Dilaudid. Enough to kill someone, enough to hurt, enough to drag someone back into the darkness you'd spent your whole life trying to escape.

Your world felt like it had tilted on its axis, everything you knew and trusted suddenly thrown into question. One thing you knew for certain—you couldn’t spend another second in Spencer’s apartment. You needed space to think, and every second you stayed in the apartment, surrounded by the echoes of this newfound reality, the more suffocating it felt. 

Quickly, you collected your things—your bag, your phone, absolutely not the sweatshirt that now felt so wrong to hold—and with a trembling hand, you grabbed the key Spencer had left on the fridge. As you locked the door behind you, a cold finality settled in, but then you just stood there, staring at the little gold key in your hand, paralyzed by indecision.

Do I leave it? Take it? Do I even want to come back here? Could there possibly be a good reason for why Spencer had kept this from me, for why he had hidden this massive part of himself? Your thoughts spiraled, but you couldn’t find a single strand to cling to.

Finally, shaking your head, you made your decision. You slid the key under the door, hearing the tiny scrape of metal on wood as it disappeared into the apartment you had thought was your safe place. And then you ran, down the stairs, through the lobby, to your car. You didn’t let yourself feel anything until you were back in your own home, the door shutting behind you like the closing of a chapter you didn’t know if you could reopen.

Sliding down to the floor, you hugged your knees to your chest and sobbed. All the memories came rushing back—the nights of worry, the fear of losing someone to the relentless pull of addiction, the feeling of not knowing what each day would bring. Even if Spencer wasn’t using now, even if this was something from his past, it didn’t stop the memories of your family from crashing over you like a tidal wave, dragging you under.

Poof, sensing your distress, padded over to you and rubbed his warm body against you, a small comfort in the chaos. He curled up in your lap, purring as you wrapped an arm around him, trying to steady your ragged breathing.

After what felt like hours, when the tears had finally slowed to silent streams, you wanted to call Aunt Erin, to demand answers, to understand. But the thought of telling her how you found out—of potentially risking Spencer’s job and livelihood—made you hesitate. And so you stayed there, on the floor of your apartment, crying softly as Poof purred in your lap, the comforting vibration of his presence the only thing grounding you in that moment.

—

Spencer had been looking forward to this moment all day—the idea of coming home to you, imagining what it would be like to share a space, to fall into that soft domesticity he craved so much. He fumbled with his keys, finally getting the door open, and stepped inside. “Y/N?” he called out, his voice echoing slightly in the empty apartment. No response. Maybe you were napping? “Darling?” he tried again, a little louder this time, hoping to hear your sweet voice drift in from another room.

The silence felt heavy, like something was wrong, but Spencer tried not to jump to conclusions. He wandered to the bedroom to change, figuring he could call you and ask if you were just out running an errand. But when he walked in, he immediately saw it—the box. It sat wide open on the bed, papers scattered as if someone had frantically sifted through it. 

All the air seemed to leave the room in that moment. Spencer’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat heavy and frantic, echoing in his ears as if the walls themselves were closing in. He rushed to the bed, hands shaking as he tried to close the box, to somehow undo what had been done. But it was too late. You had found it. You knew.

Fumbling for his phone, he tried calling you, hand slick with sweat as he pressed your contact and held it to his ear. The line rang, and rang, and rang until your voicemail picked up. “Hey, it’s Y/N, leave a message and—” Beep. 

He tried again, then again, desperation mounting with each missed call. “Y/N, please call me back. Just—just call me back, okay?” Each voice message grew more frantic, more pleading as he left you one after another, interspersed with shaky, jumbled texts trying to explain, trying to beg for a chance to talk.

Eventually, when it was clear you weren’t going to answer, Spencer felt his heart sink to depths he hadn’t known existed. You had shut him out. He was drowning in his own panic, guilt clawing at his insides like a living thing, and he felt like he had nowhere to go—no way to reach you, no way to make this right.

Swallowing thickly, and feeling like his pride was an irrelevant casualty in the wake of losing you, he called the only person who might know how to get through to you. “Agent Reid?” Strauss's voice was clipped, professional, and instantly cold. 

He tried to speak, but his voice cracked on the first word. “Strauss, it’s—it's Y/N, she found... everything. It was an accident. Please, just—can you check on her? I don't know where she is, I—” His voice broke, desperation clawing through the line.

Strauss let out a long, slow sigh. “You’re a moron,” she said simply, and then the line went dead. No reassurance. No promise to help. And that silence was the worst of all.

That night, Spencer barely moved from his spot on the bed. He sat, still fully dressed in his work clothes, the fabric wrinkling under the weight of his exhaustion as he curled around his phone, holding onto it like a lifeline. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot from the tears that he couldn’t stop, the grief for what he feared he’d lost seeping into every pore. 

The box still sat on the bed, its presence an accusation. A reminder of everything he had hidden, everything he might now lose. And in that moment, it felt like the walls of his apartment were closing in, trapping him in the silence of his own regret.

The morning light brought no solace to Spencer as he dragged himself out of bed, the weight of the previous day hanging over him like a storm cloud. His eyes were gritty and raw from the lack of sleep, his mouth dry as he went through the motions of getting ready for work, each step automatic. Splash water on the face. Brush teeth. Dress. His phone sat on the counter, silent—no new messages from you. Just the one from Strauss.

My office, first thing.

The words filled him with dread, and as he walked into the office, each step felt like he was dragging lead weights tied to his feet. When he reached Strauss’s office, she was already seated behind her desk, her expression a vicious, unreadable mask. He took the chair across from her, his back stiff as he prepared for the worst. 

“I spoke with Y/N,” Strauss said, her voice clipped, cutting like ice. Even just hearing your name was a punch to the gut. He winced, bracing himself. He had to know—whatever the truth was, he had to hear it. “And?” he managed to ask, the word barely a whisper, as if speaking louder would make it all too real.

Strauss’s gaze was sharp, unforgiving. “I’m not speaking as your unit chief when I say this—you fucked up, Spencer.”

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Spencer’s worst fear was crashing down around him. He could already feel the numbness setting in, dulling the pain, shutting down every emotion except the guilt that gnawed at his insides like acid. “She doesn’t want to see you,” Strauss continued, and though the words were steady and cold, each one landed like a bullet. 

He nodded, his throat too tight to speak. There was nothing else to say, nothing to do but stand and leave, holding on to the last shred of composure he had left. Every step out of Strauss’s office was heavier than the last, each stride echoing in his ears as he made his way to his desk. He threw himself into his work with ferocity, desperate for a distraction, any distraction, to fill the void.

Meanwhile, miles away, you sat staring blankly at your laptop screen, trying to focus on the lines of code that blurred in front of you. But your mind was tangled in a mess of thoughts and questions, none of which had answers. What was he going to do with that dose? Is he still using? Was he going to use it all at once? Was he going to use it on me, like Dad did to Mom?

You hated how the questions came unbidden, every fear of your past dragging itself to the surface like an unrelenting tide. You couldn’t help but remember the night you found your parents—your father, using drugs to take your mother away. The thought that Spencer could be carrying anything like that darkness, even the slightest potential for harm, made your heart twist in agony. You loved him, but did you really know him? Could you trust him, after this? 

Every answer felt just out of reach, and all you could do was sit there, heart heavy and confused, trying to make sense of it all while feeling like the ground had dropped out from under your feet.

—

Three months had passed, a stretch of time that had felt both impossibly long and painfully short to Spencer. Three months since you’d walked out of his apartment, since the wall he’d carefully built around his heart had crumbled, since he’d been able to see you, touch you, speak with you. The only thing that got him through each day was work, the relentless cases that pulled him into the minds of others and away from his own chaos. But even then, in the rare moments of quiet, you still lingered in his thoughts.

Today, however, even work couldn’t serve as a distraction. Derek leaned on the edge of his desk, the grin on his face faltering when Spencer didn't meet his eyes. “Look, man,” Derek said, his tone soft, with that note of understanding that made Spencer want to crawl out of his own skin. “I know you’ve been bummed after your breakup with Y/N, but the team is going out tonight. You should come, it might cheer you up.”

Derek’s words, although well-intentioned, felt like a punch in the gut. He knew Derek meant well, and that the rest of the team did too, but they didn’t know the real reason things ended. Spencer couldn't tell them; it wasn’t just his story to share. He couldn’t explain the heartbreak that came from the discovery, the misunderstanding, the silence. All he could do was shake his head, eyes downcast as he muttered, “I’m good, man. Thanks though.”

Derek sighed deeply, clearly not ready to give up. “I didn’t want to have to do this,” he said, cracking his knuckles in a display of mock intimidation. “But if you don’t come out tonight, I’ll tell Penelope that you’re the one who spilled coffee on her favorite keyboard.”

Spencer’s head whipped around so fast he almost cricked his neck, his eyes wide with horror. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would, kid,” Derek nodded seriously, his expression deadpan but the mischief unmistakable in his eyes.

Spencer could see there was no way out. Derek had cornered him, and he knew Penelope’s wrath was something to be avoided at all costs. “Fine,” he conceded, huffing out a breath. “But only for a bit.”

Derek’s victorious fist pump made him chuckle despite himself. “Yes! You won’t regret it, Reid. We’ll have a blast, just wait.”

And so, later that evening, Spencer found himself tucked into a booth at the team's favorite bar, nursing a drink that burned his throat but warmed his insides. The atmosphere was light, almost buoyant—stories were exchanged, laughter flowed as freely as the drinks, and for once, he found himself genuinely enjoying the company without the constant ache that had settled in his chest since you left.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Spencer was starting to feel something close to relaxed. The chatter around the table and the warmth of his friends seemed to ease some of the tension in his body, if only for a little while. He could breathe, even laugh at times, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like maybe—just maybe—things could be okay again.

As the team sat around their booth, the energy high and the laughter loud, Spencer was oblivious to what was about to unfold. It wasn't until Derek's loud whistle pierced the air, catching everyone's attention, that he noticed something had shifted. 

“Damn, who is that fine lady?” Derek smirked, his eyes fixed on a woman who was strutting across the bar in a purple dress that left little to the imagination. 

“God, that dress is basically lingerie,” Emily leaned in to whisper, sounding a mix of admiration and awe. “I want it.”

The team shared quick glances, some amused, some appreciative of the daring outfit that hugged the woman's body perfectly. Even Spencer's eyes lingered, caught by the vibrant shade of purple—his favorite color. She looked like she had stepped out of a dream, a vision of elegance and seduction that was hard to look away from. But her face was hidden beneath waves of hair, and the dim bar lighting made it difficult to make out her features.

After a few moments of admiring glances, the conversation returned to its usual flow—until a table of rowdy men called out loudly, catcalling and beckoning the woman over. As she walked closer, the team finally got a good look at her face, and all their eyes widened in shock. 

It was you.

Spencer’s heart dropped to his stomach, but he didn’t even have a chance to process what was happening before Derek nudged him sharply. He pointed in your direction, where you were now leaning over the table of men, the dress dangerously low-cut, and your cleavage all too exposed. For a moment, the sight of you, dressed so provocatively and surrounded by a group of ogling strangers, felt like a punch to his chest.

Without thinking, and fueled by the anger and confusion that came crashing over him like a wave, Spencer stood abruptly. He didn’t care about the table’s booing or the way the men protested as he stormed over. All he could think about was getting you away from them. He grabbed your arm and yanked you back, his grip firm, his eyes blazing. 

"Come with me," he demanded, his voice low and tight with emotions he didn’t know how to name.

You laughed as Spencer dragged you outside the bar, letting the breeze hit your face, the night air cool against your flushed cheeks. But as the realization of who was gripping your arm sunk in, the smile fell away. 

“Spencer! What the hell! Let me go!” you snapped, pulling your arm away and shaking him off with all the force you could muster.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he spat, his voice filled with anger and... something else you couldn’t quite place—hurt, maybe?

You only laughed bitterly in response, the sound sharp and humorless. “Oh, you mean besides getting dragged around by a liar? What are you doing?” You met his gaze defiantly, your words dripping with contempt.

Spencer’s eyes narrowed as he searched your face, noticing for the first time the redness in your eyes, the slight glaze that wasn't quite right. “Are you... Are you high?” His tone was almost disbelieving, as if he couldn't fathom what he was seeing.

You nodded exaggeratedly, barely stifling another giggle. “As a kite.”

His anger flared again, and he practically yelled, “Are you kidding me? You hate drugs! You hate everything to do with them, and now you’re... using?”

“It’s just weed, Spencer!” you shot back, your voice loud and edged with frustration. “Sorry if I needed to relax! I’ve had a lot on my mind, okay?” 

Spencer paused for a moment, clearly wrestling with how to respond, his eyes flickering between you and the ground. He opened his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it, your words spilling out with no filter, no restraint.

“What were you going to do with that dose, huh?” you challenged, your voice shaking. “Were you going to kill me, just like my daddy?”

The words hung in the air like a slap, and Spencer’s face paled, the color draining away as if you’d punched him. “Y/N, no. God, no—I... I don’t know...” He sighed, running a shaky hand through his hair as he struggled to find the right words. “I guess... I kept it around in case.”

“In case what?” you pressed, eyes narrowing, your anger boiling over. 

“In case I... wanted to...” He shook his head in frustration, unable to even finish the thought. “I don’t know! It’s stupid, but I just—”

“Fuck, Spencer,” you said, disgust heavy in your voice. “How could you?”

“I haven’t touched it in years!” he protested desperately, his voice cracking with the weight of his plea. “I’m clean, Y/N. I wanted to tell you, I really did, but you wouldn’t let me explain! I’m not like your dad—I’m not.”

The comparison made something inside you snap, and before you knew what you were doing, you were leaning in close, your eyes boring into his as you hissed, “Once a junkie, always a junkie.” 

Spencer stood there, stunned, your words slicing through him like shards of glass. The hostility radiating off you was something he had never witnessed before, and it hurt—hurt in a way that made it hard to breathe, to think, to respond.

“You don’t mean that,” he said, voice shaking. He wanted to believe you didn’t mean it. That this was just the high talking, the anger, the frustration. “Y/N, please. You know I’m not like—”

But you cut him off with a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “No, Spencer, you are. You kept that shit around like some kind of lifeline, like a fucking safety net. How am I supposed to trust you? How am I supposed to believe anything you say when you’re hiding something like that?”

He could see the pain and betrayal in your eyes, and it tore him apart. Spencer felt the weight of your words settle in his chest, heavy like a stone. He reached out to touch your arm, trying to ground you both, but you yanked away, the motion sharp and final.

"Y/N, please, I know it looks bad. I know it seems like I’m keeping something from you, but I swear to you I’ve been clean for years. I swear that it was never about you, it was just—" Spencer’s voice cracked, struggling to find the right words. “It was a part of my past I was ashamed of. I didn't know how to tell you without losing you.”

Your eyes flashed with a mixture of hurt and anger. “And now you have.” Your voice was low, trembling with barely contained rage. “You know, I wanted to be there for you. I wanted to help you through whatever you were struggling with. But you didn’t let me, Spencer. You made a choice to keep me in the dark. And now I’m supposed to what? Trust that you’ll never fall back into that?”

Spencer’s eyes were wet, brimming with desperation. “I would never do that to you. I swear, I would never—”

“I don’t know if I can believe you,” you said, your voice cracking, betraying the emotions you were trying so hard to hold back. “I don't know if I can do this anymore. I can't keep looking at you and wondering when you're going to relapse or if you're hiding something else from me.”

He shook his head frantically, panic setting in as he reached for your hands. “Please don’t do this. Please, Y/N. I love you. I know I messed up, but let me make it right. Just—”

“You can’t fix this, Spencer. I don't think you can," you whispered, and you pulled away, turning from him. Your body felt heavy, like it was weighed down by all the anger and sorrow. And for a moment, all you could do was stand there, willing yourself not to break down in front of him.

The silence stretched on, suffocating. Finally, you took a deep breath and forced yourself to walk away, leaving Spencer standing alone in the cold night air, his heart shattered, his world upended.

He called after you, but his voice sounded far away, like it was drowned out by the noise in your head, the whirlwind of emotions that wouldn’t let up.

You stopped in your tracks, feeling the urge to get the last word in, knowing the wound it would leave. Slowly, you turned around, and your voice was ice-cold as you spoke. “Oh, and Spencer?”

He looked up, a glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes, desperate and raw. 

“For the record,” you said, the words burning on your tongue, “if you had just been honest about your past... I would've understood. I wouldn’t have judged you. No matter what happened, no matter how bad it was—I would've accepted you. I would've even helped you get rid of the box.” 

You watched as the hope drained from his face, the realization settling in. Then, without another word, you turned your back on him and left for good, leaving Spencer to stare after you, alone and devastated.

Your words cut through the air like a knife, leaving Spencer staring after you, the hope in his eyes collapsing into devastation. He felt like the ground beneath him had opened up and swallowed him whole, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t move, couldn’t reach out, couldn’t make this right. 

As you walked away, the finality of your steps echoed louder than anything he’d ever heard before. Spencer’s heart felt like it had been ripped out of his chest, and he couldn’t help but replay your words over and over: If you had just told me...

And just like that, the what-ifs became deafening. What if he’d been honest with you from the start? What if he’d trusted you with his pain, his struggle, his history? What if he hadn’t let fear dictate his actions? 

Spencer ran a trembling hand through his hair, his chest heaving with silent sobs as you disappeared from view, the night swallowing you whole. And with each step you took, he knew it was one step further from ever getting back what he’d lost. 

You had been willing to stay, to support him, to love him even at his lowest—if only he had given you the chance. 

But he didn’t. And now, the person he loved more than anything in the world was gone. All he could do was stand there, his hands trembling, his heart breaking, whispering into the empty night.

“I’m sorry... I'm so sorry, Red.” 

But it was too late.

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[shitsndgiggs]

Jobe requests you say? I will gladly spawn in here, soooo, maybe something with like Jobe and reader just kinda being under the radar and only like Denise (I think that's his mom's name, feel free to correct) knows and she accidentally blurts it put to jude and their dad and it's like complete meltdown and then it's like complete exsidiential (think that's how you spell it?) crisis for them and like WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE HAS A GIRLFRIEND HE'S A LITERAL CHILD, and Jobe's just like, 'hEheHehehE have fun with your existence crisis'

(I am so sorry for living in your requests, but I need to speak my mind😭)

GIRLFRIEND?! - JOBE BELLINGHAM

Jobe has a girlfriend?!

Jobe Bellingham x fem! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

It’s a warm evening, and I’m having dinner at Jobe’s family home. Denise, his mom, has invited me over for a casual meal, and everything seems to be going perfectly.

The dining table is filled with delicious food, and the conversation is light and enjoyable. Jobe and I exchange glances, our hands brushing under the table as we share little smiles.

Denise, in the middle of a story, glances over at us with a loving smile. “You two are such a cute couple. I’m so glad you’re coming to the family picnic next weekend!”

Instantly, the room goes silent. Jobe’s fork is frozen halfway to his mouth, and Jude and his dad look at each other, their eyes widening in confusion.

Jude’s fork drops with a clatter. “Wait, what did you just say? Did you say ‘couple’?”

Denise’s face turns beet red as she realizes her mistake. “Oh no, I didn’t mean to—”

Jude stands up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Couple? What do you mean, couple? When did this happen? Are you telling us Jobe has a girlfriend?”

Jobe’s dad looks like he’s seen a ghost. “Hold on, Jobe has a girlfriend? Since when? He’s still in high school!”

Jobe, clearly reveling in the chaos, tries to suppress a grin. “Yep, surprise! We’ve been together for a while now. I guess mom accidentally spilled the beans.”

Jude’s face is a mix of horror and disbelief. “But Jobe’s a literal child! How could you keep something this big a secret?”

His dad is pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. “How did we not see this coming? We missed the signs! How did he even manage to hide this?”

Jude, looking at me with wide eyes, asks, “How long have you two been... together? Did we just completely miss this?”

I try to contain my laughter. “We’ve been together for a while. We kept it private because we wanted to be sure of ourselves before making it public.”

Denise, looking frazzled, tries to reassure everyone. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to cause a crisis. I just got carried away.”

Jobe’s dad finally stops pacing and looks at Jobe with a mixture of incredulity and acceptance. “Well, this is definitely... unexpected. But if you’re happy, I suppose we’re happy too.”

Jude, still in shock, sits back down and shakes his head. “I need a moment to process. My little brother is in a serious relationship. I don’t think I’m ready for this kind of adulthood.”

Jobe, now clearly enjoying the spectacle, looks at me with a mischievous grin. “Welcome to the family chaos. I’m glad you’re here to see it all unfold.”

As the evening progresses, Jude and his dad continue to make comical comments about how they’ve missed the “biggest development of their lives.” Jobe and I can’t help but laugh at their exaggerated reactions.

Jude eventually starts to get more comfortable, jokingly asking if he should now start preparing for a “new sibling” or if he needs to give Jobe the “big brother talk” about relationships.

