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whytheylosttheirminds · 28 days ago

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Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 6 (part one)

(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 5.3k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

additional chapter cw! this chapter contains brief mentions of blood and minor injuries

It was like no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t stop hurting you.

You were only under for a second, maybe less, your lifejacket doing its job, and yet somehow he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d let you drown.

There wasn’t much logic to it. It wasn’t as though he had emptied the jet ski of all its gas, or that he somehow had control over the weather.

Technically, none of this was his fault, yet he felt the guilt burn in his chest like he’d swallowed hot coals.

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The second your head emerged, you let out a scream, the salt water in your fresh cut sending hot sparks of pain up your leg.

“Fuck, ow!” You cried, reaching for the jet ski with shaky hands, in so much pain you couldn’t even find it.

“Ohhh baby, are you okay?” Rafe grabbed your hand, squeezing tight as he pulled you towards him in the water, his other arm tethering you both to the jet ski.

“I think I’m bleeding,” you clung to his shoulder, your fingers digging in probably too tight, but the pain was so overwhelming you needed to put it somewhere. He didn’t mind, desperate to take it away however he could.

“Here climb up,” he said, grabbing your waist and boosting you. “The water can’t be helping.”

“Shit,” you both said in unison when you finally got onto the jet ski and revealed the cut on your calf, wider than you thought and bleeding angrily.

“Just hold on, I got you,” he assured, beginning to kick rapidly to start moving the jet ski toward the shore.

You were scared the whole time, never once taking your eyes off of him. Asking him over and over again if he was okay until you were sure he was sick of it. But not once was there even a hint of agitation in his voice as he promised you he was fine, that you were almost there, that everything was gonna be okay.

His words didn’t do much to convince you, your face flooding with worry when you noticed his breaths getting more strained.

“I’m okay,” he swore to you, stopping for a moment to catch his breath. “We’re almost there.”

It was starting to rain and the thunder was growing louder, there was no argument to be made that you could keep floating safely in the ocean. You resigned to let him keep going, but your eyes never left him, as if it was your appreciation keeping him afloat instead of his lifejacket.

“Thank you,” you said for the fifteenth time.

He smiled, his eyes crinkling with the motion, the expression entirely too joyful for the grim situation you found yourselves in.

“What?” You scoffed, poking his hand with your toe playfully.

“You’re cute when you’re worried,” he explained.

The drizzling rain was chilly, but your body was on fire. You opened your mouth to reply, despite the utter lack of words in your mind, but the sight of your sister appearing in the distance pulled your attention away.

The group that gathered at the dock’s edge was not the happy-go-lucky bunch of friends you’d arrived with a few hours ago.

The dock was only a few yards away now, you were close enough to see Carter slumped on the ground, Topper’s arms around her, pulling her into a comforting hug. As Rafe swam you closer, it became more apparent that she was crying.

“There she is!” Tom shouted, motioning to you.

Carter stood quickly, nearly knocking Topper over, waving her arms in the air frantically like she was trying to land a plane. You waved back, heart aching at the sight of her red, puffy eyes.

“We’re okay!” You yelled through the rain, trying to ease her worry as the jet ski approached.

You looked down at Rafe who could hear the commotion but not see it.

“We’re almost there, they’re all waiting for us,” you filled him in.

As the front of the jet ski neared the group, Topper leaned over the side of the dock to pull you the rest of the way in.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, where have you been, are you crazy?!” Carter paced the dock, a wild look in her eyes as she scolded you.

“I’m fine!” You assured her. “We just ran out of gas.”

“We?” She questioned, hands on her hips.

Once Topper had secured the jet ski to the dock, Rafe swam around to the side, revealing himself to the group.

“What the hell? Where’s Kelce?” Carter questioned.

You knew she must really be upset. When she went into worried-mom-mode, her already limited inclination for politeness went completely out the window.

“Can someone help him up please?” You corrected her. “And get him a blanket or something?”

“I’ve got a couple in my trunk!” Topper said, before running to the marina parking lot.

“I’m fine,” Rafe calmed you with a soft smile as he lifted himself onto the back of the jet ski.

Before he could climb onto the dock, fully planning to help you up next, Tom reached out his hand to you.

“Are you okay?” Tom asked. You could feel Rafe’s posture stiffen next to you.

“I’m fine, thank you.” You accepted his hand, only due to the fact that you actually did need help with the big step off the jet ski.

The moment your feet were steady on the dock, you pulled your hand from his and turned back to make sure Rafe made it onto solid ground. When he did, you made your way to Carter’s side, pulling her into a hug.

“I thought something happened…” she mumbled into your shoulder.

“I’m okay,” you soothed her. “Rafe saved me.”

She pulled back from you, sniffling as she eyed him over your shoulder.

“Thank you,” she told him quietly.

“I didn’t do a great job,” he said shakily, looking down at your leg. “You’re still bleeding.”

“You’re bleeding?!” Carter turned you around, inspecting you for injury.

You laughed as she spun you frantically, “it’s just a little cut on my leg.”

She leaned down to inspect it further, eyebrows knit with concern. “I told Topper we should’ve called 911.”

You placed both hands on her shoulders, “Car, I’m fine. It’s just a scrape, it’ll be gone by tomorrow. I’m sorry we scared you, though.”

“You did,” she pouted.

Topper came running back, huffing from his hurry.

“I could only find one,” he extended the blanket in his hands to Rafe, who obviously needed it more.

Rafe took the blanket from him and opened it up quickly, but instead of dragging it over his own shoulders, he wrapped it around you.

“You should take it,” you tried to stop him.

“Nah,” he waved you off, running his hands up and down your arms to warm you up. “We need to get you dry before Carter calls the Coast Guard.”

For a full ten seconds, your group stood in the rain, everyone’s eyes on someone else, the tension in the air telling an entire story to some invisible audience.

Carter looked at you, concern wrinkling her forehead as she wondered what really happened after she went to bed last night.

Topper looked at Carter, wondering if her investment in your love life meant she’d forgotten all about the intimate hug they’d shared on the dock waiting for you to return.

Tom looked at Rafe, wondering if it was this joker’s fault you’d rejected him the night before and feeling the hot flame of competition ignite in his chest.

Sabrina looked at Tom, wondering when boys had started looking at you like that and how to get him to look at her instead.

Rafe looked down at you, and you looked up at him, both wondering if the other was thinking the same thing: there’s so much more to say.

“Ahem,” the jet ski owner cleared his throat, pulling you all from your thoughts. “Need the keys back if you don’t mind.”

Carter handed him the first two keys, and Rafe fumbled in his pocket for yours.

“You should really be checking the gas tank before you just send people out there,” Rafe snapped at him, tossing him the key. “You sent her out with an empty tank, she could’ve been seriously screwed, man. No way to run a business.”

“Maybe you should teach your girl how to drive so she doesn’t drain the tank,” the guy snapped back. “Not my fault she’s a ditz.”

Rafe stepped toward him in one long stride, chest puffed out and tension brewing in his flexed jaw that ran all the way down his neck.

“The fuck did you just say?” Rafe grabbed him by his collar, pulling the guy up towards him as he glared at him.

You looked helplessly to Topper, who hurried to pull Rafe’s hand off the guy’s shirt. Topper was an expert at intervening before Rafe did things he couldn’t undo, and you were grateful he was here. Still, there was a small part of you that selfishly wanted to know what he’d do next, how far he’d go to defend your honor.

“Okay, okay,” Topper said. “Let’s just go, bro. It’s over.”

Rafe fought against Topper’s pull for a moment, staring daggers at the jet ski guy, who was chuckling smugly. When the guy’s eyes darted to you, he pulled his arm from Topper’s grip and made to move towards him again.

“Rafe,” you said softly.

His head turned to you, and the tension in his shoulders loosened. You shook your head ever so slightly, eyes urging him to back down. He nodded once and his hands, which had been balled into fists, flexed open as he let his anger go.

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As soon as you made it back to the house, you peeled your wet bathing suit off and climbed in the shower, eager to get your weary body into the warm water and let the sea wash down the drain. Carter had announced plans on the car ride back from the marina to go out to some clubs this evening, and you were far from dance floor ready.

For just a moment, the hot water felt incredible, until it made its way to your cut. You yelped and stepped out of the hot stream quickly.

Typically, you would’ve thought responsibly enough to cover the cut before getting in the shower, but your mind was too foggy with thoughts of Rafe. You pulled on some clothes and padded down the hall to Carter’s room.

The knock on the door sparked a flurry of commotion behind it. Hushed voices echoed from under the door frame.

“Just a second!” Carter shouted to you, voice muffled.

“Oof!” A deeper voice said, the sound of a heavy body hitting the floor.

Your lips twisted in a knowing smile. You didn’t need the door to swing open to know who you were hearing in the room. Carter and Topper were clearly tangled up in something before you interrupted.

Confirming your suspicion, the door swung open and Topper stood in front of you, his shirt on backwards from being pulled on in a hurry.

“Do I have the wrong room?” You smirked.

“I was just, uh, helping Carter with something,” he fumbled to explain.

“Oh? What were you helping her with?”

“Her bed is, uh, broken.”

You laughed, standing on your tiptoes to call over his shoulder and into the room, “just wanted to see if you have any Band-Aids?”

“No,” she responded from somewhere under the mess of blankets on her bed. “But I can come help you find some.”

“Oh no,” you said. “You stay here and work on that…broken bed.”