His dad finally settles down, shaking his head and trying to embrace the situation with good humor.

[thedensworld]

Another Revelation | C.Sc

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x reader

Genre: office romance, fluff, angst

Summary: Just like other conglomerates in drama, Seungcheol's mother wants you to break the relationship.

Read Revelation first for reference🙏🏻

You found yourself seated in front of Mrs. Choi, the wife of your boss’s boss—and, more importantly, your boyfriend’s mother. It had been a month since Seungcheol’s official debut into his family’s conglomerate world, a world you barely understood. The event had been billed simply as a "welcome ceremony" for Seungcheol, now the newly appointed director of the label. Despite a few misunderstandings and some tense moments of consolidation, Seungcheol had insisted on bringing you to meet his family, introducing you as his "very special person."

Your heart swelled with love for him, a love so deep that you couldn't imagine loving him more. The way he had gone out of his way to make sure you felt comfortable with his family made you want to kiss him right then and there, in front of everyone—his grandparents, his parents, who all seemed surprisingly open and warm during that memorable dinner.

But you hadn’t expected this. After Seungcheol left for a business trip abroad, you were left to navigate this unfamiliar world on your own. As you made your way to the car, a member of the secretary staff approached you with a message: Mrs. Choi, Seungcheol’s mother, was around and wished to meet with you.

"Break up with him," she said, her voice cold and decisive.

You looked up, meeting her gaze, trying to process the shock of what was happening. Silence hung in the air for a few seconds before she repeated, more firmly, "Break up with him."

You glanced down at the cup of coffee in your hand, took a slow, deliberate sip, and then placed the cup back on the table. Clearing your throat, you finally spoke, "I didn't see this coming."

"My son still has much to learn," she replied, her tone unwavering. "A relationship should be the last thing on his mind right now."

You stayed silent, resisting the urge to mention how you’d been by Seungcheol’s side, supporting him through almost every step of his career.

"And I don’t like you."

Your head snapped up. "I'm sorry?"

She nodded with an air of finality, "I don’t like you. I’ve lived long enough to know the kind of woman who should be by my son’s side, and you’re certainly not that person."

She reached into her bag, pulling out an envelope, which she placed on the table in front of you. "As I said, break up with him."

You scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "I expected more from you." You didn’t bother to keep your voice down.

"What did you say?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

You shook your head, waving your hand dismissively. "I mean, you could’ve done better. You think you can put a price on my love for him with this thin envelope of cash?" you challenged.

Her eyes widened slightly, taken aback. "What are you talking about, young lady?"

You leaned forward, your voice firm. "I’m sorry, Mrs. Choi, but I'm not going to break up with him over this."

Her expression hardened. "So, how much do you want? Name your price—as long as you leave him."

You named your price, watching as she faltered for a moment. Then she nodded sharply. "Deal. But you have to break up with him as soon as possible."

You leaned back, a small smile playing on your lips. "I don’t think it works that way."

"Stop playing games with me!" she snapped.

"Two weeks," you said calmly. "Give me two weeks. It’ll happen on his birthday."

"Deal!" she agreed, her voice clipped.

*

"Hi, love..." you whispered as you pulled Seungcheol into your arms the moment he stepped into your apartment. He chuckled, his eyes sparkling with affection as he took in your appearance—a beautiful dress hidden under an apron adorned with a Strawberry Shortcake image, a clear sign that you’d been busy preparing the dinner you’d promised him for days.

"This is for you," he said, handing you a bouquet of flowers. You smiled at the vibrant blooms, then looked up at him, warmth filling your gaze.

"Thank you, but today is your birthday. I should be the one giving you flowers," you protested gently. He responded by pulling you closer, pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

"Seeing you in this apron is present enough," he teased, playfully tugging at the worn fabric.

"Shut up," you replied with a laugh, before making a quick dash to the oven to check on the ribeye you had prepared to perfection.

"Wow, this is amazing, love," Seungcheol said, his voice full of admiration as he took in the dinner table. You had transformed your cozy dining area into something resembling a high-class restaurant, complete with elegant table settings and a warm, romantic ambiance.

"Let’s eat!" you exclaimed, eager to share the meal you had put so much effort into.

Dinner was intimate, the soft glow of candlelight casting gentle shadows as you both enjoyed the meal. The conversation was light, filled with laughter and easy banter, but as the night wore on, the mood subtly shifted.

You hesitated, placing your fork down as you gathered your thoughts. "Hey," you began, breaking the comfortable silence, "I need to talk to you about something."

He looked up from his plate, his expression curious. "What is it?"

Taking a deep breath, you finally said, "Your mom wants us to separate."

His brow furrowed in confusion. "You're joking."

"I wish I were," you sighed, feeling the weight of the conversation settle between you. "But she was dead serious. I can't tell if she was just testing me or if she actually hates me."

Seungcheol frowned, his mind going back to the family dinner. "She didn’t say anything about you after that dinner. I thought things went well."

"That’s what I thought too," you replied, your voice soft. "But she seemed to think you’re not ready for this... for a relationship, especially since your career is just beginning."

"That’s nonsense," Seungcheol said, frustration creeping into his voice.

"I know," you agreed, "but I’ve been thinking a lot these past two weeks about what she said."

He studied your face, concern etched in his features. "What do you mean?"

You hesitated, feeling a lump form in your throat. "Maybe she’s right," you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Seungcheol sighed deeply, putting down his wine glass. "Let's not talk about this on my birthday."

"I’m sorry, but I have to," you said, feeling the urgency of the moment. "Maybe there’s something wrong between us, something we can’t see, but she can."

"Y/N," he said your name softly, a plea in his voice.

You looked at him, your heart aching, but you had made up your mind. "I’m sorry that I couldn’t discuss this with you earlier, but I’ve already decided."

You stood up from your seat, the room suddenly feeling too small, too suffocating. Reaching for a folder you had placed aside earlier, you held it out to him with trembling hands.

Seungcheol’s eyes darkened with worry as he took the folder from you, his heart sinking as he sensed the shift in the atmosphere. "What’s this?" he asked, his voice tinged with dread.

*

"I'm really disappointed," Seungcheol finally voiced his thoughts, his tone calm but laced with underlying tension. The dinner had ended, but the air in the dining room remained thick with the unspoken words everyone could sense coming. His father, mother, and brother all sat at the table, eyes trained on him as he wiped his mouth with deliberate calmness.

His mother shifted uncomfortably, but Seungcheol didn’t let the silence linger. "I can’t believe my own mother would throw money at my girlfriend like we're in some cheap drama."

His father and brother immediately turned to look at his mother, their expressions a mix of surprise and concern. She sighed, her composure slightly cracking. "Seungcheol..."

"I know you’re worried about me, about my future," Seungcheol interrupted, his voice firm, "but that was crossing the line."

"I know what’s good for you," she insisted, trying to regain her footing in the conversation.

Seungcheol’s gaze hardened. "Tell me, do you really believe I’d have made it this far in the company without her support?"

He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. "She’s been the pillar of my career. How could you decide she’s not right for me when she’s been the one holding me up? She deserves every bit of me as much as I deserve her."

"Seungcheol..." his father intervened, his voice carrying a note of authority as he looked at his wife. "Did you really do that?"

Seungcheol’s mother hesitated before nodding, her chin held high in defiance. "Yes, I gave her a lot of money to break up with our son. And she accepted it! She’s exactly what I expected."

A heavy silence fell over the table, but it was broken when Seungcheol pulled out a folder from beside him and placed it on the table, the contents spilling into view. "And she used that money to buy me this—a two-floor house, twice the value of what you gave her, as a gift."

His brother couldn’t contain his laughter, the absurdity of the situation too much for him. "She did that? Oh my god, this is... this is priceless."

His father, still in shock, gasped, "For real? She has that much money?"

"Yes, father," Seungcheol confirmed, his voice steady and resolute. "So if you're worried about her being after our money, let me assure you—she’s worth far more than that."

Seungcheol’s mother stared at the property certificate, her confidence wavering for the first time. The room fell silent, the weight of Seungcheol’s words and actions settling over them all. His father looked contemplative, while his brother was still grinning, clearly amused by the unexpected turn of events.

Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "If you’re truly concerned about who I’m with, maybe you should have more faith in my judgment. She’s proven her worth ten times over."

His mother looked down, unable to respond, realizing that in trying to protect her son, she had underestimated the woman who had become such an integral part of his life.

"I can tell she's gonna be the best sister-in-law ever." Seungcheol's brother chirped as he read the document.

*

Seungcheol slowly closed the folder, his eyes not leaving yours as he absorbed everything you had just said. His expression was unreadable, and the silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity. You fidgeted, your nerves fraying as you waited for him to say something—anything.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry... I know it was impulsive, and I shouldn't have done that. But my ego... oh my god, I can't even explain it. It was just so dumb."

Seungcheol remained quiet, his gaze intense as he processed your words. Then, without a word, he stood up from his seat and walked over to you. His sudden movement made your heart skip a beat. You weren’t sure what to expect, but the last thing you anticipated was what came next.

Gently, he cupped the nape of your neck and pulled you into a deep, passionate kiss. The intensity of it took you by surprise, but within moments, you melted into his touch, your anxiety and doubt dissolving as his warmth enveloped you. When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, and he whispered, "I love you so much."

You blinked, your heart swelling at his words. But before you could respond, Seungcheol continued, his voice filled with emotion. "You have no idea how much it means to me that you stood up to my mother like that. What you did... it was brave, and it showed me just how much you care about us, about our future."

He took your hands in his, squeezing them gently. "I know it wasn’t easy, and maybe it wasn’t the best way to handle things, but you did it because you love me. And for that, I’m incredibly grateful."

He looked down at the folder, then back at you, his eyes softening. "You didn’t just stand up to her—you turned what could’ve been a disaster into something meaningful. You showed her, and me, that our relationship is worth fighting for. That means everything to me."

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Seungcheol gently wiped it away with his thumb. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for believing in us, even when it seemed impossible. I can’t imagine my life without you, and I don’t want to."

He pulled you into another embrace, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go. "You’re not just my girlfriend—you’re my partner, my equal. And I promise, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure we stay together, no matter what anyone else says."

You buried your face in his chest, the weight of the past weeks lifting off your shoulders as you listened to the steady beat of his heart. "I love you too, Seungcheol," you murmured, your voice muffled against his shirt. "And I’m not going anywhere."

The two of you stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms, knowing that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

*

Seungcheol let out a small giggle as he read the note you left on his lunch box:

Here's lunch for my boyfriend 'cause we need to live frugally.

X, your poor girlfriend

The affectionate humor in your words always managed to lift his spirits, even on the busiest of days. It was bittersweet that you were away on a business trip and couldn't join him for lunch, but the carefully prepared bento you had made before leaving made his heart swell with love.

Since the day you bought him a house—a gesture that had stunned him—you hadn't stopped joking about being his "poor girlfriend." Seungcheol found it hilarious, especially after you confessed that you had spent all your savings on the house. You had dramatically claimed that if he ever broke up with you, you’d be homeless and in desperate need of his support. The memory of you, wide-eyed and mock-serious as you begged him not to leave you because you now needed him to feed you, replayed in his mind often. He loved how your humor perfectly matched his, making every day with you feel light and joyful.

As Seungcheol savored the meal you’d prepared, his secretary walked in, breaking the moment of quiet contentment. "The investment to Kings Food under Ms. Ji's name has been accepted. Here's the document," the secretary said, handing him a file.

Seungcheol nodded, quickly reviewing the document before passing it back. "Great. And the catalog I asked for?"

The secretary promptly opened a tablet and handed it to Seungcheol. "There are plenty of recommendations for engagement rings, but these are their best options, and as requested, they're limited edition."

Seungcheol began scrolling through the tablet, his mind focused now on finding the perfect engagement ring. As he browsed the selections, nothing seemed quite right. Each ring was beautiful, but he wanted something truly unique—something that would symbolize how special you were to him.

After a few moments, he handed the tablet back, shaking his head slightly. "I want something custom. Can they make it?"

"I'll find out and get back to you," the secretary replied efficiently, tucking the tablet under his arm. "You have a meeting in 10 minutes with the Financial and Accounting Department."

Seungcheol nodded, his mind already racing with ideas for the custom ring he would commission. It had to be perfect—something that would capture the essence of your relationship, your shared humor, and the deep love that had grown between you. The thought of proposing to you filled him with anticipation, knowing that it was just another step in the beautiful future you were building together.

As he headed to his meeting, Seungcheol couldn't help but smile, his heart full of excitement. You might jokingly call yourself his "poor girlfriend," but to him, you were the most precious person in the world. And soon, with the perfect ring in hand, he would ask you to be his forever.

[lucimaaie]

dream girl ✧.* spiderwoman au

pairings - ellie williams x fem!reader

summary - the universe is determined to put you and ellie together, nevermind her fear.

warning - i wrote this in sept and was kind of watching good trouble at the time so that's why r has like backstory, random ass side characters, and stuff, I dunno what I was on when I wrote this so just run with it y'all, i made this long for no reason (shh 3k is a lot to me), it also occurred to me that im not good at slow burn so this aint that even if it is an attempt

also credit to @sister-lucifer for the dividers

You'd been missing from class a few times after Ellie saved you. She thought about visiting your house, but that was too creepy. Creepier than drawing you. Checking in with your dad was an option up until she realized they’d only recently formed a truce. Finally, she landed on a coffee.

The plan still had flaws: Ellie hated coffee herself and yet she knew your exact order from overhearing it. It was super-hearing’s fault not hers. She’d do it anyway, and add a cute drawing of you. It was normal, right?

Ellie bounced her knee as she watched you walk into class and slip into the front desk. Jesse sat next to her. Did she forget to erase her initials? She was supposed to do that.

“Talk to dream girl yet?”

“Shut it.” She opened her notebook. “And she’s not my dream girl.” She had dreamed of you once and Jesse wouldn’t let her forget about it.

“You don’t gotta lie to me.”

She didn’t have to look at him to imagine the grin on his face. “One day, when you least expect it. I swear.” She shook her head as she went back to watching you.

Ellie was like a deer in headlights when you looked back at her, holding up the coffee cup with a smile. “Thank you.” You mouthed.

She gave a nod, hoping her smile came off nonchalant. “Fuck.” She mumbled as you looked away. She did not erase her initials.

Ellie felt like a coward for not sticking around after class. Especially when it was in an attempt to avoid you. Dick move, but cut her some slack. She expected anonymity.

All this to say she wasn’t expecting a coffee cup on her desk the next day. Someone was about to be very disappointed, she thought as she sat down. She shrugged off Jesse's remark about her having a secret admirer. “Boo.” She whispered-yelled at him.

She cringed right before the liquid hit her tongue. She hissed at the burning sensation before preparing herself to take a second sip. It wasn’t coffee, it was some kind of tea. Sweet too. She sat back to look at the wrapper around the cup, which she could’ve done first thing and avoid the possibility of being roofied by a serial killer, but least she was now.

‘I didn’t know what you like but I know you never drink coffee. thank you for last week!’ There it was: Message and initials in that pretty handwriting she’d seen when she reluctantly asked to borrow notes. Ellie’s eyes flicked up to you, surprised to see you looking right back. She raised her brows, not knowing what to do as you smiled at her. Maybe smile back you idiot! She let a natural a smile as she could grace her face as she mouthed a thanks.

The absence of your eyes allowed her to revel in what just happened. That was until she could feel Jesse glaring at her. “Don’t even.” She mumbled into her hands. “But you saw that too?”

“It’s almost like I've been telling you she might, probably does, like you back.”

“She doesn’t. She’s just being nice.” Ellie took another sip. Her eyes lingered on the note as she pulled out her notebook. It wasn’t lost on her how obsessed she looked if you were to flip through her notes. Lucky for her, you never asked. “I'm not gonna read into it. At all.” Safer that way.

“Won’t have to if you make something happen for real this time.”

“Let’s talk about your love life for once.”

“Alive and well, thank you very much.”

“What? That’s all I get?” Ellie scoffed. “You stick your nose into mine all the time!”

“We’re not talking about me.” Jesse sat back in his chair with his arms crossed. She huffed, flipping to a new page as her eyes traveled from him to you. You were as oblivious to your effect on her as always.

Ellie had dozed off. She was nudged into consciousness by Jesse. As much as she wanted to grumble and go right back into dreamland, she could see how much she missed just by the sheer number of words on the board. Tiny, tiny words.

The words coming out of the professor's mouth were pure gibberish as her sleepy senses zeroed in on you. "Ow!" Another nudge from Jesse, telling her to pay attention to anything other than you for once.

It took all of three seconds for her to hear the two words she dreaded: Group project. What normal person would be excited to do a presentation over economics? The better question was what normal professor thought she wanted to do that, but she leaned forward as she listened for the pairs.

She froze as she heard her name and yours in the same sentence. As a pair, doing the project together.. Ellie swung her bag over her shoulder as she pretended to search for where you sat. She was careful not to bump into anything as she settled into the newly vacant spot next to you.

"Hi," You said in that kind voice she'd always managed to pick out above all other noise any time she heard it.

"Hey," Ellie dropped her backpack. "Ellie, back row." She inwardly cringed at the words left her mouth. She didn't need to introduce herself; You'd known her enough about her to get her a drink, which made her hope that meant you were looking at her as long as she'd been looking at you. Or not, in the event that she did something humiliating she didn’t remember.

"I know your name." you smiled. "Did you like it?” She glanced down at your hand pointing to the cup in her hand. "I didn't know what you like and not everyone likes coffee so.."

"Oh, yeah. I..don't usually drink tea, but you surprised me." She tapped her fingers against the cup as you rested your head in your hand, eyes attentive though she was saying nothing important. "How are you feeling? After the..thing a few days ago."

"You know about that? I’m okay, it was just a few bruises and soreness."

"Uh, I listen to a podcast. Better than the news, less boring. I'm..I'm glad you're okay." She tucked her hair behind her ear as she glanced at the blank space of the table.

"So, after we pick a topic, I was thinking we could head to the library and keep working after class." Her eyes drifted back to you, taking in the way you shifted into a certain level of focus she lacked at the moment. That was something she always admired about you. "Unless, you have work or something more important."

"Oh, no! I'm free, not busy at all." Stop talking.

"Great!" You said with a friendly smile. "Wanna go?"

"Yeah, we can go."

Once you got to the library it had finally set in to Ellie that she had to behave with some degree of normalcy. It’d be embarrassing if she made it any more obvious how much a crush she had  you. 

“Oh, I forgot to ask you about your number.” You picked up your phone and went to the contacts, pressing new contact. “Just in case you or I can’t make it, stuff like that.” Ellie’s hand was gentle in taking your phone and typing in her number, afraid the sweat on her hands would blur the text on the screen. 

“I should be able to make it.” She said, needing something to do besides nod at your every word like an idiot.  

“Great.” You flashed her another friendly smile. 

Time had gone by relatively slow. Few words were exchanged as you worked on a shared template, putting in information neither of you cared for. Eventually, your computers were pushed aside in boredom.  

“I can’t read any more about supply and demand or my brain’s gonna implode.” Ellie rubbed her eyes. She was starting to wish she enjoyed coffee so she could reap the benefits.  

“Thank god, I’m not the only one.” You shut your computer abruptly with force. Ellie did the same with care not to destroy the thing. “I hate this class and the professor. He doesn’t teach, like, at all and then expects twenty slide presentations.” You rambled, dropping the sweetness she had come to know you for. Ellie couldn’t help but chuckle. “Sorry, it’s..the caffeine or something.” 

“I’ll bet. Your go-to has a million pumps of caramel syrup in it coupled with an extra shot, just so you can still taste the coffee.” Tiredness had wore down Ellie’s usual anxiety. She hadn’t even noticed she teased you until your face morphed into shock at being called out. 

“I didn’t know you noticed that, but then again you were so nice to save me six dollars.”  

“Outrageous price, by the way.” 

“That tea you liked so much this morning was the same price so,” 

“Welp,” Ellie threw her hands up. You both shared a laugh.  

“Let’s get out of here.” You said suddenly, crossing your arms just to lean forward. “I can’t stand the quiet anymore or this pointless project.” Ellie knew what you meant but that didn’t stop her mind from going to different places.

Stop it, you idiot!  “Agreed”  

Ellie had managed to pull her weight despite inwardly panicking around you. It didn’t help when you looked at her the way you did.

The workload was getting lighter and left more time for you to get off topic and talk about anything that came to your minds. Ellie couldn't pinpoint the moment she'd transition from not believing you were talking to her to not wanting to stop. Probably somewhere around the you exchanged numbers for the sake of project neither of you were worried much about.

She was satisfied, or rather she'd tried to convince herself she was, with just texting back and forth as friends. She decided she'd shove her feelings deep down, eliminating the worry of ruining your newfound friendship or putting you in danger. Ellie was okay as the friend, as long as she was close to you.

Ellie leaned against the rough brick wall of your apartment building a she waited for you come out. The soft material on the inside of her jacket gave her enough of a distraction until she heard the screech of the door. “Hey,” A smiled immediately appeared on her face as she took in how you drowned in your adorably festive sweater.

“Okay, before you come in, I wanna let you know my friends are weird. They don’t know boundaries but I promise they're really nice—“

“You were serious about the communal living thing?”

“Ellie!”

“I’m just asking!”

“C’mon, you.” Ellie’s heart jumped as you shamelessly laced your fingers with hers, dragged her along into the rustic building. Her wandering eyes were something like a kid in toy store, instead of an overly decorated lobby. The decorations were gaudy but homey, nonetheless.

She became self-conscious that her hands were becoming clammy as you continued to hold her hand, squeezing it every once in a while. “Just remember, they’re trying their best to be normal.”

“And..what’s not normal?”

“Jan bringing in random rescues, V keeping us up because she’s ‘running her lines’, Jade never leaving her room except to tell us our rent is due, and Winn never not having a friend over, but he's having a midlife crisis so." You shrugged. "Pretty normal stuff.”

“And you all share a bathroom..and stuff?”

“It’s the best I could get.” You said sheepishly as the elevator opened. She could immediately see what you were talking about the moment you started to struggle with the stubborn elevator gate. Her hand was soft in grabbing your wrist. "I got it."

“You clearly haven’t seen my shitbox I call an apartment. This is fine.” She remarked as she opened the rusted gates without much effort. Her eyes landed on even more Christmas decorations.

“If you’ll let me work my magic, it won’t be a shitbox.” You looped your arm around hers.

“You will never look at me the same. I'm serious. It's a disaster. A dumpster fire, really." It became easier to put down the worth of her apartment as she saw how filled out your building was just from the hallway. Even the scattered belongings had a way of telling anyone who came in that everyone who lived there was proud to. She couldn't lie, the closer you got to the dining room, that too you shared of course, she was sweating bullets. That's what it felt like at least.

"I can handle a dumpster fire."

Ellie's head turned back to you, eyes softening at the sincerely at your words. You were not making this any easier on her. She could wait out a crush. If she hadn't known you these past few weeks, she would've forced herself to get over it, but that hadn't been the case. "Hey, before we go in, i wanna thank you for all..this. You didn't have to invite me."

"I wanted to." You said simply.

"Why?"

"I don't know. No one should have to spend the holidays alone. Definitely not you, especially you." You poked her shoulder.

"What's so special about me?" She mumbled. That was not supposed to come out.

"That a serious question?" It didn't make sense in her mind, your interest in her. Shad no time to formulate a response when a short blonde girl came in with a bowl in her hand and muffled words coming out of her mouth. "Guess that's our cue." You smiled, tugging on her hand.

"Why the hell are you eating straight cranberry sauce?" Your words were fuzzy to Ellie as you took the bowl from the girl's hand. She was too in her mind to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

She was hugged by a few people, all of which had nothing in common but living in the same building. Sat down by an older man she could only assume was Winn and fed until she felt her stomach could pop. Given a lecture on method acting from jade.

There was a point where she ran into being questioned by a few of them. The quippy, confident version of her was nowhere to be seen then and replaced with a stammering, blanking mess. Fortunately, you covered for her.

Ellie stared at the city with a full belly, leaning back on the less than stable lawn chairs on the side of the rooftop pool. The heated debates behind her served as background noise to the glimmering light and commotion New York provided. She took a sip of her beer. Her head turned towards you in the doorframe.

"Overwhelmed yet?"

"I wouldn't say that." She said with feigned coyness, sitting up to see you better.

"I wouldn't be mad. Or blame you."

" They do have a weird sense of...hospitality?"

"Hospitality is a word." You smiled, amused as you looked up at nowhere at all.

"At least that's the word I landed on." She shrugged.

"Well, you obviously haven't even used the bathrooms yet." You looked down at her with that smile she loved seeing. You took a seat on the chair next to her.

"Why do you think I’ve been sipping everything?" Ellie’s eyes never left you as you laughed in unison. She could've swore your smile melted into something shy. You never seemed shy at all. Or you were damn good at hiding it.

"Hey." Ellie hummed in response. "I’ve got something for you."

Her brows raised as you brought out a little blue box from behind you. The ribbon was crooked but tied by you, she could tell. "You didn't have to-"

"I wanted to. I promise I don't do anything I don't want to. Now, take it. Please? For me." You held up the tiny box like a offering in your hands. Her eyes moved from your face to the small box.

"Alright, fine. You don't have to beg." She inspected the cute little ribbon before carefully undoing it.

"Damn near,"

"Oh shut it." She glared up at you as she took the top off the box. As she looked down, the attitude slipped off her face. It was a camera as tiny as the box decorated with little savage starlight stickers.

“It’s not much, but I know you’re artsy and I figured maybe photography would be a nice hobby.” You scooted to the edge of your chair. “Also, it might be nice to have pictures of our first date.”

Her head snapped up to look at you, biting your lip in anticipation. “You’re asking me on a date?”

“Only if you want to.”

“I do want to.”

“You do?”

“I’ve wanted to for a while. i didn’t think you noticed.” Ellie flipped the camera in her hands, running her fingers along the mini stickers of the superhero. She wanted so badly to be on that date right now, taking pictures of everything so the memory would always be fresh in her mind.

“How long’s a while?” Your voice was quiet against the howling of the cold air, but in a way it felt intimate how close and quiet you were. There was gleam in your eyes from the fairy lights surrounding the patio area.

“If I answer that, will you still wanna go on a date with me?" Her eyes were almost pleading as she looked back up at you.

"I asked." You leaned even closer, allowing Ellie’s eyes roamed your face under the dim light. When she realized she was caught staring, she averted her eyes as she pressed her lips into a barely contained smile.

The moment was once again interrupted by jade. The girl stood with an empty pot, asking you where it would go. Your shoulders slumped a degree before you went into the kitchen with the young girl. "You could've asked Winn, hun.”

Ellie took that as her cue to get going. She took a sip of the now warm beer and grabbed her gloves. Her eyes were glued to you as always as she made her way to the elevator.

Knowing you wouldn't let her leave without a goodbye, she leaned against the gate for no more than a minute. As expected, you came around the corner with a smile and a few plates in your hand. Her eyebrows furrowed as her eyes landed on the stack of foiled plates. "You’re making me feel bad, y'know that?" She leaned her head on yours as you wrapped your arms around her.

"You can make it up to me on..saturday."

"Saturday?"

"That’s the day."

Ellie’s eyes widened, realizing you were serious. Some part of her thought you’d forget all about it a few days later and she’d look like the desperate one bringing it up. leave it to you to prove her assumptions wrong. "Got it." She was still dazed as you leaned up to kiss her cheek and close the gate for her. Her biting her lip couldn’t stop her from cheesing as the events of the night finally set in. She was doomed.

thank you for reading!

[antiquarianfics]

The Best Things Take Time

Bucky has a code. You manage to crack it.

A/N: This took me so long because I wasn't really sure how I wanted to go about it. I'm pretty happy with it, I think. Also, my first request! I hope I did your brain-child justice. :) Warnings: Mild language. Based on this request. Note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.

You do not have permission to repost or translate my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and/or reblog.

----

Bucky Barnes decided early on in his life as a free man that he wasn’t going to try and date—even with Sam and Yori pushing him all the time. His triggers are gone, yes, but he is starkly aware that he still has a long way to go before he might be considered ready to give time and energy to another person on a daily basis. However, if there is anyone in the world that makes him reconsider his own rule, it’s you.

The two of you first formally met when Steve, Sam, and yourself finally tracked him down. You were kind to him, but you kept your distance. He never made many attempts to speak with you, but the short interactions he did have with you were short and clinical. He never asked, but he’s pretty sure you’re afraid of him—of what he’s done.

Despite this assumption, Bucky takes note of the way you drop everything to help him time and time again. You back him in Washington, you back him in Siberia, you back him in Wakanda, and you back him in Washington in the second go-round. He is appreciative—very much so—but he keeps his distance regardless. After all, he shouldn’t risk losing an ally by something as silly as small talk.

Things begin to change, though, when he runs into you at the airport. Both him and you felt the need to get on Sam’s back about giving up the shield.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, a little indignantly. You cringe a little at your tone, but you brush it off nonetheless.

Bucky shoots you an annoyed look before turning to Sam.

Throughout the mission to track down the Flag Smashers, you and Bucky bicker (even more than Sam and Bucky do). You challenge him on every opinion he shares, poke fun at every misstep he takes, and side with Sam for the sake of disagreeing with him. He returns the favor, and he ignores the bitter taste it leaves in his mouth.

Your interactions are not particularly pleasant, sure, but they’re existent—which is progress.

—

“Does he always stare like that?” Walker asks Sam, eyeing Bucky uncomfortably.

“You get used to it,” Sam replies.

You glare at Walker. His attitude towards you and your boys bothers you. His entitlement to Steve’s shield and name bothers you. He bothers you.

“Does she always stare like that?” Walker asks, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Only when douchebags harass my friends,” you deadpan.

You are plenty aware this is the first time you’ve called Bucky your friend, and you can tell he is too by the way his eyes shift from Walker to you. You’re not aware, though, that your concession of friendship serves as the push he needs to talk to you more.

—

It takes time, but over the next few weeks, Bucky manages to get you to open up. He’s surprised with himself by how he’s willing to talk to you; after all, people are usually trying to get him to talk.

Bucky finds out that you’re actually not as reserved as he thought, but you had heard both Steve’s stories of before and multiple people’s accounts of after. Your distance, you admit, was a consequence of you trying to give him space when everyone else was crowding him. Your teasing and bickering with him was a consequence of trying to create said space. The revelation makes Bucky’s heart clench: no one has made him feel so cared for in a long time.

Bucky sticks by his no dating rule, though. After all, you may be friends, and you may be acting nicer to him lately, but there’s no way you like him like that.

Or, at least he thinks so until Louisiana.

—

“Hey, Sarah,” Bucky says, flashing a charming smile at her from where he sits next to Sam and yourself on the dock.

“Hey!” You smack his chest with the back of your hand. “No flirting with Sam’s sister.”

He lets his attention shift to you, and he can’t help the surprise. He’s aware that you could just be enforcing Sam’s demand from earlier, but you’re so adamant. He thinks maybe he sees a flash of jealousy in your eyes, but he thinks, too, he might just be seeing what he wants to see.

Sam and Sarah continue to bicker before she shoos the three of you away from the boat. Sam and Bucky step onto the dock and begin to walk away before you, and they keep walking even when Sarah stops you.

“Subtle,” she says, smirking at you. You wave her off, your face heating up with a blush.

“Shut up,” you say, embarrassment entwined with each syllable.

Bucky thinks maybe—just maybe—you might like him back.

—

Looking back on the last few years, Bucky can hardly believe the journey you and he had been on. Being so distant most of your time together in the first few years, and then being so rude to each other the next few, and then needing a push from the Wilsons to actually do anything about your feelings… it was interesting, to say the least.

He remembers the day you agreed to leave Louisiana with him. It was an impulsive decision, but it led to the first time the two of you had truly been alone together. It led to inside jokes and deep conversations. It led to a genuine friendship.

“I’m headed out tomorrow,” Bucky informed you and Sam.

The three of you were sitting on the porch of Sarah’s house, conversation flowing from friendly jests, to Karli, to the boat, to whatever else. Your head shot up to stare at him, eyes widening.

“What? Why?” Your tone was a little panicked. Bucky raised his eyebrows at your tone. Sam laughed, and you shot him a glare.

“I don’t want to overstay my welcome, Doll,” he said. Ever since the incident with Sarah, he’d let a few pet names for you fall from his lips, and he smugly noted the way they made you squirm.

“Oh.”

“Well!” Sam exclaimed, clapping his palms on his knees as he stood. “I’m gonna go check on Sarah and the boys while you,” he pointed at the two of you in turn, “figure whatever is going on here out.”

You protested, but Sam was gone without another word. Neither one of you spoke for a moment, and you chewed on your lip.

“You’re really going?” You asked shyly.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“You can come with me, if you want,” he offered before he can think better of himself.

Your eyes shot to his, analyzing his face for any sort of jest. He seemed sincere, and once you decided he wasn’t pulling your leg, you responded.

“Okay.”

He remembers the day the two of you finally addressed that you were more than friends. Bucky, of course, has a no dating rule, and you? You had no such thing, but you weren’t dating either. In fact, you hadn’t since before Karli and the Flag Smashers showed up.

Bucky and yourself were at a bar, drinking and laughing with one another. He was sober, of course, but you were a little tipsy. You had a dopey smile on your face that he thought was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. He still thinks your smile is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

That’s when a young woman sauntered up to the bar. She was gorgeous; her long, black braids reached her waist, her lips were painted a bright red color, and she wore a halter top that left little to the imagination.

“Hi,” she said, grabbing your attention, shooting you a flirtatious smile.

“Hi!” You said, the alcohol making you friendlier than you usually are.

“I saw you across the bar, and I was jus’ wonderin’, would you wanna grab a drink with me? Maybe dance a lil’?” Her eyes dragged down your body and back up to your eyes.

Your eyes widened and you blushed.

“Oh, uh! T-thank you! I’m flattered, but, uh, I got my guy right here, and I kinda like him too much to date!” You sort of yell-whispered the confession to the girl.

She glanced behind you to Bucky whose eyes had also widened in shock, his mouth hanging open a little. The woman laughed and touched your shoulder comfortingly.

“‘s alright,” she assured. “Was worth a shot, though.”

She turned to Bucky then.

“Yo, congrats, man. You’re a lucky guy once you two talk that through.”

With that, she had left, and you turned around to Bucky.

“Look,” you said, more sober sounding than you’d been since the two of you arrived at the bar. “I don’t know what you think this is, or what you want it to be, but I’m all in if you are.”

Bucky leaned forward and kissed you without a second thought.

And he remembers the moment he decided he was going to marry you, if you’d have him.

The two of you were sitting on the couch in your shared apartment; after about two years of dating, you insisted you live together.

“Buck, you’re always here. All your stuff is here. I don’t think you’ve stepped foot in your apartment in a month. You’re just wasting money on rent at this point.”

You were leaned into his side, eyes glued to the tv screen. The two of you were watching The Princess Bride (it’s one of the many movies you insisted was so culturally significant that he had to see it). It was the way you would turn to him at your favorite parts, gauging his reactions to see if he loved it like you did; the way you would mouth the most iconic lines along with the characters; and the way you would sigh contentedly and cuddle further into his side at the romantic scenes that really pulled the realization from deep within him. And, perhaps, it was the way you produced the most ridiculous voice to say "Mawwiage! Mawwiage is what bwings us here today!" that truly brought the idea of marrying you to the forefront of his mind. Regardless, he knew he wanted you around for the rest of his already over-extended lifetime.

—

Bucky Barnes decided early on in his life as a free man that he wasn’t going to try and date, and he decided late in his life as a free man that he wasn't going to ever try and date anyone other than you. So, here he finds himself, kneeling on the ground in front of you with a ring extended towards your person, and hoping you'll say yes.

"Sweetheart, I know we've had a lot of ups and downs. We met when I wasn't truly myself, we got together when I was still figuring out who I am on my own—without Steve, without HYDRA—but no matter what, you've been there for me. You're still here for me.

"You deserve the world, Doll, and I want to give it to you. I want to be here for all your ups and downs, and I want to spend my life being to you what you've already been to me.

"You're my partner, you're my best friend, you're the love of my life. And if you'll have me, I'll be your king, if you'll be my queen. I'll be your husband, if you'll be my wife.

"Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?"

You let out a laugh through a sob, pulling your hand to your face to quickly wipe your tears away, and you nod vigorously. You drop to your knees, pulling Bucky's face into your hands, caressing his cheek gently. Smiling, you respond.

"James Bucky Barnes, of course I'll marry you."

[savicals]

New neighbour König x afab reader part 2

*König is your new neighbour that you thought mildly disliked you.

This ones for you @konigsandghostsslvt LMFAO ENJOY !!

PART ONE🫶

You managed a choked out “Thank you,” before he offered to take the both of you home.

You were pleasantly surprised to find out that he drives a Mercedes S-class, but you did expect an executive car. He dropped off your friend first for convenience, since he and you were neighbours.

He got out of the car and opened the door to let her out and even told her goodnight. What a gentleman.

Just as he was about to close the door, you called his name.

“König.”

He crouched down to see you inside the car and looked at you with curiosity.

“Why have you been so kind to us tonight?” You asked, returning his eye contact. “You don’t… You don’t talk to us. You don’t know us. You have no idea the kinds of people we are.”

But oh, how wrong you were. He knew exactly the kinds of people you were. Especially you. He knew what you were capable of, and it was you drawing a knot so tight in his stomach he has to fuck something. Whether it be a hand, a pillow, a sock, he didn’t care. It didn’t matter.

He stayed silent for a few moments. Then, he climbed into the seat next to you and shut the car door, never breaking eye contact.

Your heart started beating what you could only imagine as inhumanly fast when he leaned in closer to your face. You were inches apart and you were convinced he could smell the alcohol on your breath, so you tried to direct it away from him.

“I know your type.” He said, his accent prevalent. “You… are the innocent type who acts like she isn’t. You pretend you know what you are doing when you do not.”

He was so right, but why did he know that?

You didn’t actually have anything to say to that. So you looked at him and let him continue.

“You are a tease. What makes you such a tease is that you do it by accident. You don’t intend the nature of yourself that you put out. It’s like… an expensive treat that you want to get your hands on, but is behind an armoured window.”

Did he just imply he wants to get his hands on you?

“You…What? Sorry, are you telling me you want to put your hands… all over me?” You asked, swallowing the brewing heat that grew in your stomach, along with the nervousness you felt too.

“Would you let me?” He asked, holding eye contact still.

You sat for a second and thought. Obviously, the answer is yes. What idiot would say no to him? You let your head fall down in thought and kept it there, so it didn’t feel like König was analysing your thought pattern. It must have been a few minutes, because he lifted your chin up with his rough hands and forced you to look at him.

“Would you?” He asked, again.

This time you felt no inclination to think about your answer. You were already drunk anyway. Being drunk over König didn’t seem worse.

“Yeah.” You nodded, looking at him with your pretty eyes.

It made his dick throb.

He started by unbuckling your seatbelt and sitting you in a position facing him. He put his hands on your waist and revelled in how tiny you look in his hands.

You looked at him in such a way that drove him crazy. God, how he wanted to ruin you.

He moved your body closer to his and your breath hitched.

You decided to wrap your arms around König’s neck and pulled him forward for a kiss. You kissed him hard, and you kissed him desperately.

He wasn’t expecting it at all, not from you. The huge calloused hands wrapped around your waist clenched into a bruising grip, resulting in you moaning further into the kiss. He picked you up in what little room he had and sat you on his lap in the backseat of the car.

Just about the two of you could fit, and as if you knew what he wanted, you instinctively started grinding your hips down onto König’s lap, earning yourself a low grunt from the man. Finally, you broke the kiss with a gasp and leant back onto the back of the front-seat, still rolling your hips into your chauffeur.

“Mmmh…” you whined, making it known you wanted König even more than you were displaying. It was definitely reciprocated. König bucked his hips up into you as you were grinding into him, both of you still fully clothed, thickening the sexual tension between you two.

“Your place?…Or mine, meine liebe?” He asked, keeping his hands attached to your waist.

“Mm… mine? I don’t care…” you responded, your eyes screwed shut.

You whined in dissatisfaction when König moved you back to your original seat, making sure it was heard and exaggerated.

“I know, schatz.” He cooed, patting you on the leg. “10 minutes…and you’re all mine…”

He stepped out of the backseat and into the front. He turned the ignition on, and sped off back in the direction of home.

[part 3 is already in the making!! Sorry this one is short ily guys]

[aphroditelovesu]

Can you do general headcanons for romantic yandere Clarisse la rue x reader? Thank you <3

❝ 🥀 — lady l: definitely! I hope you like these hcs, anon! Forgive me for any mistakes and good reading ❤️.

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, mention of death, kidnapping and toxic relationships.

❝🥀pairing: yandere!clarisse la rue x gender neutral!reader.

Clarisse has never been the romantic type or cares about that kind of thing. She had other concerns than dating or something like that, she preferred to dedicate her time to other and more productive things. Her time was spent fighting and honing her skills. La Rue kept that thought in mind for a long time, until she laid her eyes on you.

At first glance, you seemed like just another demigod among many others she had already met. However, as you began to interact and she got to know more about you, something changed within her. There was something about you that attracted her and she knew she wanted more.

Gradually, Clarisse began to realize that perhaps there was more to life than simply fighting and honing her skills. You awakened a different curiosity in her, a desire to explore new experiences and feelings. You awakened feelings she had never felt before and she knew she wanted more. She knew she wanted you and she would have you.