Topper gave you a thankful smile and you winked at him.

“Make good choices!” You called, turning from the door.

“Too late!” Carter sang back.

You checked a few of the other bathrooms before wandering to the kitchen. One hand on the counter, and the other reaching as high as it could, you tried to boost yourself up. The flex of your calf as you jumped stretched the skin around your cut, making you wince.

“Fuck,” you grumbled to yourself. “Let’s get jet skis they said, it’ll be fun they said…”

You tried to jump again, reaching for the high cabinet, the only one in the kitchen you hadn’t checked yet. You could’ve sworn you’d seen a first aid kit around here somewhere. You jumped again, the effort still fruitless.

“Need some help?”

You turned fast, startled by the revelation that you weren’t actually alone.

Rafe was standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning on the banister with his arms crossed. His hair was damp, clearly just out of the shower himself. You weren’t looking at his hair, though.

He was covered only by a pair of checkered boxers and the towel flung carelessly over his shoulder. His torso was long and rigid, more defined than you had first noticed on the beach the other day. The hard ridges of his abs cast shadows on the plane of his stomach, your eyes danced over them, down to the deep V that disappeared below his waistband.

“What are you looking for?” His words were casual, as if he didn’t notice you staring, but the crooked grin etched on his face told a different story.

“Band-Aids,” you told him, your voice so feeble it did nothing but further reveal your captivation with the sight of him.

The smirk and all its playfulness fell from his face as his eyes filled with concern.

“Are you still bleeding?”

“No, I just need to cover it so I can shower. I’m thinking I should probably get the seaweed out of my hair if we’re going out.”

“Y’know if you don’t want to go, we don’t have to. I’d stay back with you,” he offered.

Your eyes fell from his, shuffling your feet uncomfortably, he stumbled over his words to reassure you, “we don’t have to, like, hang out. Just if you’re tired and you’d rather stay in and read or something that’s cool. I would stay down here.”

“You don’t want to hang out with me?” You raised your eyebrows in mock offense.

You were messing with him now, you probably shouldn’t be, but watching him run circles around himself to say the right thing was too fun.

“That’s not what I- I just,” he stuttered. “Here, can you just let me help you?”

He was across the room quick, your bodies close enough to touch for the first time since the dock. He smelled like soap, and something else undefinable and sweetly nostalgic. He reached up, his long frame barely needing to stretch to reach the cabinet above you.

“Doesn’t look like there’s any in here,” he informed you, tall enough to see what you couldn’t.

“You sure?” You didn’t know why you were questioning him, your flustered state made you defensive.

“You’re welcome to keep jumping to try and see for yourself,” he stepped back to give you space to try again. “You were so close.”

“Don’t be mean,” you smiled.

“I’m serious! It was very cute,” he dropped casually.

Your eyes narrowed as you looked back at him. Despite all his genuine actions today, you couldn’t help but feel suspicious of his intentions.

”What?” He questioned, sensing your hesitancy.

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that today,” you pointed out, “It’s just kinda weird hearing you say it.”

“I mean it’s not like I’ve never called you cute before,” he reasoned.

“You haven’t,” you said definitively.

“I’m sure-“

“You haven’t. I would remember, believe me.”

You crossed your arms, hands cradling your elbows, feeling like a raw nerve. Rafe took a cautious step toward you, ducking his head slightly to draw your eyes to his, making sure you were listening when he said,

“Just because I didn’t say it doesn’t mean I didn’t think it.”

You instinctually stepped back, his words a little too close to a confession for your comfort. When you pulled away, the back of your leg hit the kitchen counter, making you flinch at the pain of your cut rubbing against the wood.

“I have some waterproof band aids in my room,” he mumbled, his low voice making you wonder for just a second if he really did have them or if this was just a sly way to get you to his room. Sensing your doubt, he doubled down with, “no, honest, I brought a whole first aid kit.”

Convinced, you followed him down the stairs to his basement bedroom. His bed was still pulled away from the wall, but it had seemingly dried. His belongings were strewn about, his book bag unzipped and overflowing with books and papers. You clocked the curious sight, but stayed silent, preoccupied by your sudden aloneness and his half-naked body.

Rafe dug through his suitcase for a moment until, sure enough, he pulled out a bright orange case with a little red cross on the front. You couldn’t help your smile.

“In your boy scout era?” You teased him.

“I’ve been on enough trips with Topper and Kelce to know you should always be prepared for the worst,” he chuckled.

“Ah, little did you know, I was gonna be the worst you needed to prepare for.”

“You? No, you’re the best part of this trip.”

Your throat tightened.

“Oh, really? It’s not your dungeon bedroom?” You pivoted.

“Yeah, I should probably get used to that mildew smell,” Rafe scoffed. “Gonna be living in my parents basement if I don’t pass this summer class.”

He motioned to his backpack, the mystery finally solved. He’d been doing school work down here. Summer classes, surely the answer to his not-graduating problem.

“What are you taking?” You inquired.

“Statistics. I need one more math credit and I just can’t…” he shook his head with self-loathing. “I mean, you know better than anyone. I’ve never been good at math.”

“I don’t think your problem was so much that you weren’t good,” you reasoned. “I think it was more about not applying yourself.”

“Well I’m applying myself now and I still feel like the textbook’s written in another language, so what does that mean?”

“Maybe that you just need some help,” you shrugged.

You could tell he was struggling with himself, and you were overcome with the desire to ease his worry. There are worse things a man can be than bad at math. But with Rafe, things were always all-or-nothing. One flaw meant the whole batch must be bad.

You felt the urge to jump into tutor-mode and do the hard work for him, but you knew once you crossed that bridge into such familiar territory, there’d be no going back.

Rafe didn’t seem to share your concerns about repeating the past.

“Help from you?”

The way he leaned in when he said it would be almost imperceptible to anyone else, but you’d studied him long enough to notice even the slightest movement. You could feel the air between you tighten, like a rubber band stretching as far as it could go. You broke eye contact before it had the chance to snap.

“Or, like a tutor?” You suggested, reaching for the first aid kit in his hands. “Do they have those at Chapel Hill?”

“They do,” he stepped closer anyway, hand brushing yours as he handed it to you. “But I’d rather have you.”

You cleared your throat, ignoring his attempt to flirt. You decided not to go down this road with him, afraid it would lead to another dead end.

He watched you dig through the kit for an appropriately sized Band-Aid, fighting the urge to ask if he’d said something wrong. Before he could, you leaned down and attempted to line up the adhesive with your cut, struggling to twist and reach the back of your leg.

“Here, let me.”

Fingers brushing yours, he took the Band-Aid and kneeled down in front of you, one leg under him, one propped up. His hand found your ankle and he guided your leg up so your foot rested on his knee.

Clouds of foggy attraction swirled in your eyes as you looked down at him. He poked his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he focused on unwrapping the Band-Aid. You zeroed in on his fingers, long and slender, leading to vein rippled hands that worked diligently to ease your pain. It was enough to knock someone over, but you weren’t going anywhere with his strong thigh holding you up.

“Since when are you such a gentleman?” You quipped, your decision not to flirt with him thrown out the window at the sight of him on his knees in front of you.

He smiled that satisfied, crooked grin as he gently placed the Band-Aid over your healing cut, “I’m trying.”

He brushed over the edge of the Band-Aid, smoothing it into place with a firm swipe of his thumb. You dreaded the moment he would stand again. As if he could read your mind, he delayed it, his hand lingering on your calf.

Completely breathless, you watched him consider his next move. For a moment, you thought he was going to let his hand continue to run up your leg, but he stopped himself, bringing it back to your ankle and returning your foot to the ground.

When he stood and looked down at you, he was surprised by the pout of your lips.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shrugged. “You just looked so cute down there.”

Rafe rolled his eyes playfully.

“Thought you didn’t like that word.”

“I don’t remember saying that,” you countered.

“You just don’t like it when I call you cute, then?”

There it was again, evidence of his genuine desire to understand you. The rubber band tightened again, but this time, it was in your stomach, his sincerity drawing you to him helplessly.

“There’s just so many better things you could call me,” you flirted.

“Yeah?” Excitement coursed through you at his breathy tone. “Like what?”

“My name would be a good start.”

Voice still low, so deep you could feel it more than hear it, he uttered your name. It rolled off his tongue, smooth like honey dripping from his parted lips. The syllables came out with the faintest breath, brushing over your face as the sound swept over you.

Lip tucked between your teeth, you looked at his mouth, as though you could will more soothing sounds to fall from it. As you stared, his lips got closer to you, close enough to touch yours-

“Yo Rafe!”

The sound of Topper’s voice from the top of the stairs startled you so much, you knocked into his bedside table.

“What?” Rafe barked in the direction of Topper’s voice, his harsh, irritated tone in such stark contrast with the sweet way he’d just spoken to you.

“Just letting you know we’re leaving in like an hour,” Topper said.

“Okay?” Rafe snipped.

Topper grumbled something along the lines of “so fucking testy today” as he closed the door, none the wiser to your presence in the basement.

Rafe turned to you, eyes searching your face for a sign he could recover the moment that was so abruptly interrupted. You didn’t meet his eyes. A nervous, pink blush kissed the tips of your cheeks and washed down your chest. The thought of Topper seeing what you were almost doing brought you crashing back to reality. Twice today you had almost let him kiss you, the steel backbone you’d come into this trip with feeling more like glass with every second you spent with him.