When Clarisse finally acknowledged that she was in love, a series of conflicting emotions flooded her. She felt vulnerable and challenged, something completely new for someone so used to maintaining a facade of strength and independence. At the same time, she felt invigorated, as if she was finally discovering a part of herself that had been neglected for so long. And all thanks to you.

This revelation brought with it a feeling of euphoria mixed with fear. Euphoria from the overwhelming feeling that consumed her when she was near you, but fear of the unknown, of what could happen if she allowed herself to completely surrender to this new emotional territory. Clarisse was distraught at the thought of losing control but she wasn't going to let you get away.

As Clarisse's feelings for you intensified, she found herself in unfamiliar and challenging territory. The idea of ​​being in love made her uncomfortable and vulnerable, but at the same time excited and motivated. She never imagined that she could feel something so strong for someone, and it scared her a little at first.

She also saw in you a challenge, a goal, a prize to be won. And she would be the one to win you over. If she had competition, Clarisse would deal with them however she pleased. She would challenge them to a fight and, if they still didn't stay away from you, she would deal with them in a more definitive way. She does not want and will not accept having any type of competition for your love and attention.

And most of all, she was determined to win your heart and not let anyone else come between the two of you. You would be hers one way or another. She wouldn't like to have to force you to love her or do something against your will, but Clarisse isn't against using the strength she possesses against you if necessary.

Clarisse would be practical. After an exhausting workout, she took a shower and asked to talk to you. Fortunately, you already had a good relationship to make things easier.

When you were together, La Rue confessed how she felt about you. She let it all out in an awkward way, but she let it. You were swept away by her words and when you accepted your feelings, Clarisse blushed, she actually blushed. She pulled you into a passionate, possessive kiss and finally sealed her love, her obsession.

The relationship with her is suffocating and very unstable and this became clear very quickly. Clarisse was not clingy, but rather possessive and she will fight and threaten anyone who looks at you for longer than she deems necessary. She is very controlling of you and will demand to know where you are or what you are doing at all times. It became exhausting after a while.

She is a daughter of Ares and therefore is not against using violence to protect her relationship. She had you, someone she loved and cared for with her entire being, and she'll be damned if she let anyone try to take that away from her. You are hers alone and everyone will know that. Clarisse should be the only person in your life that you love and she will make sure of that. Your friends will have to go and your family will have to go. You don't need them while you have her.

You can't leave her. If you tried to break up with her, Gods be good. Clarisse will not allow it and will make absolutely sure that you understand this. Her first warning would be when your little mortal friend was brutally murdered during your summer break and the second would be when you woke up in a dark place and tied up.

You won't leave her, ever. Clarisse will make sure of that. You became hers the moment she started paying attention to you. This is all your fault, she will tell you. If you hadn't attracted her, this would never have happened. But don't worry, she will take great care of you. That's what good girlfriend's do, right?

[bearw-me]

new years kiss hard canons for hazbin? no big deal or anything- (would make my entire year if you did)

sure, no big deal. (this request made my whole year)

𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 — 𝐇𝐚𝐳𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥

𐐒 includes : gender neutral!reader, alastor, charlie morningstar, vaggie, angel dust, sir pentious, husk, cherri bomb 𐐒 cw : fluff, mentions of drinking, kisses 𐐒 summary : to celebrate the new year Charlie + Alastor have thrown together a nice little party for the hotels inhabitants! 𐐒 note : first time hcs for a ton of characters! hope you guys enjoy!

To celebrate the new year, Charlie had come up with a wonderful idea that she had heard about through the angels. A wonderous party filled with spirits and surrounded by the people she treasured most to enjoy some fireworks, hopefully to start off a new year with high hopes!

With Alastor + Vaggie's help, they created a new balcony on the hotel just for the occasion. . . and to watch the fireworks burst and bubble brightly over hell.

➡ Alastor

the kiss would be unexpected on your part completely

after all, the overlord Alastor himself always has to have the upper-hand

what good would a surprise be if you knew he was going to kiss you the moment those fireworks burst and whistled into the sky?

He probably backs you up into a corner out of sight, or if your sitting by the bar he'll have you at the edge of the seat

He smiles wide, reveling in the fact that your squirming

"What's wrong my dear? Feeling uncomfortable?"

Alastor kisses you passionately, but also, as if he's never kissed someone in his life.

You can't even hear the fireworks behind him, just the static in your head and the press of his body against yours

he'd probably bite you too if he found himself enjoying your lips against his

His hand slithering up your back to hold you close, unable to wriggle away or fall back from him.

Immediately after he disappears

after all, he likes to keep you on your toes

➡ Charlie Morningstar

she's very. . . strange all night leading up to midnight

you just accredit it to stress; she's managed this whole thing by herself and wants it to be perfect

Charlie is checking up on you all night, talking fast as a whip and fiddling with her hands as if she's said everything but what she wants to

A half hour before the fireworks happen, you don't actually see her at all

You find the perfect spot on the balcony

Then, like 5 minutes before you're waiting for the fireworks to go off she just- appears- right next to you. Shoulder to shoulder

"Hey! Uh- could we- Could I ask you something?"

"So, So when the angels told me about 'New Years' and what they do to celebrate I kind of stumbled into a new tradition! And I-well I wasjustkindofwondering"

She was rambling again, petting her hair and not looking at you, trying to smile through it.

"Charlie?" You stop her, "Ask me."

And she doesn't really, just kind of takes your hand in hers and stares down at your lips with a mix of anxiety and content.

That's when realization hits you.

Charlie leans in, and its the softest feeling you've ever experienced.

Her kisses feel like the sun against yours, and you can feel her smile into it, already giddy that she's done it!

➡ Vaggie

vaggie is running around with charlie the whole night making sure things go off without a hitch

and in a hotel full of sinners. . . it takes a while

i think vaggie wouldn't kiss someone just for the hell of it

if she wants to kiss you, you mean a whole lot

so new years is a great deadline to give herself to suck up her courage and just do it

she doesn't usually like PDA (its not that she doesn't like it, its just how she is) but if she kissed you on the balcony, it wouldn't matter because everything else would just fall away

she'd have you in her arms, cupping your face and kissing you almost hesitantly, pecking you a few times before she's finally comfortable enough to finally fall into it

➡ Angel Dust

angel always has company with him so it'd be a pretty public thing if you wanted to kiss him (ofc he doesn't mind; just warning you)

would love your company on new years eve, and would keep you close during the cool night

he's drinking with husk for a bit before midnight starts coming around

and by then, he's already very smug, and very flirty with you

hints that you may be his choice of new years kiss (like he tells you and winks)

its a casual thing (i mean, he told you he'd do it when the clock struck midnight)

but when it happens. . . its like he can feel the fireworks in his chest

bonus if you kiss him back right after

its something he wasn't expecting entirely, but it makes him smile like a crushing teenager

tries to brush it off of course

➡ Sir Pentious

he's extremely nervous to ask you

and is all over the place with his ideas and talking to you

he wants to ask for a kiss and builds up the courage all night, coming up to you confidently and burning out the moment he reaches you

he just can't with you looking at him innocently like that

he goes off into a corner to give himself a pep-talk

"You're Sir Pentious! You can do this! You've built gadgets that have toppled crime rings!. . ."

but when it comes to you, all his plans to kiss you just sort of crumble away in his hands

every plan he's had

but he's determined to find one that works out!

You probably hear of his "rant" through the grape-vine and take a stroll over to where he is

you most definitely have to make a first step, no matter how small, just to give him some glimmer of hope to hold onto

He see's you staring at his chest, glancing away when he notices you and he's overwhelmed with his feelings

grabbing you just a few seconds before midnight and kissing you as if its the last time he'll ever do it

➡ Husk

husk is drinking all night

he likes the party over all, just doesn't want to be a part of it and left to his own devices by the bar

wasn't expecting to spend new years eve with you, but he's. . . actually kind of glad you'd sit with him to watch the fireworks

wouldn't tell you that

honestly, midnight goes by for a few seconds, and seeing others kiss he just kind of catches himself scanning the crowd and then glancing over at you

it surprises you both

but its not something he'd fight either

tries to shrug it off and smile when he leans in towards you

his kiss tickles your face, and his lips taste like black licorice from his whiskey

but its not the drinks that have his head buzzing

i really feel like he'd kiss you until there wasn't another breath left in his lungs; silently hoping it wouldn't be the last time he does it

➡ Cherri Bomb

Cherri asking you straight up if you want to make-out with her

she's very picky when it comes to people she likes (or intends to see later in the night) so feel flattered that she's been staring at you

likes to tease you if you get flustered too

"Aw come on! I've seen the way you've been staring at me ya creep!"

"Come on, I won't bite"

Cherri is DEFINITELY the one to kiss you right as the clock strikes midnight

counting down as loudly as she can until its time

she's probably staring at you all night, glancing at your lips and biting hers playfully

a deadly flirt for sure

and she's not afraid to ask you or surprise you either

or just pull you by the chin and smash her lips into yours

her kisses are rough, but in a good way, like its something she's wanted to a while

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️Reveling in Richonne - TOWL

#37: The Good Kind Heart (1.04)

gif cred: @kimwexlersponytail

This scene right here just exudes warmth and I love it so much. 🥰 It was food for the soul seeing Richonne all cuddled up like they've always loved to do. And best of all, it was great to see them finally having a heartwarming conversation about their baby 🥹...

Danai wrote some of the best dialogue since The Walking Dead’s prime. It’s excellent and her pen was especially on fire in the remainder of this bedroom scene, featuring my favorite Richonne content ever. 🔥

Like a lengthy scene with just Rick and Michonne in bed and fantastic dialogue - that is my exact cup of tea and I see exactly why it was said that this episode was for us. And it's for anyone who enjoys quality content too. 😊

So first; the visual of Rick and Michonne holding hands in bed just instantly makes me so happy. 🥰 I love how they feel right at home being back in each other's arms. And it's sweet seeing them be so at peace even despite the fact that this building is on the verge of going down. Again, when they're together the world and crumbling buildings can wait. 👌🏽

And I’ve always said it cuz it’s always been true - in each other's arms is where these two are most meant to be. 😌

Then, it never fails to elate me to hear that the first thing Rick says is, “He looks like me?” 🥲 Now there is the man I know who would absolutely want to talk about his son.😊 And it’s so cute the content way he says it.

gif cred: @riickgrimes

I love that he asks this question specifically too. Because RJ really is his mini-me and it’s like he’s getting this joy in knowing that he definitely contributed to that little boy even if he hasn’t been around to raise him.

Michonne laughs when he asks because she knows RJ is Rick’s little twin. And then Rick makes Michonne laugh again when he teases, “So he’s really good-looking?” 😊

First - I love seeing Richonne back to laughing and being lighthearted. Second; there’s never been a cuter couple ever. They're just perfect together inside and out. Third; it always tickles me that Danai wrote something that acknowledges how attractive Rick/Andy is lol. I mean, the fineness needed to be recognized. 😌

gif cred: @riickgrimes

It is so sweet the way Rick’s face lights up when he makes Michonne laugh and how she’s always just so smitten by him.

Another thing I always love seeing in this moment is just how comfy Michonne seems. Like she just appears so gorgeously glowy and relaxed and like she’s been able to return to herself in a new way after their moment of intimacy. And a lot of that is because her safe space is back. 🥲

gif cred: @perryabbott

And now that he's stopped trying to act like what they have is broken, Rick also just seems so refreshingly relaxed and released from at least a little bit of the pain he'd been carrying.

Michonne answers him saying, “It’s nuts how much he looks like you. Save for the light brown skin it’s hard to tell I had anything to do with it - Oh but he does have my eyes.” This is the Richonne parents' content I signed up for! 🙌🏽

gif cred: @riickgrimes

I adore seeing Rick and Michonne finally get to just talk as RJ’s mom and dad and happily chat about the features they gave their baby. 😭

gif cred: @riickgrimes

And I feel like TWD and TOWL def gave enough indication that Michonne’s eyes are one of Rick’s favorite things so I love that he gets to learn that his son has her eyes. I’m just beaming watching how precious this whole exchange is.🥰

gif cred: @riickgrimes

I love how attentive Rick is as she tells him about their son and how Michonne always has such a radiance about her when speaking about her kids. 

And then Rick, knowing who RJ is made up of, has a strong feeling he knows one of his son’s traits when he asks/says, “And he’s stubborn?” I love the way he asks it like he already knows the answer. 😋

gif cred: @riickgrimes

And Michonne’s face again lights up as she immediately nods and says, “Just like his daddy, yes.” So so so cute. 🥹

I love the melodic way she says it and the way Rick instantly laughs because even tho he knows he was asking based on who RJ’s mom is, he also knows she’s right about him being stubborn.

gif cred: @riickgrimes

You can very visibly see how much Rick likes hearing that his son is just like his daddy.

But then it becomes even cuter when Rick says, “Like his mama” and kisses Michonne's shoulder. Y’all, 🫠.

Inject this whole moment into my veins, please. Their smiles here are everything and hearing them call each other RJ’s daddy and mama. The absolute best. 😭

gif cred: @riickgrimes

Rick’s “like his mama” with the shoulder kiss and Michonne’s smile live rent-free in my head for real. I love it. They’re so tender and warm with each other even when teasing and it’s perfect. Andy and Danai really made every right choice in this entire scene. 🤩

I adore how Rick and Michonne both think the other is stubborn but that they so clearly love that about each other. And it’s true - Richonne is stubborn as all get out which was clear throughout this episode especially. But it works because with each other they’re always willing to eventually meet each other where they’re at.

In season 10, Michonne told Ezekiel that she and him wouldn't have worked out because they’re both too stubborn and I remember back then thinking 'Rick is stubborn too tho'...but Rick and Michonne’s brand of stubbornness actually complements each other well.

(And Rick is stubborn but 99% of the time he's not stubborn with Michonne 😋)

Richonne basically survived that CRM helicopter crash because of their stubbornness - Rick being stubborn about getting Michonne home alive led him to talk to her cash crazy which then led Michonne, who was stubborn about not leaving without him, to yank them both out of the helicopter.

And even tho RJ didn’t have many scenes in TWD I feel like his adorable stubbornness was still hinted at occasionally. Like how Daryl told Michonne that RJ was refusing to eat his vegetables.

And this year I saw a s11 clip where RJ covers for Judith and the little guy will not spill his big sister's whereabouts. It’s cute. 😊 He gets his stubbornness from both his parents.

Also, I like how knowing RJ is stubborn and good-looking is how Rick most knows this is a Richonne baby. Those are two strong qualities Rick and Michonne both possess lol. And I love that Rick already seems like such a proud dad over RJ and proud knowing that his son's mom is Michonne. 🥰

gif cred: @nat111love

After years of wanting to see Rick and Michonne joyfully talk about their kid it was so so special to see that finally play out here.

And then this scene was already giving me everything I wanted with Richonne being all happy, playful, and snuggly while talking about their baby boy, and then it gets just a million times sweeter when Michonne then turns toward him and softly says, “He does have your good kind heart though. That’s what reminds me the most of you.” Absolutely Beautiful. 🥹

Like the visual with Richonne wrapped in each other's arms and their faces so close together, the words, the delivery, the lighting, the moment, all just so beautiful. 👏🏽

gif cred: @riickgrimes

I adore hearing Michonne tell Rick that their son has his heart. And the Richonne tones are back in full force which you know I’m always here for. It’s also so powerful for Michonne to say this cuz there were a few moments in this episode where Rick’s good kind heart was MIA but Michonne never stopped believing in his heart.

She knows that his good kind side is still in there because it can’t help but show itself like in the moments Rick would check on her while they were running through the building.

It’s also so sweet that this means whenever Michonne would see RJ being good and kind, she would see Rick. 😭

And Michonne has an extremely good kind heart too but she loves Rick so much that for her she feels like RJ got that heart from her husband. 🥲

She says it so sincerely too and it’s clear Rick’s good kind heart is something she loves most about him and her son. Me too. 🙋🏽‍♀️

And seeing Michonne smile as she shares this, the love for her boys is so evident. When she says it too it just feels like something she’s been longing to tell Rick for years - That their son has his heart.

I adore that Rick gets to know that while he and Michonne have been apart, she hasn’t been entirely without him because every day she got to wake up to his little mini-me who had his smile, stubbornness, and most of all, and best of all, his good kind heart. She still had a piece of Rick’s heart, flesh, and blood with her. RJ is such a gift. 🥹

It’s also so sweet to then see Rick’s response to his wife’s beautiful words about him and their son. The way Rick looks at Michonne after she says this, you know he heard the ‘I love you’ in her words.

I really get the sense that Rick too is moved by how much Michonne loves and believes in his good kind heart even despite some of his previous treatment this ep. There’s a reason Rick’s dreams constantly reminded him of Michonne’s belief in him because she really does support and believe in him like no other. 

So then another top tier Richonne moment occurs when Rick then raises up and pulls Michonne closer to him as they share this precious look and have their most precious kiss. 😍 Like to say I adore this whole moment is an understatement.

I of course always love Richonne’s hungry make-out sessions but something about those sweet and simple single kisses is just as mesmerizing. 🤩

And this one here - I call it the “Baby, we made a baby” Kiss, because the way Rick and Michonne look at each other and smile and then have this tender kiss, it just feels like a moment of them sharing in the joyous acknowledgment that they really did have that baby they dreamed about.

I love how as Rick pulls her closer before the kiss she like softly hits his chest. Then I really love the way they look at each other after the kiss. It is just sweetness personified to see them both be so taken by each other and present in this moment. 😍

Rick is in full lover-boy mode the way he smiles at her, bites his lip a little, and rubs her stomach. I loved seeing that movement after he didn’t get a chance to be there to rub her stomach during the pregnancy. 🥲 In this moment it just feels like he’s so aware and appreciative that Michonne carried his child.

gif cred: @nat111love

And Michonne’s smile up at him. 🥹 Just so much love communicated. Also, I always love that the bullet casing can be seen in her hair. After all those years of finding these little ways to stay close to Rick, now here he is with her in this bed as close as can be. Won’t He Do It. 🙌🏽

And then y’all, since they’re always in sync they’re both ready for a hot and heavy round two when they go in for that second kiss. 😏

gif cred: @lousolversons

I love how quickly they’re ready to match each other's energy with Rick starting to lift the sheet off her and Michonne putting her hands in his hair before reaching down somewhere and wrapping her legs around him which...

That second kiss is instantly hot and they are both fully ready to go another round…but then a hilarious interruption occurs when that roomba comes riding in with its beeping noises. And Rick’s startled reaction is comedy. 😂

gif cred: @taiturner

Michonne thinks Rick’s reaction to the cleaning device is humorous too as she lifts up and laughs, explaining to her country-boy husband that it’s just a Roomba. Rick looks straight up bewildered as Michonne tells him about Roombas and what they do.

And of course, the modern city girl Michonne had one herself from before. I love even learning little details like this about Michonne’s pre-ZA life. 😊

Like anytime Michonne drops a new detail about her life before, even about cleaning tools she used to own, my extra self is always intrigued and all-ears like...

Michonne says, “That explains why it’s so spotless” as she gives Rick another amused look and lays back down. It’s cute how you can tell she finds his perplexity cute here. 😋

And so while the Roomba distracted them from another round a bit, there still could have been hope of them maybe picking up where they left off…but then this next conversation happens and we’re reminded Richonne still has a whole lot to unpack. 🤕

As for this good kind heart scene tho - Perfection. Loved every second of it and it just portrayed so much of what makes Richonne such a beautiful pairing. 👏🏽 Seeing Rick and Michonne have this lovely moment as RJ’s parents was sublime and I’ll forever adore this heartwarming exchange. 🥹👌🏽

[drenched-in-sunlight]

Can I just say how in love I am with the way you draw Marika? Like every art you post of her has my jaw dropping…you add such a beautiful layer of humanity to her with her dynamic expressions and poses—it’s so refreshing to see especially when so many fan arts of her needlessly sexualize her or dial her down to a one-dimensional stone-faced villain (which a villain she is—but she is still complex)

And I adore how you draw her partial nudity as something natural, meaning that you don’t draw her without a top for the sake of objectifying her,

Your art is overall so pleasant and colourful and fun to look at, and your takes of Marika’s character in your fanart is literally what made me more interested in who she is in-game.