“I should probably go start getting ready then,” you said, making your way toward the stairs.

“Right, yeah,” he agreed, defeated.

“Thanks for the Band-Aid.”

“Anytime,” he said. “Anything.”

He stood at the bottom of the stairs as you climbed them. When you reached the door, you opened it just a crack, peeking out of it with paranoid eyes, making sure no one saw you sneak out of his room.

Regret hit him like a tidal wave. He couldn’t even be mad that you were so desperate not to be seen in close quarters with him, because it was exactly the look he’d have on his face when he used to climb out of your car in the school parking lot.

This must be how you felt. He wished for a time machine so he could knock out his teenage self the way he almost knocked out the guy on the dock today. Anyone who made you feel as shitty as he did right now deserved it.

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Finally able to take a painless shower, you took your time under the hot stream of water. Carter sat on the bathroom floor, knees drawn to her chest as you recapped the crazy day.

“I literally thought you might be dead,” she explained.

“How long were we even gone? Half an hour?” You laughed lovingly at her dramatics.

“Are you serious?”

“What, was it more?” You thought over the time you’d spent with Rafe on the water, in your mind it had flown by fast. Too fast.

“We got back to the dock a full two hours before you showed up on your Rafe-drawn carriage,” she informed you.

You laughed heartily at the image, your cheeks tinting pink, though you told yourself the flush was just from the hot water.

“What did you guys do out there for two hours anyway?” She asked, not a fan of how silent you’d gone at the mention of Rafe’s name.

“We just talked,” you said.

It wasn’t a lie, but it felt like an incomplete truth.

“About?” She pried.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “just, like, life and stuff.”

She snorted skeptically.

“What?”

“I just can’t picture Rafe Cameron having any kind of deep thoughts about life is all,” she explained.

“Well, he’s different now, I guess,” you said feebly.

“Is he though?”

That silenced you. She had a fair point, you had only been talking to Rafe again for a few days, and most of that time was spent with him asking questions about you. You didn’t know him at all really, at least not as well as you used to, not enough to make judgment calls on his character.

Yet there was this instinct that had never really gone away. An invisible tether that connected you to him in a way you’d never experienced with anyone else. He was your sixth sense, you just knew him. You always had.

“I’m gonna go grab my makeup bag,” Carter exited the bathroom, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

A few moments later, she reentered the room. You felt the words deep in your chest, and even though you knew she may not like them, you needed to let them out.

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Rafe meandered upstairs, looking for Topper’s room so he could borrow a shirt. He hadn’t really packed any going out outfits, picturing himself planted on the beach the whole week. The day he packed felt like a lifetime ago, he had no idea the rollercoaster this trip would turn into.

Down the hall, the bathroom door was open a crack, steam pouring from it as someone showered. Surely, whoever was in there didn’t intend to leave it open. He made his way towards the door to close it, but stopped short when he heard your familiar voice coming from the shower. He knew he should close the door and walk away, but your words glued him in place.

“I have to be honest with you,” you said. “I know I should hate him, but I don’t. I don’t think I’ll ever hate him.”

Rafe’s heart raced, an optimistic smile spreading across his face. He prayed that he was the ‘him’ you were referring to.

“The sad thing is, if he asked me to, I’d still give him anything he wanted,” you chuckled, surprised by your own words. “If he wanted me, I think I’d be with him.”

He’d never do it, but he seriously considered barging right into your shower and telling you “I want you, you have no idea how badly I want you.”

But the fantasy was cut short.

“I think I’d hate myself the whole time, though,” you confessed quietly.

At that, he actually did close the door, heart sinking, wishing he could dissolve into the floor.

His whole life, people found it hard to love him. They may not say it to his face, but he picked up on more than people thought. He exhausted his family, his irresponsibility and impulsivity were a pain to them since he was a kid. He disappointed his father, he knew he wasn’t the heir to the Cameron throne Ward had hoped for. And he’d fumbled you completely, the best friend he ever had.

Since then, everything he did was out of self-protection. He ghosted girls at school before they got the chance to reject him, he didn’t reply to texts from friends for fear of being ignored first. He picked fights and pushed people away, running from rejection like a monster in the dark.

But this week, for just a moment, he thought maybe he could finally stop running. He thought maybe he’d finally found something that was worth the risk. He had never felt so safe, so seen, as he did today when you were talking to him.

Then your words shook him from his delusions. He could handle his family’s disappointment and his friends’ exasperation. But your resentment? Knowing that being with him made you hate yourself? He just could not afford it. He wouldn’t survive it.

Closing the bathroom door had a finality to it, the click of the handle a sign of a decision made. He would stop pursuing you. He’d get through this trip, graduate school, and finally move on. If not for his sake, for yours. He was bad for you. You knew it, Carter knew it, he knew it. For your sake and his, he decided to let you go.

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The Ubers arrived around nine. The boys were showered, dressed, and ready by 8:30, chilling on the couch watching baseball and drinking their pregame beers. Topper kept an eye on his phone, watching the little cars get closer to the house.

“Ride’s almost here and they’re really not ready,” Topper sighed.

“Did you really expect anything else?” Kelce threw back another beer.

“Wanna take it easy tonight, man?” Rafe recommended, no one needed a reminder of the damage Hurricane Kelce had caused the last time he was shitfaced.

“No, actually, I don’t,” Kelce laughed.

Rafe reached across the couch, Topper ducking out of the way of his swift arm as he snatched the beer from Kelce’s hand.

“I’m getting you some water,” Rafe said. “I’m not babysitting your drunk ass all night.”

Rafe stood over the kitchen sink, filling a glass for Kelce. The water rose over the cup’s edge and overflowed onto his hands, but he didn’t even notice. He was lost in thought, thinking about your cry after falling off the jet ski, your lip pulled between your teeth when he almost kissed you, your words in the shower…

“Thirsty?” He heard you say behind him.

He turned to look at you, nearly dropping the glass.

Rafe was resolved. He couldn’t risk the sting of your rejection, and he couldn’t afford the price of your resentment. There would be no more chasing you, no moves made, no plays attempted. It was settled, he was done.

Then he saw you in that fucking dress.

(Chapter 6: part two)

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a/n: oops another two part chapter cause the word count got away from me againnnn :) will try my best to post pt 2 this weekend!

and if I wrote a bonus blurb about what happened in Carter’s bedroom what then? A smutty little Carrot Top side quest? How would we feel about that?

as always, sorry for taglist errors, they're never intentional. to see my new posts first, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs <3

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esouliie · 10 months ago

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DON’T YOU LOVE THE DEVIL?

– pairing | wanda maximoff x fem!reader

– synopsis | wanda was everything you wanted in a mom. she was kind and loving, even to those who weren’t her own children. she, however, loved you in a very different way…

– warnings | porn with plot, non con that turns kinda dub con, smut, mommy kink, spanking, thigh riding, overstimulation, aftercare, wanda is a perv lmao (18+)

[word count: 3.4k]

Summer was always your favourite time. It meant avid beach trips, ice cream dates and - most importantly - bestie sleepovers. You enjoyed staying at Natasha's house, which was much larger than yours. Wanda, her mother, was always very kind to you, even more so than your own. Because of this, throughout high school, you found yourself always at the Maximoff’s. When you were going through a difficult time, you would always turn to her for support; she was a solid shoulder to cry on as her hushed whispers soothed you.

Much like your house, Natasha’s dad was never in the picture. And because Wanda never seemed to date, it was always just them two and sometimes you. Their house was your safe haven and Wanda was your beckoning angel. Now in your last year of college, you still find yourself coming to the older woman…

Countless nights, you wished she was your mom instead.

Reaching into your pocket, you fumble around for the front key, feeling its familiar shape between your fingertips.

This was your usual routine – Natasha would text when she was nearly home from work, and you’d arrive shortly after, letting yourself in with the spare key she had given you months ago.

The door swings open with a soft creak, revealing the warmth of the home beyond. The living room is empty, just the faint hum of the TV can be heard.

As you step into the kitchen, the warm aroma of burnt vanilla envelops you. Wanda stands against the island, dressed in a large, red sweater and black skirt, with one hand scrolling through her phone as the other holds a glass of red wine. She looked radiant as ever. A grown woman confident in her own skin and her ability.

“Hey, Wanda.”

She places her phone down and greets you warmly. “Hey there, sweetheart. How are you?”

“I’m good.” You take a seat next to her and she busies herself with pouring you a glass of red. You watch her, marvelling at how effortlessly she moves around the kitchen, her movements always graceful and fluid.

"So," Wanda begins, setting the glass in front of you, "another bestie sleepover?"

“Yep! Natasha’s going to be busy with Bucky next week so we’re spending as much time together.”

Wanda scoffs at the mention of her daughter’s partner, “Yeah, she said something about going to his parent’s lake house for the week.”

You hum, reaching for a sip of the wine, awkward in the revelation of Wanda’s distaste for her daughter’s boyfriend. I mean, it’s not like you like him either. You hate him actually. He was always so weird about your friendship with the redhead, always starting arguments around how much you guys hang out together and how he thinks you have a crush on her.

Plus, Natasha was way out of his league and he sometimes treated her like shit. It was only last week when Natasha was complaining about how they had an argument during their date and Bucky left her to find her own way home…

“I really don’t know what she sees in him.”

You sigh, setting the glass back down. “Me neither. He’s an asshole.”

Lost in thought, you fail to notice Wanda’s approach until an arm laid upon your shoulder, and a hand twirled around your curls.

“You know, I always thought Natasha would end up with you.”

Shocked by her confession, you try to respond - to deny that nothing would ever happened - but your mouth is unable to move as her nails scratch against your neck.

Wanda settles down in the stool beside you, hand retreating to stroke down your arm.

"I just don't understand. He’s boring and doesn’t deserve Tasha, whereas, you’re… you’re so much better than him.” She admits softly, her gaze fixed on you.

"You’re so much more than him.”

You shrug, expelling a shaky breath as you watch her manicured nail draw patterns against your exposed skin.

Silence envelopes you both, Wanda deep in thought and you pretend to act calm about the fact that Wanda’s touch has trailed down to your hands, resting in your lap.

“You know if I were her…” Her breath flutters against your ear, “I wouldn’t even think about anyone else… when I have you.”

Your heart skips a beat at her admission.

"I..." you begin, your voice catching in your throat as you struggle to articulate the jumble of thoughts and emotions swirling within you.

It felt so wrong, and yet you didn’t want her to stop.

To keep stroking your hand,

To keep whispering in your ear.

To keep close to you.

“I think… I want to kiss you.” Wanda murmurs, her thumb gently running over your lips.

But before you could say anything, she leaned in, her lips meeting yours in a soft, tentative kiss.

“So pretty.” She whispers, lips closing in once again, but the sudden closing of a door upstairs startles you both as you pull away. Eyes wide in fear that Natasha could’ve seen you kissing her mom.

Wanda leaves her seat, an unreadable expression on her face, and disappears into the living room, Natasha’s thundering footsteps break you from looking at her as she comes downstairs. Her hair is wet, her bangs clinging to her forehead. She must’ve been in the shower.

“You made it!” Natasha exclaims before briefly hugging you and dragging you with her upstairs, “Come on. Let’s watch a movie.”

…

A few hours later, and a few movies down, you end up back in the kitchen, in search of a drink. You spot Wanda in the living room watching a show, her presence both comforting and unnerving. No longer elegantly dressed, she lounges in a maroon satin night gown. The thin fabric barely covers her long legs as it glows complimentarily against her pale skin.

Summoning as much courage, you take a seat on the other end of the sofa. The drink long forgotten. She recognises your presence but you both don’t say anything, engrossed in some reality show on TV. This distraction works for a while but then, like a shadow in the morning sun, the memory of the kiss surfaces. Heat blossoms against your cheeks but you feel it weighing on your mind, a heavy burden demanding acknowledgement.

“Wanda,” your voice so quiet she almost didn’t hear it, ‘I think we should talk about earlier.”

With a delayed hum, she turns towards you, waiting patiently for you to continue. Your words stumble out clumsily, faltering as you try to convey the complexity of your emotions. You want to explain that the kiss was wrong, that she was your best friend’s mom and that nothing like that could happen again, but you don’t want to hurt her feelings in the process.

Her expression was unreadable, you could almost hear the pounding of your own heart, the uncertainty hanging thick in the air between you. And then, finally, she speaks.

“I’m sorry, darling. I thought- it was silly and inappropriate of me.” She reaches over to briefly squeeze your hand.

“Let’s forget it happened.”

You exhale with relief, “Yeah, okay. Thank you.”

Quick to change the conversation and clear the awkward tension, Wanda asks, “How come you’re down here anyways? Where’s Natasha?”

“Oh she fell asleep.” You giggle at the unattractive image of your best friend, snoring somewhat loudly and taking up your side of the bed.

“Besides, I’m not really tired, so I thought I’d come down for a drink.”

Wanda hums, a smile on her face at the sight of you giggling so cutely.

But you notice her hands run over bare arms, soothing the goosebumps and the slight shiver, “Are you cold?”

She looks at you for a moment, eyes taking in your concerned features before she nods.

“I’ll get you a blanket.” You move to stand but a grip on your wrist halts you.

“Don’t bother. Just sit here.”

She leans back against the pillows, legs parting slightly. Your brows furrow in confusion.

She tugs your wrist softly, “Don’t think, just come here.”

She pulls you to sit between her thighs, flush against her front as she winds her arms around you. It wasn’t uncommon being hugged by the older woman but it’s never been like this. But despite earlier, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of comfort wash over you. The room even felt cosier now all that tension was gone. So, you lean back into her embrace, feeling her steady heartbeat against your back and her warm thighs brush against yours.

“Hm, much better. You’ve always run hot.” Her face snuggles into your curls and you giggle.

Her large hands dip, holding softly onto your hips, pulling you even closer with a silent groan, before descending to your thighs. A shiver of anticipation runs down your spine, but you maintain composure, thinking nothing of the surely innocent touch as you focus on the TV screen in front of you.

Her touch is gentle, sending a warm current through your body with each stroke. You feel your legs widen, following in the direction of her strokes, not wanting the caress to stop. The show on the TV fades into the background as your attention becomes solely fixated on her.

She leans in closer, her breath warm against your ear as she whispers, “Pretty girl... feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nod, allowing yourself to melt further into her embrace, your head resting against her shoulder instead of watching her hands.

Wanda tuts, “No, baby, head up.”

A single hand moves from your thigh to hold the back of your head, forcing you to look down at your entwined legs. Another hand wanders higher than expected, tracing small circles into your inner thigh, jarring you out of your trance as you go to wiggle free from her grip. “Wanda… that’s-”

Your speech is cut off as fingers slip under your shorts, and you gasp, squirming with renewed vigour. But her hold refuses even the feeblest motions as she wraps an arm around your waist.

“Wanda… please!”

“Don’t think, baby.” She warns again, fingers gliding further into your shorts. “Just let yourself feel good.”

You fight harder, hips snapping away from her touch as hands pry at her wrist. “Get off me!”

“No, you’re not getting up.” You squirm again, and without warning, she digs her nails harshly into your soft skin. “I said, you’re not getting up.”

You whimper in pain and stop your movement. Instantly, her nails pull back from your skin, leaving red angry crescent marks. Those fingertips gently caress the marks to soothe them before moving up under your shirt.

“Good girl.” Those words bring an odd warmth to your body and suddenly you think that letting Wanda have her way with you couldn’t be as bad as you initially thought…

But light fingers caressing up and down your stomach, inching closer to your breasts reminded you of the position you’re in.

This was your best friend’s mom.

Natasha didn’t deserve this.

“Wanda, we can’t… it’s not right. What about Nat-?”

“It’s fine, princess.” She interrupts, placing a few chaste kisses against your neck. “She won’t find out.”

Suddenly, those hands slide up over your bare breasts and gently squeeze. You take in a deep breath and exhale slowly with a soft whimper. Pleased with the response, she begins to knead them kindly alternating between light and firm pressure.

“You like that, baby?” Wanda coos then nibbles on the side of your ear, descending your neck carefully to not leave bites and marks in place.

Your back arches slightly, pressing your breasts deeper into her adept grasp, and your defiance fades ever so quickly with each breathy moan.

“Hm, so needy, so responsive…” thumbs swipes over your perked nipples, “and all I’m doing is playing with your tits, princess.”

Your increased whines answer in reply and Wanda doesn’t bother wasting time anymore. Lifting a hand from its spot under your top, she glides down under your shorts. Her lithe fingers ghost over the soaked underwear, travelling low enough to feel the wetness seep from your slit, and she moans lowly at the sensation. “You’re so wet… fuck, is this all for me?”

Battling between not wanting this and giving in to her, you also fight the urge to thrust your hips upwards, to search for some needed friction, to end the maddening ache between your thighs.

The older woman’s light touches feel like heaven and hell as nimble fingers slide up and down the fabric that clung to you, purposely missing where you needed her most.

“That’s it, baby. Relax… let go for me.”

A strange fuzziness washes over you completely as you relax - moral sobriety long forgotten - as your legs spread apart limply for Wanda to grope in every direction.

“M’kay.” You reply, barely hearing yourself, lost in the moment.

Wanda sighs contently, forever pleased she’s put you in this headspace with such little fight.

Focusing back on your neck, she licks along the flushed skin, and as she bites against your pulse a little harder, the slight pain has you quivering.

You melt into the warm heat below you, head resting against a firm shoulder, as you let out a moan laced with pleasure and slight frustration. Hips bucking slightly back into Wanda’s hoping she’d take the hint and get on with it.

The quicker you gave her what she wanted, the quicker it would be done.

Finally, her index finger slides higher, the tip of her nail just brushing against your clit slightly. Your thighs shake at the motion, wanting to clamp shut around her but never doing so in fear she would stop. A cry falls from your mouth in surprise as her finger finally reaches, circling your swollen nerve endings in a slow yet firm motion.

Your words stumble out clumsily, unable to string a full sentence together as Wanda practically purrs against your ear.

“Oh, you’re doing so well, baby.” She coos, before pressing open-mouthed kisses against your jaw, “So well for me… come here.”

Tipping your neck up, she dips forward, pressing her hot lips against your own. A choked note of dismay comes from you as Wanda forces your mouth open and shoves her tongue inside. The older woman dominates the clashing of tongues, making sure that you know your place.

You fail to notice Wanda pull your shorts and panties down from your hips until her fingers press against you harder, and you can’t help but grind against it with such aching desperation. She marvels over how pathetic you look… one minute begging for her to stop and now humping against her like a bitch in heat, swallowing her tongue down your throat.