Thank you for drawing her the way you do! (And for drawing Elden Ring fanart in general💕)

i've been letting this ask stewing in my inbox for a while because it makes me so emotional 🥲

if you look at how i drew Marika before anything in the DLC was announced, it did fall into the two categories you were talking about, because despite having a little more positive view on her than the rest of the fandom at the time, i still had no idea who she was as a person. and by that time i were more interested in Malenia, so even though i did try to envision how Marika was, it's a very distant and vague image. which is what i love about Elden Ring lore in general: we see Marika via how her children see her.

it was easy back then to conclude we'd never get her, and "mother" is a distant term that will always be overshadowed by "God", so i just went along with the general haha evil sexy girlboss thing that the fandom was doing. but then the DLC teaser dropped the another elusive (possibly firstborn) child of her, with a statue of her holding a baby in his boss room, she started to get more little quirks that's so human in my work (the small smile, the little lock of hair that curls gently) because for the first time, we see her through the eye of a son that evidently adores her, so she gets a bit more human, because someone views her with emotions that are not fear nor distance.

then the DLC drops, and it's not just through Messmer's eye (or the entirety of his being that carry so much of her love it weighs him down and twist into the most horrible curse in the end), it's through the eyes of her family that were no longer there at all. it's the jar innard enemy that huddled in a jar and clutched at a piece of raw meat, it's the Grandmother's gentle smile as she rest among a sea of flowers, it's the solitary minor erdtree that bathed the whole place in the kindness of gold, it's the Fire Knights and soldiers that clearly viewed her as Mother as much as she was God, it's Miquella throwing away his love and doubt because he didn't know how to deal with the revelation that his mother was once a fallible human just like the rest of them, it's Trina's entreaty that Godhood was just a cage that would kill him slowly, it's the final boss music with the female voice belting "Hail, Marika the Eternal" - in the place where she had to wade through a sea of flesh and blood, her family included, to ascend to Godhood. it's finally understanding that to her, Eternity is to live for all her loved ones that have fallen down.

and somehow, it all comes back to this portrait at the base game, right at the Roundtable Hold, of a woman with permanently lowered eyes.

yeah i know after the DLC i've put on such a Messmer-style protective glasses for her, it shows very clearly in my art. now she could cry, looks sad, small smile, big smile, looks silly, looks cute, looks serious, her hair is pulled up in twenty different ways, she jokes and talks to animals and goes back to be just a simple young girl rolling around in the grass, blah blah... im drawing all these with eyes wide open. and i have no intention of stopping lol.

sometimes, things that already come alive will never go back to be a cardboard cutout anymore. if ppl don't like it, block me or whatever, in my space, i'll do that makes me happy. and im very glad that other ppl could find their own happiness and solace with my work too :) thank you for such a thoughtful and kind messages!

[bosbas]

Chapter 6: in a world of boys he's a gentleman

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 4.2k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, Eloise being the best, Colin finally having brain cell(s), but then very quickly losing aforementioned brain cells

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

May 30, 1816 – One week has passed since the unfortunate revelation of Lord Barlow’s true nature, and Lady Y/N Montclair has yet to make an appearance at a ball. Could it be that the Duke’s betrayal has left her too disillusioned? Perhaps the eligible gentlemen of London have failed to meet her exacting standards. One can't help but wonder if Lady Y/N be present at tonight’s ball, where the ton's most eligible bachelors will undoubtedly be vying for her attention now that she is decidedly searching for a new suitor. Who among them shall be lucky enough to capture her attention? This author does not know, but hopefully, this evening reveals more of Lady Montclair’s intentions.

Colin was grinding his teeth, his right eye twitching slightly as he glared at Eloise, with whom he had been arguing for the better part of the last hour. 

“It’s not like I haven’t tried to be agreeable! She’s just impossible,” he ground out.

Colin was about finished with having to face criticism from his sister when you were the one who had ignored his attempt at a truce.

“It certainly doesn’t help that you rile her up every single time you see her. She’s trying to find a husband, mind you!” Eloise shouted back. 

She had grown quite close to you in the past weeks, and she knew the kind of pressure you were under tonight. It was your first ball after finding out the Duke had sneaked away from the Bridgerton ball with Miss Barrington, and your full focus would be on finding a new suitor. Eloise generally preferred to stay out of your neverending conflict with Colin, but she knew he would never understand what you were going through. The very least she could do was ensure that he acted decently toward you, though it seemed like even that would prove a challenge. 

“Exactly! I was the one who wanted to warn her about Lord Barlow’s betrayal, and now she thinks I’m the one who gave him access to our courtyard,” snapped Colin. 

He couldn’t believe Eloise. How could she not see that you were one of the most infuriating, unpleasant, and insolent people in the ton? Why was she so intent on defending you? Colin was irritated beyond belief, and he wanted nothing more than to never speak with you again after the horse races. You had promptly ignored him after accusing him of orchestrating Lord Barlow and Miss Barrington’s escapade, and he spent the rest of the afternoon angrily stealing glances at you as you chatted pleasantly with his sister. 

And to learn that you still wanted to find a husband? You could become a spinster, for all he cared. And he didn’t. He didn’t care. About you or about Lord Barlow, or frankly, about anything that had transpired since the Bridgerton ball. All he knew was that tonight, he would be forced to watch you bat your eyelashes and giggle softly as you talked to countless men when all he got from you were angry stares and sarcastic laughs. 

“She’s the one who doesn’t want to be on good terms with me,” he added stubbornly, crossing his arms. 

Eloise let out an exasperated groan and rolled her eyes. “Colin! Can you not find it in yourself to set aside your dislike for her and understand that she is an unmarried lady who just lost a titled man she was practically guaranteed to marry? She is in a precarious situation, not to mention feeling heartbroken and betrayed.”

In truth, Colin thought, he didn’t understand. He couldn’t even begin to. He had never faced that kind of pressure before, certainly not about something as trivial as marriage, and suddenly he felt guilty for wanting to spend the entire evening tormenting you so he could avoid watching you amass suitors. 

Sensing that her words had struck a nerve, Eloise took advantage of her brother’s waning resolve. “You are Colin Bridgerton, Mayfair’s sweetheart! I don’t understand why you can’t act that way with her.”

“She doesn’t want that! She doesn’t want me!” Colin yelled, pinching the bridge of his nose as he screwed his eyes shut in frustration. 

But Eloise didn’t let up. “I’ll wager she wants that tonight. You don’t need to kiss the ground she walks on. Just be civil and refrain from any ungentlemanly conduct. It’s her first ball since the Lord Barlow scandal, and she doesn’t need to look bad in front of a crowd of eligible bachelors.”

“I don’t ever do it on purpose!” he defended. 

“You could’ve fooled me,” scoffed Eloise. Then, softening her tone, she added, “Just tonight. Please.”

“Fine,” he relented. 

If it was so important to Eloise, he would do it. He supposed he would want someone to do that to Eloise if she was ever in your same position. But he was already dreading the night. He had never particularly enjoyed balls, and he knew tonight would be especially dreadful. Usually, your arguments provided prime entertainment, and if he wasn’t allowed to fight with you tonight, he would just have to endure the monotony of the ballroom without any respite. 

---

You drew in a sharp breath as you entered the ballroom, looking around at the crowd nervously. Charlotte placed a comforting hand on your shoulder and led you toward the back of the room. Had she chosen to go to the furthest place from the entrance simply to torture you? You were nervous enough as it was; you didn’t need the added anxiety of having everyone’s eyes on you as you walked through the crowd. 

You had opted for an elegant white gown tonight. Well, your mother had suggested it and you had inevitably agreed to wear it. 

“It’s meant to look like a wedding dress!” she had exclaimed earlier. “It shows you’re still in the marriage mart despite everything that’s happened, and you’ll have gentlemen queuing up to dance with you.”

Whatever the reasoning behind the gown, you had to admit that it was beautiful. It accentuated your figure, and you could already feel plenty of keen eyes on you and more than a few furtive whispers. Though you couldn’t make out exactly what people were saying, you were sure you heard your name mentioned several times. However, you smiled gracefully at everyone anyway, wanting to avoid being seen as a complete laughingstock after losing Arthur. The Duke, you corrected yourself. He was no longer Arthur to you.

“Y/N,” you heard Eloise’s excited voice beside you.

You turned to see her smiling face and squeezed Charlotte’s hand to let her know she could go on without you. 

“Hello, El,” you greeted, smiling wide. 

“The balls have been torture without you! I’m so glad you’re finally here,” she gushed, taking your hand and leading you to a less crowded part of the ballroom. 

You relaxed slightly. At least one person here didn’t hate you. But perhaps she was the only one. As you kept speaking with Eloise, you realized that not a single bachelor had come to ask you for a dance. Usually, you had to reject quite a few gentlemen within the first few minutes of being at a ball, but your dance card remained empty tonight. 

Swallowing nervously, you looked around the room and assessed the gravity of your situation. Plenty of people were staring at you, but no one had moved toward you. Were they waiting for someone else to walk up to you? Did they not want to be the first to dance with you? Or did this mean that Lord Barlow’s actions had well and truly ruined you? Feeling the familiar beginnings of tears forming in your eyes, you quickly started to panic. What would your parents say? 

You were trying to focus on Eloise’s words, but all you could hear was your rapid heartbeat, and you were surprised people around you couldn’t hear it, too. Your stomach flipped uncomfortably as you realized that you might have truly fallen out of favor with the ton. The thought made you feel sick. This wasn’t how you wanted the season to go. How you needed it to go. 

Just as you were ready to bolt outside in search of fresh air, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Your stomach clenched, and for a fleeting moment, you hoped it was Colin Bridgerton. As much as you weren’t looking forward to the inevitable antagonism you would face from him, and as much as you knew that he wasn’t interested in anything from you other than an argument, the thought of engaging with someone of the opposite gender provided a fleeting sense of relief. Anything to momentarily divert your thoughts from the Duke's betrayal and the disheartening realization of your diminished standing in society. Although knowing Colin, he would probably bring up the subject just to spite you. 

However, as you turned around, you came face to face with your brother. A tiny rush of disappointment coursed through you, and you crinkled your face in confusion. It was a disconcerting realization, indeed, to find yourself yearning for the company of Colin Bridgerton, the very individual you despised most in the ton.

Leaning down close to you, Louis asked lowly, “Ça va?” (Are you alright?).

“Louis,” you rolled your eyes and nodded, trying to convince him­–and yourself–that you were fine. “Ça va” (I’m alright). 

“Excuse me just a moment,” spoke Eloise as she looked between you and your brother. She squeezed your hand and turned around, leaving you with Louis.

You cringed, internally hearing your parents scolding you for speaking French around her. But Louis, unphased by Eloise’s exit, spoke again. “Non, j’suis serieux. On peut y aller,” he insisted (No, I’m serious. We can leave). 

It was nice of him to check up on you. But it only left you feeling worse, a sobering reminder that your situation was dire enough that your brother was actually being sweet to you.

As much as you would have liked to, you knew you couldn’t leave the ball. It would only make it worse to flee now. Your parents had already allowed you a weeklong break from social events, and they would be most displeased to find out that you were giving up so soon after your re-entry into society.

So, you steeled yourself, forcing yourself to keep your tone light. “Leave the ball? For me or for you?” you asked Louis, poking him teasingly.

He relaxed upon hearing your light tone, letting out a breath as he smiled down at you. Your parents had asked him to be especially careful with you tonight, and he was left with sickening worry. You were his little sister, and as much as you had your differences, he still thought himself in charge, at least partially, of your wellbeing. 

The worst part was that he knew exactly the kind of man Andrew Barlow was, and he was beside himself with guilt that he had even let the man near you. But you seemed to be getting through it, he noted, relieved. 

Colin was rooted to the spot across the ballroom, staring at you as you engaged in easy conversation with your brother. How you could be so disagreeable toward him, and completely pleasant with everyone else was absolutely beyond him. 

But what really caught his attention tonight was your attire. You were wearing a white gown, and he briefly wondered if that was what your wedding dress would have looked like. He couldn’t help it; you looked positively stunning, and he was angry because he knew if he even attempted to talk to you, you would most likely bite his head off. 

Colin jumped as he felt a tap on his shoulder, slightly embarrassed at having been discovered staring at you. He turned around to face his mother and Eloise smiling far too innocently for his liking.

“Colin, go dance with Y/N, please.”

“Can’t Benedict do it?” Colin pleaded. He would do anything not to have to speak with you right this moment. It was far better to look at you from a distance, where he could pretend you didn’t completely despise him. 

“He’s dancing with Penelope Featherington at the moment, so no. Colin, it’s one dance!” Violet responded, exasperated.

“It’s not like she won’t have anyone else asking her,” grumbled Colin unhappily. Though, come to think of it, he hadn’t actually seen anyone ask you for a dance tonight. 

“Colin,” Eloise pleaded. “If they see you dancing with her, they’ll be more inclined to speak with her.”

Remembering his conversation with his sister from earlier, Colin accepted defeat, mumbling a low “just this once.”

He found himself growing increasingly nervous as he made his way over to you, and he clenched his fists to keep his hands from shaking. What had gotten into him? This was merely a dance like any other. He’d done it many times before, and he could do it with you. 

He cleared his throat as he reached your side, drawing you out of your conversation with Louis. 

“Not you, too,” you sighed upon seeing him. “I’ve had enough of a difficult time today without your input.”

Colin was momentarily unable to speak, though he quickly recovered. At this point, he didn’t know why kept being so surprised that you thought so lowly of him. 

He was not like the rest of the cruel members of the ton, he thought defiantly. And he would show you just how unlike them he was. This was the real Colin Bridgerton, not the insecure, combative version of him that seemed to slip out whenever you were near.

“A dance, Lady Montclair. I came to ask for a dance,” he said patiently, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t act like you’ve got a full dance card,” he rolled his eyes. Alright, maybe he couldn’t completely shake his hostile demeanor.

"Mr. Bridgerton, that is-” 

“Please.” 

“Why?” came your indignant response. 

“We can say we’re both doing it for Eloise if that will make you feel better,” he said, eyebrows raised. 

Unsure, you turned to look at Louis beside you, who gave you an unimpressed look and gently nudged you in Colin’s direction. 

“Fine,” you huffed.

He let out a breath and reached for your dance card. “Thank you.”

Suddenly, Colin became hyperaware of his surroundings. Every sensation was heightened, and it was almost too much for him to hold your hand as he led you toward the dance floor. He had never had this much physical contact with you, bar the times you had not-so-accidentally stepped on his foot, and he was struggling to maintain his composure.

Your hand felt so delicate in his, and he was actively resisting the urge to interlock your fingers with his. Where had that come from? Why was it that he could never get a grip when he was around you?

Colin was forced back to the present moment as you reached the dance floor, and he carefully set one hand on your waist and used the other to hold your hand, getting into position before the music started playing. 

His stomach was in about a thousand knots, and he awkwardly shifted his hand placement, unsure about whether he was making too much physical contact with you. With the way you looked tonight, Colin would have been happy to keep his hands on you all night, but he was sure you did not share the sentiment, and the last thing he wanted was to inadvertently make you uncomfortable. If he was going to make you upset, he would much rather have done it on purpose and off the dance floor. But that’s not what Eloise has asked of him, so he settled for gingerly holding your waist, his fingers carefully touching the smooth fabric of your dress.

Much to his chagrin, Colin stumbled slightly as the music started in an attempt to begin dancing with you. This was not at all how the most charming member of the ton was supposed to act, he scolded himself, cringing. Perhaps it was a good thing you had never agreed to dance with him before this, and that he never got the chance to properly pursue you as a suitor. If merely a turn about the dance floor with you had him feeling so out of sorts, he couldn’t even imagine what kissing you must have felt like. 

Except now he was imagining what kissing you would feel like. His gaze suddenly fixated on your lips, and he wondered why he had never noticed how inviting they looked. It would be so easy to simply lean down, ever so slightly, and touch his lips to yours. Perhaps it would cause a scandal, given that you were in the middle of a ball, but he rather thought it would be worth it. Just a few- 

“Keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Bridgerton” your sharp voice cut through his musings. 

Colin blinked, brought back to the present moment in an instant. It appeared that, in his rather improper daydream, his hold on your waist had tightened considerably. Irritation bubbled up inside of him as he softened his grip. It seemed that nothing had changed between the two of you, after all. His attempts at playing nice had been, as per usual, futile.

“I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the concept of dancing, Lady Montclair, but it necessitates at least some level of physical contact,” he snapped, glaring but still unable to look away from your lips. 

Unfortunately, his words were punctuated by another stumble as he fought to stay upright and keep moving to the music, and he had to hold onto you to avoid toppling over. 

“What is the matter with you?” you hissed. “Did you never learn how to dance?” 

Colin looked down at you, grimacing and expecting to find the furious glare on your face he so often received. But your eyes were elsewhere. They were skittishly looking around the room, and your mouth was settling into a deeper and deeper frown. 

He noticed you anxiously chewing on your lip, your hand slightly shaky in his, though you were doing well to hide it. He felt like an idiot. Of course you were uneasy. It was your first dance trying to find a new suitor, and he was making you look like a fool in the middle of the dance floor. Colin felt his own anxiety melt away, replaced by a strange protectiveness he wasn’t sure he was familiar with.

“Just look at me,” he whispered as he twirled you.

You were too anxious to do anything but follow his instructions, and your eyes shifted to him instantly. He looked concerned, and you wondered whether it was concern for you or because he had almost fallen face-first in the middle of the dance floor. Either way, you were grateful you had something to focus on that wasn’t the constant obvious stares you were getting from everyone around you.

But, as Colin twirled you once again, you made eye contact with a man you had danced with on a few occasions. Before you could smile politely, he turned away to whisper something to the person beside him, and your face fell. As you returned to face Colin, you couldn’t help but look over his shoulder to see who would be the next person to prove that you were ruined.

You felt a squeeze at your waist, and your eyes came back to Colin’s.

“They don’t matter. Pretend it’s just me and you,” he said softly, reeling you in effortlessly. “Well, perhaps your sister as well, just in case you attempt to murder me.”

You couldn’t help it, you let out a soft giggle and bit your lip to keep from bursting into laughter. And though you were still surrounded by people surely itching to see you stumble and fall, you felt the rest of the ballroom fading away. As long as you kept looking at Colin, and he kept looking at you, there was nothing that could distract you. 

“I haven’t been in England that long, but I’m fairly certain murder is illegal here,” you quipped, smiling warmly at Colin for what was probably the first time.

“I’m fairly certain it’s illegal in every place I’ve been to, but I’m not so sure that would stop you,” he said back, a positively rakish smile on his face. But you were far too distracted by his mention of his travels to notice.

“You’ve traveled? Eloise hasn’t mentioned much,” you said curiously. 

“I’ve mostly traveled by myself,” he explained, now completely composed, previous stress forgotten, and finding himself enjoying your company. “My family doesn’t have the same penchant for adventure as me, so I usually set off on my own.”

You hummed thoughtfully. This, you hadn’t expected. Now you knew that you and Colin shared a love for travel, and it was a very unpleasant feeling, indeed. You had spent so long trying to distance yourself from him, and it was slightly disconcerting to know that the two of you had something in common. Especially something so embedded in who you were.

“Where was the last place you went to?”

“Greece,” he answered, smiling down at you. “I came back just before the season started. My mother was quite upset with me when she saw my tan.”

You laughed, perfectly picturing Violet’s hand over her chest as she saw her son after spending weeks in the sun. “You’re mad! If I had your kind of freedom, I certainly would not have stayed in England for as long as you have. Why haven’t you left since?”

“I- I’m not sure,” Colin answered. Why had he stayed so long? Usually, he liked to travel during the summer months, but he had stayed put so far and had no upcoming travel plans. “I suppose I am enjoying the season this year.” Was he really, though?

But you had already moved on to your next question. “The language is quite challenging, no? Did you learn at all? How long were you in Greece?”

Colin could have kissed you then and there. His family rarely showed interest in his travels, seldom responding to his letters, and once back in the ton, no one else bothered to inquire about his time abroad. Thus, he found himself pleasantly surprised by your curiosity, even if it was you—of all people—who displayed it.

As your conversation unfolded, Colin realized he was thoroughly enjoying himself. The effortless banter, combined with the tingling sensation that coursed through him whenever your hand grazed his neck, made him feel as though he were soaring high above the ballroom floor.

What if you had said yes that night at the Danbury ball? What if you had accepted his invitation to dance? Would it have felt as remarkable, as natural as this moment? Or was the allure of having you in his arms heightened simply because you had already rejected him?

Colin supposed he might have fallen for you that very night at the Danbury ball, had the circumstances been different. He could have seen himself, in a fit of romantic fervor, asking for your hand in marriage mere days afterward. Perhaps, then, it was lucky that you seemed to have an instant disdain for him. It likely spared him from acting the fool. Though truth be told, he often found himself behaving quite foolishly in your presence regardless.

As the dance ended, Colin found himself yearning to continue speaking with you. He grabbed your hand in his, feeling much more composed this time, and led you away from the dance floor. But he barely had time to turn back around to face you and continue your conversation before a trio of suitors came up and asked you to dance. Before he knew it, you were being swept away once more, this time on the arm of someone else. 

Colin congratulated himself on a job well done as he made his way back to where Eloise stood, deftly declining a gentleman's offer to dance. It was a triumph, he thought, that Colin had gone more than five minutes without arguing with you, and you had even laughed at something he said! It felt far better than whatever hostile rapport the two of you usually had.

“Thank you,” Eloise smiled gratefully at her brother. “Now, was that so difficult?” she added in a teasing tone. 