Such a depraved mental image and yet it only feeds into her desire for you.

To claim you as hers, no matter if you wanted it or not.

Because she didn’t care.

She could feel herself getting wetter, as she met your grinding with her own thrusts, your ass pressing flush against her soaked panties.

The kiss eventually comes to an end, a few hungry strands of saliva briefly clinging to your lips, linking you together. Wanda gazes lovingly at the sight of you, a growing smile on her lips, as you writhe in building pleasure.

“Can you look at me, princess?”

Wanda asks in a sultry tone and you struggle to open your eyes, squinting against the light as her blurry face comes into focus. Her pupils are blown out, partly consuming those emerald irises, her cheeks painted a flushed pink, and her lips part as she pants freely.

She looks so beautiful.

Her green eyes shine clouded over in a different colour than Natasha’s…

Natasha.

Dread seeps into your bones, your body ripped from its relaxed trance as you recall your best friend and how she’s sleeping upstairs as you’re fucked by her mom.

You don’t want to think about how upset she would be to find you like this.

“Baby…” She reels your mind back to focus on her, noticing you’re beginning to spiral. “You ready to come for me?”

Her fingers speed up perfectly but you shook your head in defiance, your mind no longer free to just enjoy Wanda’s touch.

“No,” she coos, “you don’t want to come for me, baby? Don’t want to come for Mommy?”

A whiny no leaves your lips, not giving in to the beautiful temptress behind you.

Annoyed, Wanda rolls her eyes, clearly upset that you wouldn’t just give in to her and that you’re not nestled in that special little headspace anymore.

Without warning, she twists your thigh over the other, ass on show as she lashes out with a sharp slap. You cry out at the unexpected blow, your hands grabbing tightly onto whatever part of the woman you can reach. You weren’t sure if you were trying to push her away or pull her close.

“I thought we were done with that, baby.” She unleashes a few more spanks, “Thought you were going to be my good girl, hm?”

You gasp for air at the same time Wanda gropes your marked flesh, pulling your cheeks apart as she rubs in soothing circles. The breath turns into a choked moan as Wanda spanks you one more time, before returning you to your original position, back to pressing firm circles against your clit.

Once again, you fight her touch. Hips wiggling in each direction until ankles wrap around your legs, locking you in place.

Tight circles turn to quick taps, the once pleasing hand now bringing pain upon your pussy in rapid succession, not allowing you to writhe in her generosity for too long before returning to cruelty.

A beautiful blend that muddled all of your defying thoughts until there was nothing left.

Your body betrayed your mind. Your legs fell completely limp, as you lay at the mercy of the older woman. Taking whatever she deemed necessary to give.

Finally, she had you.

“I don’t care if you don’t want to. You’re going to cum all over my fingers for me.” She concludes with a kiss on your cheek.

And not caring if you cry loud enough to wake up the rest of the house, her fingers speed up for the last time, sending you headfirst over the edge.

…

After what felt like hours, Wanda was done with you. You had moved into her bedroom, deciding the sofa was not adequate to continue. Now her head rests against your stomach after she had spread you open to lap up your next orgasm.

Your body spasms randomly, wave after wave of aftershock rolling over you. A warm hand cups your core firmly, and you buck away from the sensitivity, not wanting her touch anymore. But her fingers remain, gliding slowly up and down your slit, marvelling at your swollen skin, before pushing against your entrance.

You’re overwhelmed. What little fight you have left mentally can’t keep up with the fatigue of your exhausted body. If she wanted to, she could have her way with you. Again and again. Fresh tears fall from your eyes as you sob inconsolably into hands covering your face.

Wanda leaves you be, moving up your body to grab onto your wrists.

“Hey, baby… it’s okay, you’re okay…” she coos, fingertips wiping away your tears, “Mommy went too hard on you, didn’t she?”

You struggle to find the words, and Wanda shushes you, stopping you from thinking too much in such a delicate headspace.

You feel movement, feel Wanda get off you, and your eyes snap open in a slight panic but she sits beside you and swiftly draws you onto her lap.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Don’t cry.” She says gently, reeling you in with false empathy. She was glad she pushed you too hard you broke.

“Mommy couldn’t help herself.”

You scoot closer, close enough to bury your head into her neck as fingers trail up and down your back.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, baby. Can you forgive me?”

Her soothing words are music to your ears as you whimper softly against the woman, not willing to talk or move away. You just want her to hold you.

“Say it, princess. Say you forgive me.”

She guides you out of her neck to look at her.

“I forgive you.” You choke out, upset you’re no longer buried in her chest, as your hands run back to cover your eyes. Too ashamed to even look at her.

“Sweet girl, come here.” Wanda doesn’t wait, moving your hands to wrap around her neck as she kisses you hungrily, swallowing any little disapprovals as you push languidly against her chest, trying to force her mouth off of you.

It’s fine, it’s fine,” she ushers against your swollen lips, “I just want to make you feel better.”

You whine in disapproval but your arms wrap tighter around her.

“You love me, don’t you?” She whispers against your cheek, but doesn’t let you reply, as you choke on her tongue, stroking deep against yours.

“Say you love me, baby.” She moves to kiss your forehead, before moving down against your collarbone.

Hands groping your ass as she rocks you steady against her thigh.

“I love you,” a few tears burn down your throat as you hiccup,” I love you, I love you.”

Wanda mumbles her gratitude into your skin, fresh marks blooming against your chest as she fucks you against her.

“Keep saying you love me, baby.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you…” flies from your mouth in quick succession, your mind once again empty as the tell tale signs of another orgasm come into view.

“I love you too, princess.” She returns to your lips, tongue prodding past them as she coaxes your tongue into her mouth.

“Come on. Be good for me.”

It slams into you, body tense as you fall over the edge, pressing your face deep into her neck. She shushes you, not letting go of your body until the convulsions stop, and even then, you’re curled into her chest. Unwilling to part from her.

She allows you to sob freely, your body shaking uncontrollably as hands stroke all over until you calm down. Almost asleep in her arms.

A hand runs through your damp hair, “That’s it, baby. We’re done.”

“No more.” You mumble out, eyes already shut as exhaustion washes over.

“No more, baby. Go to sleep.” Wanda shifts you down her body, your face now against her chest, as she covers you both with her duvet.

Unable to resist any longer, you drift off in Wanda’s warm embrace.

#my fics! ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff #: @florietas

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reidmarieprentiss · 3 months ago

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Lost & Found

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

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

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

Word count: 19.6k

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

main masterlist

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

—

Spencer Reid sat in a sterile conference room, surrounded by maps and case files in a small town in Missouri. He was miles away from home, yet his mind kept drifting back to you. It had been a little over two years since you and Spencer began dating, and in that time, he had come to rely on your comforting presence. Even though he was away, the two of you made it a point to call each other whenever possible, exchanging stories about your days and sharing a few jokes. Today, he hadn’t heard from you yet, and a nagging feeling tugged at the back of his mind.

The shrill ring of his phone jolted Spencer out of his thoughts. Hotch was in mid-sentence when Spencer abruptly stood up, excusing himself from the meeting as he glanced down at the caller ID and recognized your best friend’s name.

“Hey, Spencer! Sorry for calling so early, I just wanted to ask if you knew what Y/N would like for her birthday dinner!” they chirped, their voice a bit muffled from what sounded like some activity in the background. “She’s so picky, you know! Maybe we could make a surprise for her?”

“I...I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to her yet today,” Spencer admitted, his voice nearly shaking. “But she loves Italian food, maybe pasta?”

“Oh, of course! I’ll start with that, then. Thanks, Spencer!” they replied before hanging up, oblivious to the gravity of the situation.

The call left Spencer feeling hollow, a growing sense of dread gnawing at him. He sank back into his chair, his mind reeling. Moments later, his phone rang again, and he picked it up without even glancing at the screen. This time, the voice on the other end was urgent and frantic, and Spencer’s heart sank as he listened.

"Hello?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady, though the room was still buzzing around him.

“Spencer Reid?” a calm, authoritative voice inquired on the other end.

“Yes, this is he,” Spencer replied, straightening up slightly as he recognized the tone of someone delivering important information.

“This is St. Agnes Hospital in Washington, D.C.," the voice continued. "I’m calling about Y/N L/N.”

Spencer's heart skipped a beat. The mention of your name brought everything else to a halt, and he felt a wave of apprehension wash over him.

“She has been in an accident,” the voice said, and Spencer could hear the weight behind those words. “You are listed as her emergency contact, how soon can you get here?”

He froze, unable to process the words as they echoed in his mind. “An accident?” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "What happened?"

“There was a collision with a semi-truck,” the hospital staffer explained, their voice professional yet tinged with compassion. “Y/N was seriously injured. She’s currently in surgery, but it’s critical.”

Spencer's mind raced, each word like a punch to his gut. “Is she—” he started, his voice breaking. “Is she going to be okay?”

“We’re doing everything we can, Dr. Reid,” the worker reassured him gently. “But you should get here as soon as you can.”

He nodded, though the person on the other end couldn't see him, trying to gather his thoughts through the haze of shock. The room around him felt surreal, the voices of his colleagues fading into the background.

“Thank you,” Spencer managed to say, his voice shaky with barely restrained panic. “I’m on my way from Missouri, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

As he ended the call, Spencer abruptly returned, shoes pounding against the floor. His teammates noticed the sudden change in his demeanor, their conversations pausing as they turned to him with concern.

“Spencer?” Emily asked, noticing the ashen look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Y/N,” Spencer said, his voice tight with urgency. “There’s been an accident. I need to get home.”

Without waiting for a response, he grabbed his things, already planning his route to the nearest airport in his head. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the urgency to be by your side, to hold your hand, to be there when you needed him most.

“We’ll cover things here,” Hotch assured him, stepping forward. “Go.”

“Thanks,” Spencer replied, his voice holding gratitude and desperation. He turned to leave, his thoughts solely focused on getting back to you, hoping with every fiber of his being that he wouldn’t be too late.

—

Spencer couldn’t remember the flight home. The moments blurred together as his mind replayed the words over and over: life support, coma, severe accident. They echoed in his head, refusing to let him think of anything else. His team had rallied around him, offering words of support and handling the details to get him back as quickly as possible.

As the plane touched down in Washington, Spencer felt the full weight of the situation crashing down on him. His legs trembled as he stood, a numbness spreading through his body as he made his way through the terminal.

The hospital was a short drive away, and yet it felt like an eternity. He barely registered the buildings and streets flashing by as he sat in the back seat of a cab, his heart pounding with each passing moment.

Finally, he arrived at the hospital, a large, imposing building that now seemed more like a fortress. Spencer rushed through the doors, barely acknowledging the bustling activity around him as he focused solely on reaching you. He navigated the maze of hallways with a determination that surprised even him, eventually finding his way to the ICU.

Your room was sterile and filled with the rhythmic beeping of machines, each sound a stark reminder of your fragile condition. Spencer stopped short at the sight of you lying in the hospital bed, tubes and wires snaking across your body. His heart wrenched at the sight, a profound ache settling in his chest as he slowly approached.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.

He took a shaky breath, feeling the enormity of the situation press down on him. He felt helpless, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest with the assistance of the ventilator, knowing there was nothing he could do to change what had happened.

Spencer reached out, his hand trembling as he gently took yours. The warmth of your skin was a small comfort, a reminder that you were still there, still fighting.

“I’m here,” he said softly, his voice breaking as he spoke. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Please, Y/N... please come back to me.”

The room was silent except for the steady hum of the machines, and Spencer felt a tear slide down his cheek. He brushed it away, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

—

The hours that followed were a blur. Spencer sat by your side, his hand never leaving yours as he kept a silent vigil. The nurses and doctors came and went, their words and actions a distant murmur as Spencer focused solely on you. He remembered snippets of conversations, assurances that you were receiving the best care possible, and updates on your condition that offered little comfort.

In those moments, Spencer clung to hope. He recalled all the times you had smiled at him, the way your eyes lit up when you were excited or passionate about something. He remembered the quiet moments you shared, the laughter and love that had blossomed between you over the past years.

—

Three Days Later

Spencer hadn’t left the hospital since he arrived. The team had been by his side, offering support and keeping him company, but he barely registered their presence. All that mattered was you, and the hope that you would wake up and return to him.

On the third day, the doctor came in with a more hopeful expression than before. He checked the monitors, made some notes, and then turned to Spencer with a small smile.

“There’s been some improvement,” he said gently. “It’s a good sign. We’re going to try reducing the sedation and see how she responds.”

Spencer felt a flicker of hope at the words, his heart clenching with a mix of anticipation and fear. He nodded, unable to trust his voice as he watched the doctor adjust the IV line. They assured him they would keep him informed as soon as your surgery was complete and directed him to the waiting area, where he could collect himself while waiting for more information.

Spencer made his way to the waiting room, his thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. Memories of you together flooded his mind: the quiet evenings spent curled up on the couch, the laughter shared over inside jokes, and the whispered promises of a future together. He sat down, feeling the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him, wondering what the next few hours would bring.

—

The hours stretched on interminably, each tick of the clock echoing loudly in Spencer's ears as he waited in the sterile waiting room. He couldn't bring himself to focus on anything other than the thought of you, lying in surgery, fighting for your life. The antiseptic smell of the hospital, the murmur of other patients and visitors, all faded into the background as he replayed every memory he had of you in his mind, trying to cling to the hope that you would pull through.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a doctor approached Spencer with a solemn expression. "Dr. Reid?" the doctor asked, and Spencer quickly stood, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Yes, that's me," Spencer replied, his voice fullof hope and anxiety.

"The surgery was successful," the doctor said, offering a small, reassuring smile. "We were able to stabilize her, and she's currently in the ICU under observation."

Spencer felt a rush of relief wash over him, though the gravity of the situation was still heavy on his shoulders. "Thank you," he said sincerely, his voice trembling with emotion. "Thank you so much."

The doctor nodded, understanding the depth of Spencer's gratitude. "She's not out of the woods yet," the doctor continued, "but she's made it through the worst part. However, I need to prepare you for the possibility that there may be complications. We won't know the full extent until she regains consciousness."

Spencer nodded, taking in the doctor's words with a mix of relief and apprehension. He felt his breath catch in his throat, knowing that there was still a long road ahead, but grateful for the chance to be by your side as you began to recover.

—

You pulled through, but it wasn't without its challenges. When you finally awoke, the room was filled with the soft beeping of monitors and the faint hum of medical equipment. Everything felt disorienting as you blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights, trying to make sense of where you were and what had happened.

Spencer was at your side, his eyes filled with relief and worry as he watched you stir. He reached out to take your hand, squeezing it gently in reassurance. "Y/N," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "You're awake."

You turned your head slightly, trying to focus on the man before you. He looked somewhat familiar, yet your mind struggled to place him. The last thing you remembered was being 18, living with your sister Emily, and yet here you were, in a hospital bed, with a stranger by your side.

"Who are you?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of uncertainty.

Spencer felt his heart drop at your words, a painful realization settling in. He had hoped that when you woke up, everything would be back to normal, that you would go back to the life you had built together. But the look of confusion and fear in your eyes told him everything he needed to know.

"I'm Spencer," he said gently, trying to keep his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "I'm your boyfriend. We've been together for over two years. You live with me."

You shook your head slowly, trying to wrap your mind around his words. It felt like a dream, a reality you couldn't quite grasp. "No," you said, your voice breaking with frustration and fear. "I live with my sister, Emily. I don't know you."

Spencer felt a wave of sadness wash over him, but he forced himself to stay strong for you. He knew this was a possibility, that the trauma of the accident could have affected your memory, but hearing it from you was a different reality altogether. He took a deep breath, his heart aching with every word he prepared to say.

“Um, no. I—I don’t know how to tell you this, but, uh…” Spencer tried to speak through the tears coming on, his voice trembling. “You are 25 years old, Emily is 38, and you work as a liaison for the Sex Crimes Unit in the FBI. Emily and I work together in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. We met through Emily, and now you live with me. You were in a severe car accident three days ago, and you may be suffering from amnesia.”

His words hung in the air like a cloud, heavy and dense, as you struggled to process what he was telling you. The hospital room felt colder, the sterile smell more pronounced, as your mind tried to catch up with the information being presented to you. Everything he said felt distant and unfamiliar, like a story someone else was telling, not your own life.

“Amnesia?” you repeated, the word foreign on your tongue. You could feel panic beginning to rise in your chest, the fear of the unknown pressing down on you. “How is this possible? I—I don’t remember any of this.”

Spencer’s heart broke at the fear in your eyes, and he longed to reach out and comfort you. But he knew that, to you, he was a stranger, someone who claimed to know you but didn’t feel real. He had to tread carefully, to give you space to process the situation at your own pace.

“It’s okay,” Spencer said softly, his eyes filled with compassion. “I know this is a lot to take in. You’ve been through so much, and I’m here for you. We can take this one step at a time. Whatever you need, I’m here to help.”

You looked at him, studying his face for any sign of deception or recognition, but all you saw was sincerity. It was both comforting and unsettling. Here was a man who seemed to care deeply for you, yet you couldn’t find a single memory to support his claims. It was like standing at the edge of a vast, unknown ocean, unsure whether to step forward or retreat.

“I just... I don’t understand how I got here,” you said, your voice small and uncertain, the edges of panic sharpening your words. Your eyes filled with tears as you grappled with the enormity of your situation. “Where’s Emily? I want to see Emily,” you added, the tears now spilling over, and you could feel your chest tighten with fear and helplessness.

Spencer felt a painful twist in his heart as he watched you cry, the sight of your distress cutting through him like a knife. He knew how much you relied on Emily before, but he had been your rock these past years. To not be able to comfort you in your time of need tore him apart. Despite the situation, he felt a glimmer of relief that you still remembered your sister, a familiar anchor in a sea of unfamiliar faces and places.

“She’s at home sleeping. I’ll give her a call,” Spencer assured you, reaching for his phone with a steady hand, though inside he felt anything but calm. He wanted to be the one to comfort you, to hold you and tell you that everything would be okay, but he understood that right now, Emily was the person you needed most.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. You wiped at your tears, feeling both grateful and overwhelmed by the kindness of this man who seemed so determined to help you, even though you couldn’t remember him.

Spencer stepped out into the hallway to make the call, wanting to give you a moment of privacy. The hospital corridor was quiet, save for the distant murmur of medical staff and the occasional beep of machinery. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before dialing Emily’s number.

“Spencer?” Emily’s voice was groggy but instantly alert as she answered the call, concern evident in her tone. “Is everything okay? How’s Y/N?”