“I will have you know that yes, it was,” answered Colin stubbornly, but he knew he was lying even before the words came out of his mouth. Gliding across the dance floor with you in his arms had felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Even now, as you twirled gracefully in the arms of another, Colin found himself not seething with jealousy as he might have expected, but rather in a state of awe. There was something enchanting about the sight of you, and he couldn't tear his gaze away.

Then, unexpectedly, your eyes met his over the shoulder of your current dance partner, and you bestowed upon him a heart-stopping smile, silently mouthing a 'thank you'. Colin had to feign a cough to cover up the giggle he had just let out. A giggle? From Colin Bridgerton, certified rake? What on Earth were you doing to him?

—

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[akoyaxs]

Hi! Could I request a fic where the Metkayina are having a festival and perhaps Rotxo, Aonung and Neteyam all had been crushing on our lovely fem!Na'vi!reader and are eager to try and court her so essentially they are all fighting for her attention?

Like reader doesn't notice this at all but the guys all are eager to ask reader to dance, perhaps pour a serving of food for reader to show their intent of courtship, give a gift and such but they don't realize they're all trying to court her until they notice that there's competition?

Perhaps reader is just talking with Tsireya, teasing her about her thing with Lo'ak and is oblivious while Aonung, Rotxo and Neteyam are plotting how to win reader's heart.

Each move they make has them glaring at each other when reader isn't looking and it's just 3 guys trying to win over one girl?

Who do you think would win this fight?

I offer free reign and this could either be sfw or nsfw (both are amazing)

Or.. perhaps alternate endings showing what happens depending on who wins her heart? 👀

Have fun with this, thank you! <3

༊࿐⋆｡˚𖦹

To be fair, you were oblivious at the best of times. It was something Tsireya had always teased you about- like she could be one to talk! And of course, while the two of you would sit giggling in her marui, the next room over, Aonung and Rotxo would be sitting in silence, each pretending to be in their own thoughts and enjoying each others company in silence, but they’d both really be listening for you. For your voice, for the sound of your smile beneath your words, for the tiniest of confessions you felt something for someone.

Nothing ever came, until another contender joined the fight. Rotxo tried to be kind to Neteyam like he was to others, and he buried his worry and jealously just as deep as his feelings for you. And Aonung, oh fiery, jealous Aonung didn’t try to even hide it. That fight on the beach only made his hatred for Neteyam grow deeper, especially the way you had shouted him down after it and then immediately went to apologise on Aonung’s behalf TO NETEYAM.

It was a while until Neteyam and Aonung and Rotxo became friends, and even longer before they finally came clean about what they truly felt. It was then - one night on an abandoned beach, roasting fish by a fire - that they decided on a fair game. May the best man win.

Each was determined, each had their own approach.

Neteyam was helpful, offering to teach you how to shoot a bow, telling you stories about the forest, inviting you to even fly on his ikran with him. (It was a smart tactic given the way you looped yourself all around him until every part of you was against him, yet most of the time your eyes were closed and it was rather clear you were terrified. He decided maybe heights weren’t your thing, and amended his plan).

Rotxo was sweet, bringing you every little thing he could. Little shells and seaglass and stones he found to match your eyes, or your favourite top. Then of course making jewellery with his precious finds, and leaving them in little places for you to find. You didn’t know he was the one doing it, and he was too shy to give it to you at first, but the first time he saw that woven necklace with the pearl on it, he was sure his heart could have burst into flame.

And Aonung, oh ridiculously confident Aonung, wasn’t entirely sure what to do. He had never felt like this - aflame every time he saw you, always occupied by every thought of you, heart thumping wildly everytime your fingertips brushed over him. He found himself seating himself beside you at every party, every dinner, every festival. He would set his leg aside so it would brush yours no matter the distance, revelling in the way you flushed but never moved away. He would keep his eyes on you at every fight, then come straight to you to clean him up and fuss over him, telling him not to fight all the time or next time you wouldn’t help him. (You were lying, the next time he came back, you even gave his neck a little massage when you complained).

It was only at the festival that they decided enough was enough. Your ignorance to their feelings was becoming a little ridiculous now.

So they assumed the positions. Neteyam offering to dance with a charming smile. Rotxo flitting around bringing you drinks and food and everything he could lay a hand on until you placed a hand on his arm with a gentle smile and told him you were fine, why doesn’t he just sit and talk with you for a bit? Of course, Aonung settled himself in his normal position at your side, closer than usual, leaning back on an arm when Neteyam reapproaches, an arm positioning itself just beyond the far side of your waist so he’s half-holding you into him.

And what could you do?

Three of them - one of you?

༊࿐⋆｡˚𖦹

IF YOU CHOSE...IF YOU CHOSE...IF YOU CHOSE...IF YOU CHOSE...

You best imagine that the smile on his face was nothing short of radiant. He would take you straight away from the festivities for a moonlit walk along the beach, halfway through he'd finally take your hand and revel in the ease with which your fingers lace in his. He'd tell you why he likes you, how long he's liked you, just how beautiful you look in the pale moonlight. Shortly after which he'd kiss you, and you'd melt straight into him and never leave his arms again.

He's never been more excited. more nervous. more terrified. Truth be told, he had never really thought this far because he'd never be self-assured enough to think you'd actually choose him over Neteyam or Aonung. But under your gaze and smile and gentle squeeze of his hand, he stammers everything he likes about you and the whole truth about everything and then, nervously...

"Can I kiss you?"

It's sweet, gentle, tentative. He breathes you in, his hand tangling in your hair, revelling in the way you smile against his lips, or the way your hair smells like coconut.

Oh, and he 100% asked Can I be your boyfriend now?

Oh, Aonung would never admit he was surprised. But the feeling of relief when he knows you chose him takes him by surprise. Instantly he's bundling you the fuck away from other people, a wide grin stretched across his face, holding you as close to him as possible until you're safely behind the woven curtain of your marui. Best believe you got some good dick that night, but also the from gentlest, kindest version of Aonung you have ever seen. He keeps his eyes on you the whole time, forehead pressed you yours, lips never leaving your skin, whether it be your lips, forehead, neck, breasts, collar, cheek, jaw, literally wherever they can land.

Also he would confess everything to you while he's inside and close, sort of like a Simon and Daphne moment from bridgerton but ONE HUNDRED times better because you all know that I might like Aonung just a little bit >-<

[lustfulslxt]

hii can u do a smut femxmatt fic where they meet at a party and they like are kinda drunk and matt’s really flirty and touchy and they just end up fucking!! ty!!!

(kinda like ur party revelations one but maybe they’re both influencers or u could even do chris!)

Under The Influence - Chris Sturniolo

warnings : alcohol consumption, smut

a/n : i wrote this for chris bc as you said, i have party revelations for matt, and a friend of mine received a request just like this for matt. xx

—

Tie it up, put a chain on it

Make you tattoo my name on it

“Will you please come?” Sage begs, shaking my hand up and down, on the verge of a temper tantrum.

“You’re literally being ridiculous.” I chuckle, shaking my head. “I don’t see what difference it would make if I were there or not.”

Sage has been asking me to go to this party with her for weeks now. However, my answer has been a constant no. I’m not a fan of parties, much less big influencer parties. Too much drama always stems from them; whether it’s so and so cheated, whoever’s beefing, they did this, they did that. They never fail to have some dumb shit pop off, hence why I’d just rather not go. I don’t need anyone attempting to ruin my reputation and career just for their own benefit, I’m good.

“Because you’re my best friend and I need you. You’re my hype man and wingman all in one. Please! Just this once! I’ll do anything!” She continues to plead.

I sigh, ultimately knowing I’ll cave, “This is the only party you’re going to convince me to go to. You know how I feel about being around a bunch of fake and dramatic fucks.”

She instantly starts jumping up and down, cheering whilst shaking my hands again. “We’re leaving in three hours, so make sure you’re ready. Also, we’re gonna uber so we can get fucked up.”

I just shake my head, not really looking forward to the night ahead of me. But maybe, just maybe, I can get drunk and enjoy myself. Dismissing my thoughts, I turn on some music and head to my bathroom to begin getting ready.

I take a long shower, thoroughly washing and exfoliating myself. I shave and do a hair and face mask, prepping myself for tonight. After getting out, I dry off and apply vanilla scented lotion to every part of my body.

Next, I slip on my undergarments and apply deodorant, then head to my closet to choose an outfit. It doesn’t take me long, before I choose a plain, black mini skirt and tube top with a long sleeve mesh dress paired over it that had gems scattered all over. I stick with a pair of black lace up pumps to go with my outfit. Sitting down at my vanity, I go through my makeup, debating on what kind of look I want. After pondering for a moment, I just choose a dark smokey eye with a basic beat. I line my lips with a medium dark brown and apply clear lip gloss, blending it all together flawlessly. For hair, I just stick with a basic blow out.

“Great! You’re ready!” Sage suddenly cheers from my bedroom door.

I look over and see that she’s fully dressed and ready to go, holding a bottle of vodka in her hand. Upon seeing that, my eyebrows raise.

“Why the face?” She asks, before registering it. “Oh, this! It’s for a little pregame. So, come on.”

I shrug and gather everything I need for tonight, placing it in my purse, then follow her downstairs. She already has two shot glasses set out on our dining room table, ready to be filled. Without another word, she fills both glasses to the rim with vodka, smirking at me as she raises her glass.

“Cheers to a great night!” She grins, clinking my glass with hers, both of us downing the harsh liquor.

My face contorts in disgust as the liquid flows down my throat, and I can’t help but cringe at the awful taste. Immediately, my chest is hot and I don’t want anymore. I’m not really a drinker, but I already know I can’t be sober in order to get through this night. We both take two more shots before our uber arrives and we’re heading to the party.

The driver talked our ears off the whole ride, so when we finally shut the doors of the black suv, we both sigh and fall into a fit of tipsy laughter. We’re not drunk, but neither are we completely sober.

Upon walking into the party, we’re met with a glowing red light, loud music, the smell of alcohol and weed, and a ginormous amount of people all chatting and dancing throughout the house.

“Y/N! Sage!” A voice calls out, directing our attention towards them.

It’s one of Sage’s friends, one I personally am not a fan of, but I know how to be nice. I shoot her tight lipped smile, leaving Sage to greet her.

“Hey! It’s been so long, how are you?” Sage asks, pulling her into a hug.

Before she can respond, I quickly interrupt, “Sorry, I’m gonna go get a drink.”

And with that, I’m making my way through the crowd of people, in search of the kitchen. It takes me about five minutes to get through everyone and I’m already slightly disgusted at the sweaty bodies and the lack of personal space. I’m not lying when I say parties aren’t my thing.

Finally being able to breathe in the less packed room, I deeply inhale and exhale, ridding myself of the building nerves. I walk over to the counter, grabbing a solo cup from the stack and browsing through the bottles of alcohol. I opt for an unopened bottle of vodka, not wanting to risk anything that may or may not have been tainted. I fill my cup up a little over half way, then turn towards the cooler to grab a chaser. More people have already piled into the kitchen, there now being less room to roam around. I reach into the cooler, grabbing the last can of pepsi, only for it to come up with another hand attached to it. My gaze trails up the veiny hand, following the arm it’s attached to, to observe who it is.

Bright blue eyes, pink lips, a sharp jawline, and wavy hair. A silver Vivienne Westwood chain hanging from his neck, sitting atop a white t-shirt that had a bear in a watering can, surrounded my grass and little flowers. Blue jeans and, last but not least, white air forces covering his feet.

He looks familiar. Hot, yet still familiar.

“Oh, hi.” He grins, snapping me from my thoughts.

That’s when I realize we’re both still holding the can, but I don’t let go.

“Hi.” I reply, my gaze set on his face.

“I think this is the last pepsi.” He points out.

I nod, raising my eyebrows at the obvious statement. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“Pepsi’s my favorite.” He adds.

I can’t help the smirk that tugs on my lips, “Do you want a cookie?”

He shakes his head, chuckling, “I can’t have it?”

I only repeat his action and shake my head in return, pursing my lips to keep the smile from forming.

“Can we share it?” He asks, giving me puppy dog eyes.

And just like that, I’m folding. With a shrug, I pull the can from his grip. I open it up and dump some of its contents into my cup, then bring the can up to my lips, taking a drink all whilst holding eye contact. I notice him intently watching me, before grabbing the can and taking his own drink, licking his lips afterwards.

“You’re Y/N, right?” He questions.

I nod, biting my inner cheek, “And you are?”

“Chris.” He smirks, eyeing me and up and down. “Well, Y/N, we basically just kissed.”

I can’t help the loud laughter that falls from my lips, nothing less than amused at his statement. I can see the smirk on his face turn into a full blown smile as I try to catch my breath, recovering from the fit of giggles he put me in.

“That was corny.” I say, smiling at him with a shake of my head.

He tosses his hands up in defense, shrugging, “I mean, did we not?”

I don’t say anything, and bring my mixed drink up to my lips, downing all of it in one go. His eyes widen as he watches me. I don’t like alcohol, but I can manage. It doesn’t take long for it to take effect, on top of the shots I had earlier, I can already feel the warmth coating my insides. With a surge of boldness, I lean forward and place a small peck to the corner of his lips, swiftly pulling away and making my exit.

Just before I slip away, I turn back and flash him a smile, “See you around, Christopher.”

As the party goes on, I can tell the alcohol I’ve consumed has fully kicked in. The loud music is no longer bothersome, I don’t feel suffocated in the sea of people, and I feel good. It’s been around an hour since I’ve been here, and I’ve only ran back into Sage once. She’s off with her other friends, mingling around, and I’ve just been vibing.

I’ve seen Chris around, more times than I’ve seen anyone else. Unless I’m just fixated on him. It’s like every time I turn my head, my eyes are meeting his, and I never want to look away. Though, to save myself from embarrassment and humiliation, I force my gaze elsewhere.

After downing another shot, I make my way to the makeshift dance floor, and let loose. Under the Influence starts playing, and I can’t help but move my body to the beat, letting the rhythm flow through me. My hands make their way into my hair, my hips swaying in sync with the beat booming in my ears. Suddenly, I feel a warm presence directly behind me, causing me to spin around.

Hot and delicious.

Christopher.

“Hey, mama.” He slurs, a goofy grin showcasing across his lips.

He’s definitely invading my personal space, but I don’t even care. Especially when his enchanting scent is filling my nostrils, winding me in closer.

“Hello, Christopher.” I reply, my speech slightly incoherent.

“I knew you knew who I was.” He stammered, his body damn near pressed against mine.

“Mhm.” I hum in response, turning around and backing into him.

“You look good like this.” I hear his voice in my ear.

I grab his hands that were just barely grazing my waist, bringing them to fully grab my hips as I move into him. His large hands guiding me back and forth.

“You’re so pretty, it’s distracting.” He mumbles, his breath fanning my neck.

I can feel the goosebumps spreading, the hair on the back of my neck standing up.

“You’re drunk.” I softly say.

He shakes his head, “I’m not drunk. I’m just intoxicated by you.”

Again, I’m bursting into a fit of giggles from something he’s said. I can’t tell if it’s because I’m drunk or if he just makes me nervous.

“You’ve been stuck in my head since I first saw you earlier.” He admits, stumbling over his words a bit.

I turn back around, looping my arms around his neck as we continue rocking to the music. His hands go up to my waist, pulling me into his chest.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask him.

He licks his lips and shakes his head, a slight chuckle escaping, “You don’t wanna know.”

Instantly, my eyebrow raises, “Try me.”

“I see you flipping your hair around and all I want is to wrap my hands in it while you’re taking my cock.” He states, his voice low and husky.

I immediately feel heat rush to my core, the sound of his voice and the words he’s saying, turning me on. I bring my bottom lip into my mouth, biting down on it to prevent the large smile that’s close to taking over my face.

“What if I was thinking the same thing?” I ask, the grin breaking through.

“Will you freak out if I kiss you?”

Looking up into his eyes, I subconsciously scoot closer to him as I shake my head. His eyes flicker from my eyes to my lips, then he slowly leans in. The second his mouth meets mine, my eyes flutter shut and I’m savoring the feeling of his soft lips on my own. One of his hands reaches around me and cups my ass while his other one is wrapped around my throat, pulling me impossibly closer. As our lips mold together, I find my hands in his hair, my arms holding him into me. The kiss is desperate yet soft, passionate yet hot. He pulls away, his face only centimeters in front of mine.

“Follow me.” He says, his breath slightly heavy as he intertwines our hands.

I do as he says, following closely behind him. We walk through the kitchen, dodging everyone in our way. We round the corner to a staircase leading downwards. He pulls me in front of him, ushering me to go down.

“After you.” He says, holding his arm out for me.

I shoot him a look, before grabbing his hand and walking down the stairs, him following in suit. We get to a door that he opens for me, nodding to enter. It’s a large bedroom, quite tidy in itself, and I can smell his scent wafting through the air. Only now did I realize this is his house. As he shuts the door, I walk around, taking everything in. My hands trail across the edge of his bed, feeling his comforter beneath my fingertips.

“Do you like my room?” He asks.

I turn around to face him and he has a soft, innocent look upon his features. However, I can already see right through him. I know what’s about to take place.

“I do.” I nod, “It’s very neat, and it smells good.”

“Thanks.” He grins, strolling over to me.

“Why didn’t you tell me this was your party?” I ask him, sitting on the end of his bed.

He shrugs, “Why did you pretend you didn’t know who I was?”

I toss my head back, soft giggles pouring out of my mouth. I look at him with a cheeky smile and low eyes, shrugging my shoulders. He just grins at me, before kicking his shoes off and nodding towards mine. “You can make yourself comfortable if you want.”

Within seconds, I’m unstrapping the uncomfortable heels and setting them aside. He lays back on his bed, his legs dangling off the side. He grabs my hand and gives it a soft tug, so I copy his actions, and lie back. We’re both facing one another, drunk and happy.

“How come I’ve never seen you at any parties?” He questions, his fingers playing with mine.

“I’m not really a party girl. Definitely not an influencer party girl.” I admit, warmth building in my stomach at his soft gesture.

“Well I’m glad you came to this one.” He says, staring into my eyes.

“Why’s that?” I smirk.

“Because who knows if I would’ve met you had you not.”

I can’t help the blush that pools to my cheeks at his response. He’s flattering and he knows it. I don’t say anything, I just take in his features for the millionth time tonight. His hair slightly out of place from my roaming hands, his face flushed from the heat upstairs, his eyes lidded from the alcohol in his system, his pretty pink lips looking oh so kissable. He looks so good. Without a word, he pulls me closer to him, my body flush against his.

“Is this okay?” He asks me, trying to read into my facial expression.

“It’s perfect.” I nod, enjoying the warmth he’s providing.

“You’re so pretty.” He whispers, his breath fanning my face due to our short proximity.

A smile sneaks onto my lips as I look down, attempting to hide the red color that’s now adorning my skin. His large hand grabs my chin and lifts my head so that he can see my face. Our eyes meeting in an intense gaze, holding it for what seems like forever. He only breaks the eye contact when he puts his lips on mine again. It’s only a soft, chaste kiss.

“So pretty.” He says again, his voice low as he continues to press gentle kisses onto my lips.

The delicate kisses turn into feverish ones, our tongues now gliding in and out of one another’s mouths, lapping each other perfectly. Our lips move together so well, like we cannot breathe without each other. My hands return to his hair, softly tugging it, eliciting low groans from him. One of his hands cups my cheek, the other one resting on my lower back, pulling me even more into him. He flips me over onto my back and hovers above me, staring into my eyes once more as a small smile takes over his face.

“God, I can’t get enough of you.” He groans, smashing his lips into mine again.

One of his hands rests on the bed by my head, the other one rubbing my outer thigh. Just his soft touches are enough to make my skin hot beneath his fingertips. My hands connect with the hem of his shirt, lifting it slightly and running my hands up his torso. He breaks from the kiss and removes his shirt, tossing it on the floor, then reconnecting our lips. He’s positioned between my legs, his groin inches above mine. My hands continue roaming along his torso, feeling his hot skin. I bring my legs up, hooking around his waist, pulling him down into me. His clothed erection presses into my heat, causing a low moan to leave my lips.

“Are we really doing this?” He pulls back and asks, his fingers playing with the hem of my dress.

“Yes, please.” I answer, my voice soft and breathy.

He grinds down into me, his hard on hitting exactly where I need him, causing another moan to leave my mouth.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to feel you.” He groans into my ear, leaving a wet kiss on it.

I shudder in pleasure as he continues down my neck, sucking and biting, marking me up. I reach down for his dick, palming it over his jeans. He lets out a low moan, bucking into my hand, before harshly grabbing both of my hands and pinning them above my head.

“You first.” He mutters, holding my wrists with one hand while his other one travels down my body.

His hand swiftly makes its way between my legs, my dress riding up as he kneads my thighs. Then, he’s rubbing my core through my underwear. Hums of pleasure come from me, and I can feel them growing wetter and wetter.