Spencer swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “Emily, she’s awake,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “But she doesn’t remember anything from the past seven years. She thinks she’s still living with you.”

“Oh my God,” Emily breathed, the shock clear in her voice. “Is she okay? What did the doctors say?”

“They think it’s retrograde amnesia caused by the trauma of the accident,” Spencer explained, running a hand through his hair as he spoke. “She’s asking for you, Emily. She’s really scared.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Emily promised, already moving to get dressed. “Tell her I’m on my way, okay? And Spencer... thank you for being there with her. I know this must be incredibly hard for you.”

Spencer nodded, even though Emily couldn’t see him. “I’ll tell her. Drive safely.”

After ending the call, Spencer returned to your room, his heart heavy with the knowledge of how disorienting this must be for you. He found you sitting up slightly, your eyes still red from crying but showing a flicker of hope at the mention of your sister.

“Emily’s on her way,” Spencer said gently, offering you a small, reassuring smile. “She should be here soon.”

You nodded, the knowledge that Emily was coming bringing you a semblance of comfort. But still, questions swirled in your mind, the uncertainty of your situation looming large.

"Thank you, um, what was your name again?" you asked softly, your voice hesitant and tinged with the confusion that clouded your mind.

Spencer’s heart ached at the question, a painful reminder of the gap that now existed between you. But he managed a gentle smile, determined to be patient and understanding.

“Spencer,” he said quietly, meeting your gaze with a steady warmth. “My name is Spencer.”

You nodded slowly, trying to commit his name to memory, even though it felt like grasping at straws. There was something comforting about the way he looked at you, a sense of safety that you couldn’t quite explain.

“Thank you, Spencer,” you repeated, hoping that saying his name would help anchor you in this unfamiliar reality. Despite the overwhelming uncertainty, you felt a small sense of reassurance knowing he was there, a steady presence in the storm of your fractured memories.

—

Emily arrived at the hospital within the hour, her eyes filled with concern and determination as she made her way to your room. When she saw you, relief flooded her features, and she rushed to your side, wrapping her arms around you in a warm, reassuring embrace.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Emily murmured, holding you tightly as she stroked your hair. “I’m here, Y/N. We’ll figure this out together.”

You clung to her, the familiar comfort of her presence grounding you in the midst of the chaos. For the first time since waking up, you felt a sense of safety, a reminder of the life you remembered.

Spencer watched the reunion, his heart aching with a mixture of emotions. He was grateful that Emily was there for you, knowing how much you needed her support right now. But there was also a longing, a deep-seated hope that one day, you would remember the life you had built with him, the love that had grown between you.

As you leaned into Emily's embrace, you whispered, “Can you stay with me, please?” Your voice was soft, almost childlike in its vulnerability, and Spencer’s heart clenched at the sound of it.

Emily smiled gently, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face as she nodded. “Of course, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” she said, guilt tinging her words. “I came as soon as I heard.”

“It’s okay,” you replied, offering her a small, reassuring smile. “Peter is really nice.”

The misstep in Spencer's name hit him like a physical blow, and yet he understood. You were trying your best to piece things together, to make sense of the world around you, and that meant trying to fit him into a picture that didn’t quite match the reality you remembered.

Emily glanced at Spencer, a flicker of understanding in her eyes as she gave him a supportive nod. She knew how hard this must be for him, watching you struggle to recall the love and life you shared.

Spencer swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing himself to return Emily’s nod with a small, grateful smile. He knew that rebuilding the bridge to your past wouldn’t be easy, but he was willing to do whatever it took to help you find your way back.

He remained quiet, a gentle presence in the background as Emily continued to comfort you, knowing that while he might not be the one you remembered now, he would do everything in his power to be the one you’d remember in the future.

—

Spencer eventually went home, the weight of the last few days pressing heavily on his shoulders. The hospital had become a second home in the wake of the accident, but now, as he drove through the familiar streets of Quantico, he felt the exhaustion finally catch up with him.

The apartment was quiet when he arrived, the silence amplifying the absence of your presence. He dropped his bag by the door and stood in the entryway for a moment, looking around the space that had been your shared sanctuary. Everything about it—the framed photos, the little touches that marked your shared life—felt like an echo of the past he was desperate to help you remember.

He made his way to the bathroom, shedding his clothes and stepping into the shower. The hot water cascaded over him, washing away the grime and fatigue, but doing little to ease the turmoil inside. As the steam filled the room, Spencer closed his eyes, allowing the water to drown out the noise in his head for just a moment.

He thought about you, lying in that hospital bed, trying to piece together a life you couldn’t remember. The thought of your struggle weighed heavily on him, and he wished more than anything that he could simply take away the burden of your amnesia. But he knew that wasn’t possible, and it frustrated him deeply.

Stepping out of the shower, Spencer wrapped a towel around his waist and caught his reflection in the mirror. The face staring back at him was etched with worry and sleepless nights. He knew he needed to rest, to recharge so he could be strong for you, but his mind was already racing with possibilities, with ways to help you find your way back to the life you had known.

Reluctantly, he made his way to the bedroom and sank into the mattress, pulling the covers over himself.

—

When Spencer awoke, the morning light was filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. He stretched, feeling the knots in his muscles protest at the movement, but he pushed through, determined to make the most of the day ahead.

His mind immediately returned to you and the questions that had haunted him since the accident. He needed answers, a plan, something tangible he could use to help you. Rising from the bed, he quickly dressed and made his way to the library, his thoughts already churning with possibilities.

The library was quiet, a haven of knowledge waiting to be tapped into. Spencer made his way through the aisles, pulling books from the shelves with practiced ease. He found volumes on neurology, psychology, and memory restoration, stacking them on the table as he prepared to dive deep into his research.

Sitting down, Spencer opened the first book, his fingers flipping through the pages with the kind of fervor only a man on a mission possessed. He absorbed every word, every study and theory on amnesia and retrograde amnesia, searching for anything that might provide a glimmer of hope.

He read about the mechanisms of memory, the ways trauma could affect the brain's ability to store and retrieve information. He learned about the potential for memory recovery, the techniques that could aid in jogging the mind back to the present, and the importance of emotional connections in bridging the gaps.

As the hours passed, Spencer lost himself in the sea of information, each new piece of knowledge building upon the last. He scribbled notes in the margins, cross-referencing studies and compiling a mental list of strategies he could employ to help you.

It was a daunting task, but Spencer felt a sense of purpose in the research, a way to channel his love for you into something tangible. He was determined to do everything he could to help you regain your memory, to guide you back to the life you had shared together.

For Spencer, this was more than just a quest for answers—it was a testament to the bond that had grown between you, a bond he was unwilling to let go of. He was ready to fight for your future, to be there for you in whatever capacity you needed, until the day your eyes lit up with recognition and the memories flooded back.

With renewed resolve, Spencer closed the book he was reading, his mind buzzing with ideas and possibilities. He gathered his notes, feeling a sense of determination settle over him. He would be there for you, no matter how long it took, until you found your way back to him.

—

Spencer called Emily, feeling a slight tremor in his fingers as he punched in her number. He knew how delicate your situation was, and he didn’t want to risk upsetting you with his presence if it would cause more harm than good. As the phone rang, he took a deep breath, hoping that Emily would have some insight into how you were doing and whether it would be okay for him to visit.

“Hello?” Emily’s voice came through the line, sounding calm but tinged with exhaustion.

“Emily, it’s Spencer,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady despite the nervousness fluttering in his chest. “I wanted to check in and see how Y/N is doing... and if it would be alright for me to come back to the hospital. I don’t want to overwhelm her, but I think I might have found some helpful information on memory restoration tactics.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, and Spencer could hear the soft murmur of the hospital in the background, the distant beeps of monitors and the hushed conversations of medical staff. Emily sighed softly, and he could picture her leaning against the wall outside your room, her hand running through her hair as she considered his request.

“Spencer, she’s been asking about you,” Emily finally said, her voice gentle and reassuring. “I think she wants to start trying to piece things together a little, and having you here might actually help.”

The fragments of your past felt like pieces of a puzzle scattered across the table, and you were trying to fit them together. The memory of just having graduated college and moving in with Emily in Europe while she worked for Interpol was clear in your mind, yet the reality you were living in contradicted that memory in every way. You obviously went to college, got an important job, met someone, and fell in love. That would be nice to remember.

The thought of your life now—a life filled with achievements, meaningful relationships, and moments of joy—was enticing. You felt a sense of longing to reconnect with those parts of yourself, to remember the paths that led you to where you were today. The idea of having accomplished so much, of having people in your life who cared deeply for you, filled you with both curiosity and determination.

You sat in the hospital bed, the beeping of the monitors a constant reminder of the present, and tried to reconcile the gap between what you knew and what was real. There was a sense of urgency within you, a desire to reclaim the life that had slipped through your fingers due to the accident.

As you contemplated this, Spencer arrived, a reassuring presence amidst the confusion. He had a folder in hand, filled with information he’d painstakingly gathered to aid in your recovery. His expression was one of quiet resolve, a testament to his commitment to helping you find your way back.

“Hey, Y/N,” Spencer greeted softly, taking a seat beside your bed. His eyes were warm and encouraging, and you couldn’t help but feel comforted by his presence. “I know this is a lot to take in, but I’ve found some information that might help you remember.”

You nodded, eager to hear what he had discovered. The prospect of understanding more about your life, your achievements, and the connection you shared with Spencer filled you with hope.