“Can I take your panties off?” He asks, his voice raspy as he looks into my eyes.

“Y-yes.” I answer, moaning louder as he presses harder into my heat.

“So good using your words, mama.” He groans, licking my neck.

He then pokes his fingers in the waistband of my panties and slowly pulls them down my legs, discarding them to the side. He spreads my legs again, my dress and skirt now sitting completely on my hips. He throws his head back at the sight of my pussy glistening with my arousal. Without another word, his face is hovering above my center, his warm breath hitting it. I can feel myself clench around nothing, desperate for any type of stimulation.

“Look at you. I haven’t even done anything and your pretty pussy’s begging for me.” He smirks, his fingers now prodding at my folds.

Now coated with my juices, he runs a finger over my clit, rubbing in soft circles. I’m physically writhing beneath him, so badly needing more. He then thrusts a finger into me, causing my body to jerk and my mouth emitting a loud gasp. He continues pumping it in and out of me, then adds another and doing the same with it. My hands squeeze the bed sheet beneath me, attempting to release the tension building. His fingers are moving so fast in and out of me, curling in the right places. My mouth falls open, my brows furrowing as pleasure overcomes me.

“You look so pretty coming undone like this.” He says, peppering kisses all over my thighs.

“Feels s-so good, daddy.” I moan out, clenching around his fingers, unaware of the name that slipped from my mouth.

His eyes are completely black as he stares up at me, watching me fall apart. His dick is rock hard, throbbing and impatiently waiting to be inside of me. Without a second thought, his lips are wrapped around my clit, sucking on it as his fingers fuck into me. That alone is enough to push me over the edge, my legs shaking as I let go, giving into the building pressure. I feel my cum ooze out of me, quickly being slurped up by Chris, tasting every drop of me as his fingers help me through my orgasm.

“Mmm, you taste so good, ma.” He says, licking my lips.

He pulls his fingers out of me, coming back up to hover over me, shoving them in my mouth. I moan around his fingers, sucking my own juices from them. He harshly grips my jaw, slamming his mouth onto mine, the taste of me lingering on our tongues.

Breathless, he pulls away and stands up, pulling me to the end of the bed by my ankles. His hand travels up my leg from my foot, tenderly squeezing along the way.

“Can you stand up?” He asks, softly rubbing my hip.

I nod and scoot to the edge, standing up on shaking legs and looking up at him. He cups my face, brushing my cheek with his thumb. He plants a sweet kiss on my lips.

“Take your clothes off.” He says, his tone firm.

I happily oblige, stripping from my clothes as he does the same. I watch as his dick springs from its restrictions, hard and throbbing. Just from the look of it, I know I’m in for a treat. He strokes himself as he looks over my body, licking his lips. He steps in front of me, his member poking into stomach. His hands run up and down my body, pressing kisses into my neck.

“On the bed, on your knees.” He demands.

I do as he says, and he follows behind me, holding me up with his hand on my throat. His lips meet my neck, sucking and biting all over it, causing soft whimpers to leave my mouth. He pushes me forward, laying me flat on my stomach. He leans over me, licking and nipping my back, leaving a warm trail of saliva. His hands part my thighs, squeezing himself in between them. I can feel him run his tip between my folds a few times, causing me to push back in anticipation. He pushes me back down, slowly sliding himself inside me.

“Ugh, fuck.” He moans, bottoming out.

“You’re so big, daddy. Feels so good.” I moan, feeling him slowly thrust in and out, filling me so nice.

His strokes start slow and hard, before the speed picks up. His hands are on my back, holding himself up as he fucks into me at a delicious rate. I can’t help the moans that continuously fall from my mouth, feeling nothing but never ending pleasure.

“You feel so fucking good wrapped around my cock, mama.” He groans out, fucking into me deeper and deeper.

It doesn’t take long for me to feel the buildup in my stomach once again. His hand wraps around my hair, tugging back as he leans over me once more. His mouth comes to my neck again, leaving wet kisses. I can hear his heavy breathing and low moans in my ear, and they’re driving me insane.

“Feels like you were made just for me.” He whispers. “I knew you would feel good, but this is better than I imagined.”

“All yours.” I babble, ridden with pleasure.

“You’re so tight, I can’t take it.” He moans, his voice holding a rasp to it.

I clench around him, feeling seconds from giving into my orgasm. A string of moans and curses fall from my lips, pure bliss coursing through me.

“You’re about to cum, I can tell.” He says, “Let it go, baby. Cum for me.”

And just like that, I’m releasing all over his cock with the loudest moans. His thrusts start to grow erratic, indicating he’s close to finishing as well.

“Such a good girl. Taking my cock so well, mama.” He moans out, thrusting harder.

Within a few more strokes, his dick twitches and his hot load is spurting into me, lewd groans emitting from his mouth. He pumps a few more times, riding out his orgasm, before slowly pulling out and watching his cum drip out of me. He collapses next to me, breathing heavily, looking me in my eyes with a goofy grin. His face is flushed red and his hair is sweaty, sticking to his forehead.

“That was amazing.” He breathes.

Unable to form words, I nod in agreement. His hand interlocks with mine, gently squeezing as his other hand brushes my hair out of my face.

“God, you’re so pretty, Y/N.”

I bashfully smile, “Thank you.”

“Will you stay with me tonight?” He asks, his eyes shining with hope. “We can shower and you can wear some of my clothes.”

I ponder for a second before shrugging with a nod, “That sounds perfect. I’ll just have to let Sage know.”

He smiles, brightly, pecking my shoulder over and over as he pulls me into him.

“You’re never getting rid of me now.”

—

a/n : this took me entirely too long to finish, so sorry ab that!! also not proofread, as per usual. hope you enjoyed this!! continue sending in reqs and i promise i’ll get to them eventually <3

[findmeinthefallair]

Hunter's Experiences After Belos's Death

Oops, this got long. Aw well, it was really fun to write.

Special thanks to @ashanimus!

This is speculative at the end of the day, but since:

1. This is my fave animated show of all time

2. I grew up with Complex PTSD (CPTSD) like Hunter

3. I work as a therapist,

I thought to list down some things I can visualize happening in the duration of the finale's timeskip, before that beautiful epilogue we saw. And I want to dive in using whatever clues, leads and parallels I can find in canon: to analyze and see how he went from the Bad But Sad Boy to that peaceful-looking palisman carver in the epilogue.

A small reference I had for this meta is Cinema Therapy's episode on the Hunger Games movies (link), since the protagonist, Katniss Everdeen, from the book and also movie trilogy would have the same diagnosis as Hunter. Those books and movies explored how Katniss coped with the frightening and dramatically different landscape that was the calmness of her world post-victory.

Part 1: His Possible Experiences Leading Up to Seeking a Therapist

His disposition could possibly become like Luz's from early Season 3: a state of emotionally shutting down and numbing out. He appeared to nearly head in this direction right after he was revived by Flapjack, as he began to cry. There was that small window where he could have expressed more tears than he did, and have his body shut down under the weight of bereavement.

But the immediate physical threat, Belos, was still on the run. He got up, sprang into action and didn't catch a break from the time he followed Belos through the portal until he stood in The Collector's palace after Belos died (had he even received the news of his 'Uncle' dying yet??!).

Now that Belos isn't around anymore, the Isles will have a completely different feel and rebuilding the land would've taken grueling work after the dismantling of a damaging Coven System.

I was looking at Luz's behavior and gestures in Thanks to Them, which were indicative of her sinking into depression after 1. the horrible revelation in Hollow Mind that she unintentionally helped Philip. 2. witnessing Flapjack's death. I'm putting screenshots of her below in parallel with Hunter's own emotions in For the Future:

They have different mental health conditions if you talk symptoms, e.g. Luz doesn't show signs of CPTSD hypervigilance, while Hunter doesn't have that slowing down in his physical and mental activity which points to depression. But both have suffered from moral injury thanks to Belos's violence and manipulation.

However, a major comparison is that Hunter has had much more repressed emotion over a long period compared to Luz. The column with Hunter screencaps above, is what he may feel with a much higher intensity in the weeks and months after he first hears that his abuser has passed on.

Shown below, the few seconds of Hunter's big smile drooping when it was all over, was a big hint for me:

A hint that there is a deep undercurrent of emotions he'd much rather not feel, that he'd probably rather hide from himself. Even while smiling, we know how his heart-wrenching story has played out and the light in his eyes here doesn't match the brightness we see in his expressions in the epilogue, post-timeskip.

That is the face of a kid who has not cried out massive amounts of tears yet. He doesn't look like he's carrying a light load yet, compared to what we see in his future self. And it's certainly a heavier smile than the jollier one he makes here right after King's Tide when Flapjack was still around:

I can't imagine the amount of grief that his body has yet to dredge up and release, once he finally doesn't have to worry about his 'uncle' threatening his life anymore. Too many times to count, I've been in the situation where I cry intensely after being retraumatized and think "Huh? More tears? Where did it come from?? I thought I had cried it all out from my whole being the last time!". It kind of convinced me that anyone with CPTSD has so much grief stored up in their body that the number of times needed to have a good cry feels like a really endless expanse.

However: because I had 7 years of being in and out of therapy, what matters is that the durations between these episodes of mine, the durations of the episodes themselves, plus their intensity have reduced a lot. It was around a 4-year timeskip in the finale, so for Hunter to get as far as he did to heal, his own therapy sessions would've probably been rigorous and very consistent.

Anyway, he might now cycle through his own version of what Luz cycled through when she gradually shuts down from failing to build a new portal door in Thanks to Them, continually believes she's as bad as Belos, and when she alludes to her suicidal ideation in the classroom:

whereby there is a likely parallel between Luz wrestling with guilt from her own moral injury, and Hunter's own guilt from what he wished he could've done to prevent being possessed, to prevent Flapjack from dying. Both their situations are that of moral injuries.

The adrenaline rush would be over for everyone on the Isles.

I'm quite sure the therapists on the Isles will operate pretty soon after the news about Belos's death was out. They would conduct whatever version of mental health triage they have, that involves risk assessments and crisis counselling. Both of these based on what I've learnt are shorter in duration (30 minutes) and are one-off sessions, compared to regular talk therapy which is an hour minimum.

The therapists would be redirecting people to necessary resources e.g. where to find food or loved ones, and managing distress only related to people's immediate needs instead of forming a longer term plan for several weekly sessions.

I believe things are simpler when you are running away from an external threat, like the two Hunter scenarios below. In Hollow Mind there is no emotion on his face because in peak C-PTSD mode he has shut down his emotions to pour that energy into escaping Belos. In Thanks to Them, he appears quite obviously scared with widened eyes because he got comfortable with safety for months and Belos's return was a surprise attack (thanks ashanimus for pointing out to me how his expressions are animated!):

But what is there to run from now? Not an external threat for sure. The war zone is now the one in his mind, heart and soul and it would become front and center. I believe both these screenshots are two notches on a dial, and the missing third image - which would show him finding it difficult to stuff down the grief any longer, might look like a more exasperated version of when he told Willow "Please don't call yourself [a Half-a-Witch] ever again" in For the Future, and eventually a more depressed version of his vanishing smile in The Collector's Palace.

When can he really run from himself? Only while asleep, if he's spared nightmares on any given night, or while distracting himself with the main mission of rebuilding the Isles or continuing to bond with his friends and other people.

His anger in For the Future was a telling sign for me that he made sure his focus was still on an external threat: he still had the opportunity to do so back then, because Belos was still alive. But when we see him in The Collector's palace sending Willow off to her dads, there has realistically been a shift in what will threaten the more fragile shreds of inner peace he's still clinging on to. There are those scary trauma-related emotions to worry about, which wouldn't have just evaporated into thin air. They would be looking for a new outlet, and they'll find their way into flashbacks, nightmares, tension still stored in the body, an exaggerated startle response, etc.

We have seen a range of reactions he has to danger, triggers and emotional pain: some involve moving his body more, and fewer involve a short of shutting down:

Flinching during Belos's tantrums, being able to fight Kikimora calmly, freezing up in the throne room (Hunting Palismen)

Suicidal ideation and even a sort of suicide plan (Eclipse Lake)

Freezing up and expecting punishment from Darius (Any Sport in a Storm)

Being able to stay almost entirely calm as he learnt more and more of the truth about Belos, though his hand was shaking briefly, then a panic attack later on (Hollow Mind)

Lots of avoidance symptoms like numbing, combined with hypervigilance e.g. shivering and another panic attack (Labyrinth Runners)

Feeling fear with underlying shame and subconsciously expecting punishment, when he failed to save Luz (Clouds on the Horizon)

Freezing and recoiling, though he fought against this by asserting a boundary with Belos (King's Tide)

Panic attack when looking into the mirror and having an emotional flashback, hypervigilance e.g. stamping his foot and shivering (Thanks to Them)

Anger and rage to cope with bereavement, later being tearful (For the Future)

Most likely a sense of bereavement, deep exhaustion and possibly loneliness, during that briefly shown moment in The Collector's Palace (Watching and Dreaming)

The serious work he has to put in to heal from his trauma would begin once his whole body gives in to the exhaustion, catching up with the bereavement-related emotions that have also begun to settle in. It could be a massive emotional and physical collapse that he can't fight off, where his physical energy levels become tanked seemingly out of nowhere. And I think it would look like a worse version of him lying in his makeshift grave, where he is barely able to move around the house or anywhere for some time.

This happened to Katniss in the Hunger Games trilogy, and while the portrayal was done differently in the books and movies, both were good explorations of what it's like to shift from the default high alert (and long-term) mode of CPTSD to coping with the scary unknown world of newfound safety. Katniss spent her childhood in poverty and being constantly on edge that she might be chosen for the Hunger Games, being parentified, to provide for her family.

While participating in the games, she had to utilize battle skills and kill others to survive and sustained many injuries, still constantly on high alert whereby any respite would last for incredibly short durations. Towards the end of the story, after she loses the one she loved most (her sister Prim, who I think can be a parallel of Flapjack in this meta), Katniss shifts from peak physical activity into mostly sleeping and being actively suicidal for months, hardly moving and not leaving the house, until the shock of traumatic grief began to wear off. She absolutely crashed and went from one extreme to the other. In the movie Mockingjay Part 2, they added a non-book scene where her grief comes out in an outburst when she sees their pet cat hanging around on the kitchen counter. She flings an object in the cat's direction, then screams "[Prim] is gone!!" repeatedly before collapsing into heavy sobs, picking up the cat and holding it to her chest to soothe herself.

This kind of major collapse might happen very soon to Hunter after he leaves The Collector's Palace or only after some weeks. The timing of this, I can't predict. The reason why he didn't appear to have this issue in the early months being in the human realm is because there was still something external to concentrate on: help his friends get back to the Human Realm, help Luz reunite with Eda and King, while him and Flapjack hoped to go home too.

You could argue that even now, he still has something external to focus on i.e. helping the others rebuild the Isles. However I keep imagining that the people who love him are going to be quite adamant in getting him, Luz and the other kids to please rest. Since we saw Steve recommend his therapist to Lilith in O Titan Where Art Thou, I can picture the adults in particular monitoring how Hunter is doing without Flapjack.

But if this collapse I'm speculating about doesn't happen so soon, he would be pouring himself into helping others, referencing his character-centric line all the way back in Hunting Palismen about wanting to offer help, which he utters twice in that episode. There is an overlap between this expectation he has of himself and the old habit he's at risk of falling back into periodically: overworking.

Once his desire to help others is clearly comes across as an avoidance tactic on the outside - a maladaptive coping mechanism to run from the very difficult emotions that he should be processing - people around him are definitely going to set boundaries and say "No" to any attempts he makes to assist them. Someone is probably going to tell him that whatever desperation he is showing in wanting to help other people, needs to be redirected at himself. Making time and space for himself, taking time off to rest.

Him suffering from a major emotional and physical collapse is pretty likely because things are more complicated (though, physically much much safer) for him now than at the beginning of Thanks to Them when he had just fled from Belos to the human realm, and had Flapjack as his closest company. Fast forward to the victory won in Watching and Dreaming: both Flapjack and Belos are gone now.

It's telling that different thoughts are occupying Hunter's mind now, from how his expressions are drawn during his first days in the human realm vs. when peace is restored in the Isles.

1. See the sense of calmer urgency in his expression, putting the mission of building the portal door first, while experiencing a strong sense of togetherness with his friends, and learning to trust Camila who is treating him well:

compared to

2. the sheer exhaustion and feeling of "What now...?" (see his upper eyelids below?) that set in, once he helped Willow find her parents and there was no more task at hand that didn't involve himself. His bright smile from a split-second ago has drooped and disappeared:

I know that right after the above frame, Darius and Eberwolf reunited with him, but his emotions are going to cycle up and down in the hours, weeks and months ahead. The elation from seeing Darius and Eber - people who were there to greet him when he expected nobody to turn up - is not going to last, though it will certainly come and go, because high-running positive emotions like that don't last as long, especially in the context of the life he's had as a child soldier. It's totally possible that on the same night, hours after this reunion with their loved ones, their emotions will shift drastically.

The tired look in his eyes above and the sad face he then makes, is in between two moments of him having something external to focus on (Willow and then Darius). I'm inclined to think that the above depressed look reflects a lot of the complexity that is going on underneath the surface. What is his state of mind when alone with his thoughts, when he has zero tasks to perform? How is he handling those thoughts?

There will be a deep, sometimes mind-numbing sense of bereavement over two significant figures in his life. First Flapjack, now this:

He used to love Belos. But I'm really not sure he can just uproot that love from deep within and discard it. Hunter carries memories like the following ones around which will be confusing to navigate on tougher days, despite being able to tell Luz "That's what Belos does, he tricks people". Because these were his formative years:

and something tells me that Philip was cunning enough to strike a delicate balance between being 'nice' to Hunter like above, versus unleashing his violent temper to terrify and harm him. Making sure that balance was so close to 50/50 that it would leave a child very confused. So confused he would rather believe he's never good enough rather than the more frightening prospect that his so-called family does not actually love him at all.

Hunter will have a moment now and then of still missing the 'niceness' that his 'uncle' showed towards him (felt in his heart and subconscious), while still knowing (in his head, rationally) that Philip was not genuine when treating him that way.

To note though, he did not witness Belos's death which reduces the severity of intrusive images that the poor kid would see in his mind.

What I'm worried about is how he'll handle the news about the grimwalker graveyard, since I'm sure that location is going to be scoured and Darius would want to give his mentor a proper sending off. They'd want to give all the Golden Guards and Caleb a sending off and pay their respects. This might add to what I suspect will be the messed up depression he'll fall into.

It will be very confusing and emotionally disorienting, literally not needing to worry about anyone killing him anymore. He has had no point of reference for this in his life at all. It might possibly the furthest he ever goes from that primal survival instinct he had while living in the Castle for so long, which took up the majority of his life so far:

There will also be the added layer of how he feels about those first emotions. This is literally a concept called Feelings About Feelings and it's a key part of my work since I use the Satir Model in my style of counselling. We don't just feel emotions, we also tack on our own judgments and evaluations about them. E.g. shame about feeling anger, guilt about feeling sad because of burdening others, or even a combination like fear about feeling joy which can show up in healing from bereavement.

Depending on how we feel about whichever emotions got there first, it makes a difference because we could be adding or subtracting unnecessary suffering from the first emotion, especially if the first emotion is an already unpleasant one.

I have a feeling that we'd see Hunter look very very tired, till he makes breakthroughs in therapy. A tiredness that sleep, a healthy diet and exercise alone simply cannot fix. Because there's an entire upbringing in the Emperor's Coven to sort through in his head, this time not combined with the avoidance of having fled to the human realm and living under one roof with his friends.

The Hexsquad are not living under the same roof anymore, they are reunited with their own families with much to emotionally talk out, and the group no longer has a very urgent single collective mission. Sure, Hunter has an active role to play in rebuilding the Isles, but what about rebuilding his very self? He has the steepest climb, because we have seen the symptoms he exhibits.

Most of all, referencing a section of my Retraumatization and Self-Soothing (Part 1) meta (link), a memory as horrible as this:

will likely be the most intrusive image is going to be replaying again and again over the months to come, and it may flood his thoughts during moments of being triggered or even out of nowhere during quiet moments for no apparent reason. It will be just like a broken record, where the same small excerpt of a song loops endlessly until the needle of the gramophone is repositioned.

It was remarkably poignant that his final words to Belos were "And most of all, I'm going to make sure you never hurt anyone again", and I'm happy with the story keeping it this way and understand why the writers likely made this decision - not just because the season was shortened. Hunter did not need to directly see or hear more from Belos in close quarters, not after his abuser minimized his needs for years, gaslit him, possessed him and got him to murder his best friend with his own hands.

It's more straightforward to make sure someone else isn't hurting anyone. It's easier to think of what plans to implement, when it comes to him protecting others: which he has had plenty of practice with. Because those are practical methods that we can see in action on the outside.

But here's the kicker: what about applying that last grand statement from his TTT speech to himself, emotionally: making sure he isn't psychologically hurting himself with harmful unhelpful thoughts and beliefs, after Belos's death? "I'll make sure I don't hurt myself (and by extension, my loved ones) again".

This will be very new to him, and it is a theme that I handle in pretty much every client case in my therapy work. The client's self-dialogue, the self-compassion or lack thereof. Which, in real life, is often not a concept that our own families and schools introduce to us to be familiar with.

For Hunter, this may translate into him making the decision to get help and truly accepting the gift of life that Flapjack gave him.

Basically this on a much bigger scale:

whereby in Flapjack's absence, he can truly believe in this new and positive fundamental belief about himself. The evidence that he managed to make it to that heartbreaking but incredibly beautiful place is pretty strong:

But before his happy ending, the pressure on himself to be useful to others via helping and working is likely going to come back and be used as his way of coping, and there's a chance it will cross the line into becoming a form of self-harm that he's relying on to avoid the frightening, deeper emotional pain. People around him know him well enough that they'll be able to spot his behavioral changes and then sense he is not going in a helpful direction. They'll see that it's hurting him even though it's the most familiar territory for his mind to be in, and someone is going to tell him to change that.

He's going to be seeing his friends with their palismen. How will it be like being among them, even if they are pretty good at supporting him? How would he attempt to make sense of the void that is the absence of the incredible love he experienced from that first friend, the absence of that mental link between witch and palisman?

What emotions could be lurking beneath the surface? Believe it or not, there are some signs from Luz's nightmare even though yes, Hunter was being controlled by The Collector. I wouldn't quickly dismiss this dark Flapjack-related scene as 100% being about The Collector's goal to scare Luz in the nightmare.

I think there was a smaller subplot going on as well.

The Collector needed material to work with in the first place, to perform the puppet acts: the material was whatever fears and whatever pain was already there in their targets.

The Collector didn't create Hunter's emotions from scratch for the puppet act; instead he manipulated and redirected what existed at the base level. All this wouldn't work as analogies of mental illness vs. mental health if The Collector could just engineer emotions on their own and simply replace whatever his puppet targets were already feeling. Emotions never vanish and always take up space somewhere, they are redirected, transformed or channeled into outlets even if it means they become repressed or locked away. But they never stop existing.

I have a feeling that despite the nightmare being Luz's, despite Hunter being used as an instrument for The Collector to achieve their goals...the pre-existing emotions that Hunter himself felt in his body, not puppet!Hunter's verbal responses towards Luz, were true. He is a haunted boi.

This face he makes above might be a hint at the worst of his pain. It might be the furthest he has felt from when he said "I like who I am right now" to Flapjack. In the place of that confidence from before, there might now be his own version of Luz's "I'm as bad as Belos". I cannot be entirely certain, but the negative belief that may have taken root in him could be "I am not deserving of the life Flapjack gave me".

Interestingly, if this is the case, it could easily parallel his line from all the way back in Any Sport in A Storm: "I'm unfit to wear the sigil of the Golden Guard." It's definitely a possibility, since Hunter is now faced with having a lot of time and space now, and less urgency than he's ever had in his life, to think back on all those times he helped to further Belos's cause. Especially when it came to sending many palismen to their deaths.

With his own palisman now dead, the engraving we would eventually see on Flapjack's grave: "Thank you for finding me", would be the destination. But the journey needed to reach that destination of amazing gratitude in the first place...must have been a harrowing one. In the early months of the acute grief, it would've been more like "Why did you have to find me?! You shouldn't have. Then none of this would've happened". Not forgetting the number of times Hunter has replayed in his head what he could've done differently, trying so desperately to rewind the clock and make that better alternate timeline a reality.

If you remove The Collector and even Luz from the equation in the Luz nightmare scene, Hunter may well be having such responses - the ones that puppet!Hunter directed at Luz to blame Luz - as a dialogue with himself. He might direct those negative emotions towards himself since he's so careful about hurting others and has taken on unfair punishment for so much of his life.

Even when he was temporarily himself, smiling, expressing a positive emotion to encourage Luz with "What's the first thing you do when you wake up from a bad dream?", that was him conversing with another person, someone external. Not his own self. I am willing to bet he wasn't at a point in his arc where he would smile at himself like that and easily encourage himself in the same way.

While we can be certain he had already reached his breakthroughs by the time we saw him post-timeskip, he has not experienced them yet in the frame above. He has not felt (yet) what Luz felt onscreen when she had breakthroughs in relation to her moral injury:

Taking a leap of faith to accept the Titan's gift, to trust that he chose her because she has a good heart and will never be Belos.

Then later, being able to stand firm, believing she truly is good ("I am the Good Witch Luz!"), and not uttering a word to Belos as he died - which was post-traumatic growth beyond how she broke down under his threats and manipulation towards the end of Hollow Mind and later in King's Tide.

Recap time. In the (quite likely) long period that passes by before we meet his new palismen, he's likely going to want to jump into action and attend meetings with Darius, Eberwolf and co, help to physically rebuild things and organize people with his own Coven Head experience. Leaning back on the ingrained and familiar lifestyle of pouring himself into work and gearing towards burnout is certainly a risk to watch out for.

The Hexsquad, CATTs and the Clawthorne sisters are going to notice his behavior and likely urge him to get appropriate rest and seek help.

However, there is the other extreme: Belos isn't around anymore to torment him, and Hunter would know this in the rational sense (head knowledge). Which leads to the possibility that he may swing towards shutting down as opposed to overworking tendencies. He would feel allowed to do whatever he wants, in this new Boiling Isles, and he had months of opportunities to do that in the early part of Thanks to Them before Belos's return.

What I'm getting at is, if he didn't sleep enough before, he might swing towards sleeping too much after finally collapsing from the familiarity of survival mode into unknown but genuinely safe territory. If he cared too much about helping others before, he might swing towards a depressive state of apathy (the closest canon reference point would be him digging his grave: he was very disarmed in that scene to even think much about helping anyone including Belos). This is why the screenshot I used of his smile drooping in The Collector's Palace, feels like a big clue to me. This would be where Darius, Camila and other adults have to seriously keep watch over him.

In the Cinema Therapy episode I had as a small reference for this post, the licensed therapist who hosts the series mentions that "It takes a lot longer to put oneself back together than it took to fall apart." In Hunter's case, the "falling apart" period here refers to that collapsing I mentioned. It would be the time between:

1. the grief hitting him in full force: when he subconsciously understands and acknowledges that Flapjack isn't coming back (which...will involve hell of a lot of wailing and sobbing. Him having a full version cry of those first few tears he shed at the end of TTT),

and

2. the time when the painful shock from feeling the full force of the grief has decreased enough that it plateaus.

This falling apart stage may need to pass before he seeks therapy. If he tries going for sessions while still going through that shock and pain, it might be too much for him.

As terrible and sad as it sounds, a deep dark spiral like this might be necessary. It would be his body and mind wanting to compensate for several years' worth of unnatural hypervigilance which wasn't serving him in a advantageous way (i.e. surviving) any longer. His body and mind begging for rest at last, to try and make sense of everything that happened. This big collapse into depression would empty out the old and free up much room in him for new stories, beliefs and perspectives to take root. Depression is, after all, the body's attempt to (maladaptively) try and protect us by numbing us, or else we would be overwhelmed.

As someone whom we know keeps himself very busy, this could be the period where he is the furthest he has ever been from that old simpler life. Because his CPTSD-ridden body would be demanding more than ever that he compensates for a childhood and teen years' lack of general rest, he may not even have the strength to cope the way he did before. The only way he might possibly cope in this period is to go with the flow of that raging current and do exactly what his body is asking of him: getting real rest.

Like what happened with Katniss in the Hunger Games trilogy, this early grieving stage would emotionally be difficult and terrifying, like walking along a tightrope, finding balance between left and right to angle yourself as straightly as possible and walk forward. (the tightrope metaphor is what I use with some of my clients to explain swinging between extremes of coping mechanisms).

The missing pieces of the puzzle in his arc, in the 4-year duration before the timeskip, might be his own version of these points in Luz's arc:

where she sank lower before she realized her deepest wish and emotionally experienced her worst fear in her Watching and Dreaming nightmare.

For Hunter, these could look like the following:

Like Luz saying it'd be better for everyone that she permanently stays in the human realm, Hunter might say he wants to remove himself from his loved ones in some way, for good. Whether a literal suicide attempt (like Katniss from The Hunger Games) or not, I can't say for sure.

A parental figure trying to reach out to him, saying he is deserving of Flapjack's gift. But he still struggles to believe that. What matters though is this parental figure is present and he's not pushing them away.

Him hearing some confirmation of his deepest negative belief about himself, in his own nightmares. Like Luz hearing the most terrifying things she could ever hear - Amity's "You've been the real villain this whole time" and "But for the sake of everyone you hurt, I challenge you to a witch's [duel]".

Him being able to reach an emotional space where he can begin to question that unhelpful belief: "Am I really deserving of Flapjack's gift?", or something similar.

The big moment when he finally tells someone how he really feels about the possession, Belos's death, Flapjack's absence in this new supposed peace and quiet....this would be the important invitation for the other person to connect and meet his emotional needs, and is a lot like how support groups for addiction work: a client needs to acknowledge that they are struggling with a problem, not avoiding it with distractions any longer, and then seek help and express their need for said help.

I suppose the question is how soon Hunter might decide to accept professional help and give it a go: or whether he'd have the genuine need for space first and say "I need some time". Because one's rational mind can be ready to go for therapy, but their subconscious and body would find it too unpleasant if it's too soon. Every part of him would have to be ready to begin putting himself back together after the falling apart stage occurs.

The messed up experience of CPTSD is that you stay shockingly calm during real danger, but on the flip side have big, disproportionate freakouts during actually safe times. Compare how calm Hunter was when he smiled at Luz in her nightmare while he was tied up with puppet strings vs. his fear and shame when he couldn't save Luz in Clouds on the Horizon. 

In a CPTSD memoir I read, the author describes that it was horribly frightening to hear her partner be in a bad mood and wash the dishes more loudly than usual, while during the pandemic, she felt completely calm seeing empty shelves in a supermarket when she struggled to get supplies.

From my own experience, I have experienced being pretty damn calm when bleeding out and needing hospitalization. But in a different year before that, I recall one afternoon alone in my house right before a vacation where a strong gust of wind very loudly slammed an open door shut next to where I happened to be standing, and I broke down sobbing from a retraumatization via an emotional flashback. Because it felt extremely real as if my abusive parent was lashing out to physically hurt me. 

After a 5-year period of mostly being in talk therapy, and then a 2-year period of regularly scheduled EMDR therapy, my response if I have a door loudly slam shut near me now would maybe be a smaller-scale flinch and a flash of anger that would last about maybe a minute. Which is miles better than sobbing for half an hour and being dissociated and frozen in a memory for hours before I thaw out of that flashback.

Since the show's writing is just that good, I could look at Luz's depressive symptoms manifesting in Thanks to Them and see a likely parallel in Hunter's story moving forward, since we know how much this show also digs neat and tidy parallels. These are characters written for TV after all, so they'd have to fit a formula to an extent, to have compelling arcs and reach high and low points along said arcs.

Part 2: Therapy Itself

Part 1 was the setup to give a good amount of context: now for the technicalities of the therapy sessions themselves:

Like Adrian Graye said in Labyrinth Runners, Illusion Magic can sort through memories. We have seen from Gus's own powerful Illusion abilities that he could do so with Belos. It makes sense that a therapist does this in sessions to have a magnified version of how in our world, therapists exercise empathy by imagining what it is like to be their clients:

I would monitor whether his mood (what he is feeling within) and affect (how the emotions appear on the outside e.g. tone of voice, face expressions) are congruent. Congruence usually means a client is in less distress. Incongruence might mean they are in so much pain that they can't connect directly with the main emotion: the perfect example of this being Hunter laughing when digging his grave.

We therapists take note of aspects such as affect, mood, the client's motor activity, any indicators of psychosis, even down to things like how untidy their hair looks in case we get clues about the severity of their issues (this is called a Mental Status Exam, and we write what we see in our case notes per session).

Because CPTSD is so relationship-centric, I'd discuss how he's getting along with new parental figures (the Belos replacements who will heal him so much and change his life forever!) and friends.

If the Boiling Isles therapists use their own equivalent of EMDR therapy, which is theorized to be like a waking version of how REM sleep and REM-related dreams help our brains to sort through memories, it sounds like a great fit for his case. This intervention involves subconscious work and could help him reshape how he experiences memories of Flapjack and Belos. EMDR clients are expected to see vivid images popping up without control in their mind during the sessions, and they are quite symbolic e.g. seeing a grey sky often indicates grief, seeing lighter colors indicates more calm. This technique helps a client's subconscious rewrite their story the way they'd like it to be, and install new positive beliefs and emotions over time.

My own example of EMDR experiences from the second half of 2019 as a client, is it majorly changed how I related to my own abuser, got me to finally feel allowed to emotionally break away from her, even though she is still alive and even lives in the same building.

In the early sessions, I saw an image of my 5-year-old self being forced to wear an ugly grey apron that my abuser used for baking. The apron is a real object, not fictional, and the emotions I felt showing up were matching with the image: feeling very uncomfortable seeing a visual representation of my abuser's hold over me.

But in a later session after a few months, guided by my therapist, I saw a vivid image of my abuser receiving a sea burial. She was lying peacefully on the water surface and sank down until she was gone. That was me subconsciously burying any expectation that she could ever provide what I needed. This was so powerful that I could go home after that session and permanently (so far) be significantly calmer around my abuser.

Therefore if Hunter goes through something like this, he'd potentially be able to put Belos to rest and have it feel very real and true: and have significantly reduced distress about Belos-related memories. There is the potential for powerful breakthroughs for him here, especially also related to Flapjack's death and how challenging it might be to carve palismen in the beginning. Especially since in the worst case scenario, even touching palistrom wood might be enough to badly trigger him. I cover this particular point a bit more in my other meta, Retraumatization and Self-Soothing (Part 1).

We would also be discussing what he's implementing into his routine and what may benefit him. I would be seeing if he is able to laugh about things, be motivated enough to be outdoors and among people, experience pleasure when creating new things, and form closer bonds with parental figures (what I just listed is to do with neurotransmitters in the brain that increase mental health: serotonin, endorphins, dopamine and oxytocin).

If I were his therapist I might suggest that whatever volunteering tasks he does, he carries those out with his friends, and time should be allocated to managing and taking care of a specific demographic: children. Because I think it'd be a safe, low stakes form of unfamiliarity for him to have enough emotional distance from his traumatic memories. Early months of acute grief usually require such emotional distance.

Having a good dose of an environment like that alongside the other tasks where he's working alongside Darius etc, could help him because kids' emotions are less complex, and their infectious laughter and fun-loving nature may play a role in helping him be more open with his own inner child. His therapist would be seeking to draw out that inner child in their sessions, and that little child would need to feel safe enough to emerge.

Importantly, his future palisman: it would've been interesting if he did what Luz did with Stringbean and allowed the palisman to be whoever they wanted to be...that would've been a nicely organic process. But even if he had a good idea to incorporate a Flapjack-like design but change details like the color, I'm sure he thought it through very well. I'm certain that this was a major topic of discussion at some stage of his therapy. Discussing the guilt he'd feel about replacing Flapjack vs. still taking Flapjack with him in a new way.

Coming from a strengths-based angle: paying attention to which of his individual strengths he is shows and recounts in the session. If he needs reminding, I could give him a simple worksheet listing various positive qualities and ask him to circle/colour in which ones he feels he has, which then prompts further discussion and questions. Lastly, a powerful tool called reframing e.g. if he says he's worried about being a nuisance to his friends, I'll point out how much he cares about their comfort and affirm that place of kindness.

Work on inviting self-compassion into how he sees himself. Is he able to view himself the way he views his friends? If he remembers the encouragement he gave to Luz about "turning on the light", I would ask him what that would look like in his own life, symbolically.

Hunter's own life has been a really really bad dream for a very long time. He himself has to reach for that light switch and choose to heal by embracing Flapjack's ultimate gift to him.

And we can rest assured that Hunter did that.

Because this post-traumatic growth right here?

This looks like multiple breakthroughs have taken place while he's been receiving consistent care from an excellent community. And there's no way it was an easily won victory. It has been very much hard-won, after how dark the story became in Hollow Mind and Thanks to Them, and it looks like whatever breakthroughs he had left him pleasantly surprised.

It doesn't seem like his heart and soul can contain this much joy and hope, without a very painful dismantling to have taken place first, to make room for the most unexpected treasures to fill his life back up.

The joy becomes even greater if you never would've expected it in your wildest dreams.

[musashi]

You said in one of your youtube videos I think that the aa anime had your favorite characterization and I was wondering if you'd like to elaborate on that a bit more? I haven't watched it yet kother than the bloopers video lol) and I'm just curious as to what it does differently than the games

it is true to the games in every regard, but it has extra time to add character flourish that the games cannot.

just some examples: maya moves around erratically in every space she's in, the foley work is amazing so you can hear her wooden sandals on the ground and the clink of her beads hitting themselves. she barrels through crime scenes, accidentally smacks phoenix all the time because she isn't paying attention to what she's doing, and just has room to be more 'maya-like' because she's in an animated space and not stuck in a VN with mostly-static screens.

phoenix's internal monologue is replaced by long, lingering shots of him silently studying evidence as he finds it. moments where he connects everything come as instant revelations and you are left on the edge of your seat waiting to hear what he will say, rather than having to piece it together yourself. his character is incredibly pronounced in the anime especially--the core tenet of him is 'faith' and this is shown wonderfully time and time again.

(see, the scene in episode 2 where maya says she doesn't want him defending her, so he bikes in the rain all day to the office of every single defense attorney in the county begging for their help. the flashback scene in episode 13 where larry is insisting that miles has abandoned them and is about to crush miles' keychain under his foot, and phoenix dives for it and lets larry smash his fingers instead.)

miles in game is described as being sad-looking and watery-eyed, always kind of holding pain in his body and expression. you get to see that in the anime, instead of just having it told to you, and it does an amazing job at softening his character and endearing him to you in an instant

the anime supplements tons to established relationships. i talked in that video about how i love what it does to the prosecutor family, it shows you miles as a teenage boy and surrounds him in imagery (flower language, the clothes he wears, wide shots of him stuck at a fork in the road) that tells you he does not know what to do or who to be. and it shows you how the von karmas take care of him, and how it is miles' choice to be a prosecutor.

in the anime, franziska never has her 'miles was like a little brother to me' line because the anime shows you instead of telling you.

the anime offers insight into manfred von karma's thoughts on miles, which are notably remorseful and kind. it offers flashbacks to a time when franziska was protective and loving toward miles, doing everything in her power to pull him out of his trauma-induced depression and help him process grief.

the AA anime loves using symbolic storytelling. flower language is a big one, light is another. light is constantly used to convey truth, enlightenment, joy. this shot where franziska is literally in miles shadow as her father begins the process of choosing him over her, but she smiles with her whole face because she finally got him to smile for the first time since they've met, is literally a fucking masterpiece to me. i could write my dissertation on this scene alone.

the anime shows us everything we do not get in the games, all the little things we wish we could be privy to. it shows us mia giving maya the best day she possibly can, before asking maya--with the full expectation that maya may say no--if she would be willing to head the fey clan.

the anime gives us the progression of miego's relationship, literally SHOWS them falling in love

the anime gives us the fucking hospital scene that everyone is insane about!

and, of course, the anime gives us the little tiny baby signal trio, all running around and playing pretend as their favourite toku heroes.

these keychains that larry wins the three of them are a thruline throughout the whole show. phoenix keeps his on his briefcase, exposed to the world just like his heart, its paint chipping from years of love.

miles keeps his hidden away, close to his chest, pristine after all those years. even as the demon prosecutor, he never gets rid of it. even when he chooses death, he takes the memory of his two best friends with him.

the ace attorney anime is a fucking masterpiece. it takes these pre-established characters and breathes new life into them without losing sight of their original intention. every choice it makes is beautiful, rich with depth and nuance and love. it is genuinely no wonder the fandom hates it so much, which how much it clashes with their often black-and-white views of these characters who were never intended to be that way.

obviously, as a new medium, it does have to make some changes to adapt properly. but i have decided i am no longer speaking any problems i have with those changes, because i am sick to bastard death of negativity on all sides of me and would rather just publicly profess my love to this anime forever.

watch the aa anime.

(hey, dipshits in my notes! read the above banner, and then read it again! read it a third time, for good measure! are you typing a tag that starts with 'the anime has it's problems, but--' or 'the anime did a lot of things wrong, but--'? consider: no one fucking asked! not everything in the world needs your opinion, person with severe main character syndrome who doesn't know how to shut the fuck up! stop using parroting other people's opinions as a personality replacement and log off this website. take up a hobby. don't reblog my post. ten thousand whip lashes.)