Spencer opened the folder, revealing a collection of notes, articles, and studies on memory restoration and retrograde amnesia. “I’ve been looking into different techniques and therapies that could aid in restoring your memories,” he explained, his voice steady and full of purpose.

He began to outline the various strategies he had found, discussing everything from cognitive therapy and memory exercises to more experimental approaches. As he spoke, you listened intently, absorbing the possibilities and feeling a flicker of determination ignite within you.

“I believe that with the right approach and support, we can hopefully help you piece together your memories,” Spencer said, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering sincerity. “I’m here to support you in whatever way you need. We can do this together, one step at a time.”

His words resonated with you, and you found yourself nodding along, feeling a renewed sense of hope. The idea of reclaiming your memories, of rediscovering the life you had built, felt like a light at the end of a long tunnel.

“Thank you, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice filled with gratitude. “I want to remember.”

—

The hospital released you into Emily’s care. While the medical staff had done everything they could, the journey to regaining your memory would continue outside the hospital walls.

The decision to stay with Emily instead of Spencer hurt him, but it felt like the right choice for now. As much as Spencer wanted to be there for you, he understood the need for you to be in an environment that felt familiar and safe. The last thing he wanted was to push you further away by overwhelming you with too much, too soon.

“It’s okay,” Spencer assured you as you prepared to leave the hospital. His voice was steady, but the flicker of pain in his eyes was unmistakable. “I understand. Emily will take good care of you, and I’m just a phone call away if you need anything.”

You nodded, appreciating his understanding. A part of you felt guilty for not choosing to stay with him, especially considering how kind and supportive he had been. But the gaps in your memory left you feeling adrift, and being with Emily was like holding onto a piece of your past that still made sense. Besides, he was still technically a stranger.

—

The drive to yours and Spencer’s apartment was quiet, Emily navigating the streets with the ease of someone who knew them well. You sat in the passenger seat, watching the city pass by, anticipation and apprehension swirling within you. This was a chance to see the life you had built, to find clues that might help bridge the chasm between the past you remembered and the present you couldn’t grasp.

Arriving at the apartment building, you felt a sense of déjà vu, as if you had been here countless times before, but it was all shrouded in fog. Emily led you up to the front door, her presence reassuring and calm as she unlocked it and gestured for you to step inside.

The apartment was warm and inviting, filled with little touches that spoke of a life shared between two people. You took a tentative step inside, your eyes scanning the space as you tried to grasp any spark of recognition. The furniture, the décor, the scent of your favorite candle burning on the coffee table—everything felt just out of reach.

But it was the photographs that caught your attention, lining the walls and filling the shelves with captured moments of happiness and love. You walked over to a series of framed photos, your heart aching at the sight of the images. There you were, smiling and laughing with Spencer, your faces filled with joy.

There was a picture of the two of you on a hiking trip, arms around each other as you gazed at the camera, the sun setting behind you. Another of you dancing together at what appeared to be a wedding, Spencer’s hand on the small of your back, your face lit with laughter.

And then there was the one that brought tears to your eyes—an image of you and Spencer sharing a tender kiss, your arms wrapped around his neck, his hand gently holding your waist while the other stretched out to hold the camera. The love captured in that single moment was undeniable, and yet it was a memory you couldn’t access, a chapter of your life that felt painfully distant.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as the weight of what you had lost settled over you. You turned away from the photos, covering your face with your hands as sobs wracked your body. The sadness was overwhelming, a deep, unbearable grief for the beautiful life you couldn’t remember.

Emily was at your side in an instant, her arm wrapping around you as she whispered soothing words, trying to calm the storm of emotions that had taken hold.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried, your voice breaking with the depth of your sorrow. “I’m so sorry, Spencer. I wish I could remember. I wish I could—”

Spencer’s expression was filled with compassion and understanding, though his heart ached at the sight of your distress. He longed to reach out and hold you, to reassure you that it was okay, that you would find your way back to him in time. But he knew that the memories were something you had to reclaim on your own.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Spencer said gently, his voice soft and comforting. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

Despite his reassuring words, the pain of not being able to remember was too much to bear. You were inconsolable, and Emily could see that you needed space to process everything, away from the emotional overload of the apartment.

“Let’s go home, Y/N,” Emily suggested softly, guiding you toward the door with a gentle touch. “We can come back another time when you’re ready.”

You nodded, allowing her to lead you away, the tears still streaming down your face. Spencer watched as Emily escorted you out, his heart heavy with sadness.

—

The following Monday, the next step in your recovery journey was to visit your workplace, a place where you had spent countless hours building a career you could no longer remember. The decision to bring you back into the office was made with the hope that it might jog some of your lost memories, and while it felt daunting, you were determined to face it head-on.

Emily drove you to the FBI headquarters, the massive building both imposing and familiar as you approached. You had been nervous about this visit, unsure of how it would make you feel or what it might stir within you. Your unit chief had been extremely understanding about your situation, assuring you that you had all the time you needed to recover and that your job would be waiting for you if and when you were ready to return. The possibility of never coming back loomed large, but today was about exploring what felt right.

As you walked through the corridors, passing colleagues who greeted you with warm smiles and words of encouragement, you felt a mixture of anxiety and curiosity. The familiarity of the surroundings tugged at the edges of your mind, teasing you with whispers of recognition that were just out of reach.

When you finally reached your desk, something shifted within you. A small sense of familiarity washed over you, grounding you in a way that you hadn't expected. The space was uniquely yours, decorated with personal touches that reflected your personality and interests. The colorful keyboard and mouse pad, the photos adorning your workspace, all felt like pieces of yourself that you were slowly rediscovering.

Emily stood beside you, watching as you took it all in. Her presence was reassuring, a steady hand on your shoulder as you navigated the myriad of emotions swirling within you.

"This is your desk," Emily said gently, gesturing to the array of decorations and mementos that made it uniquely yours.

You ran your fingers over the keyboard, tracing the familiar keys, and then turned your attention to the photos. There were images of you and Emily from your first apartment together in D.C., snapshots of a time when life felt full of possibility and adventure. Your eyes lingered on the photos of you and Spencer, capturing moments of joy and love that you desperately wished to remember.

One photo, in particular, caught your eye. It was of you and another person, both of you with wide smiles, arms wrapped tightly around each other, faces pressed together in a display of friendship and affection. The bond between you was evident, even in a still image, and you felt a pang of longing to recall the memories associated with it.

“Who are all of these people?” you asked, your voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of sadness.

Emily leaned in, pointing to the photo of you and the person who seemed to be a close friend. “That is your best friend, Noah,” she explained. Her smile was warm, the fondness for your friendship evident in her tone. “You two have been inseparable for years. They’ve been by your side through thick and thin.”

You studied the photo, trying to summon any fragment of memory, but the connection eluded you. Still, it was comforting to know that you had someone like Noah in your life, a constant presence of support and friendship.

Emily then pointed to another photo, this one featuring a large group of people gathered in a spacious kitchen that looked to be part of a grand mansion. The scene was lively and filled with laughter, the closeness between everyone palpable even in a photograph.

“And that,” Emily said, gesturing to the group photo, “is my team. The Behavioral Analysis Unit, at David Rossi’s house for pasta and wine. It’s a tradition of ours to get together and unwind after a long week. You’ve become a part of that tradition too.”

The photo brought a sense of warmth and belonging that tugged at your heartstrings. Though you couldn’t remember the specifics of the event, the image conveyed a sense of community and acceptance, a reminder that you were surrounded by people who cared for you deeply.

You nodded, feeling a mix of emotions—gratefulness for the connections you had forged, sadness for the memories that remained out of reach, and determination to piece it all together. As overwhelming as it was, the visit to your workplace had sparked something within you, a desire to reclaim the life you had lost and reconnect with the people who meant so much to you.

“Thank you for bringing me here, Emily,” you said softly, turning to your sister with gratitude in your eyes.

Emily smiled, her hand squeezing your shoulder reassuringly. “You’re doing great, Y/N.”

—

After spending some time familiarizing yourself with your desk and the environment, you felt a little more grounded. Emily suggested taking a break, and the two of you made your way to the break room for some coffee. The small talk and casual atmosphere provided a sense of normalcy, and you found yourself relaxing into the environment, even if it still felt like you were seeing it all for the first time.

As you sipped your coffee, Emily shared stories about the team, painting vivid pictures of the friendships that had developed over the years. Her words were filled with warmth, and you could sense the deep bond that connected everyone in the unit.

“–and then you and Penelope performed as much of the Rent musical as you could while Spencer took you home from girls' night.”

You laughed, a joyous feeling after all the sadness and confusion you’d been wearing like a cloud. It felt good to feel lighthearted again, if only for a moment, and the image of yourself belting out show tunes with Penelope at the top of your lungs was both hilarious and comforting.

“Was he mad?” you asked, picturing the scene in your mind.

“Quite the opposite,” Emily said, her eyes twinkling with amusement at the memory. “He asked you out the next week at work.”

“That’s so sweet,” you said, a warm glow spreading through you at the thought of Spencer’s patience and kindness.

“He really loves you,” Emily added, her voice gentle and full of sincerity.

You looked down at your coffee cup, a mix of emotions swirling within you. “I just can’t believe I’m loved so much by someone I don’t remember,” you said softly, your words carrying the weight of your current reality.

Spencer hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but as he was walking to the break room, your voice reached his ears, and he froze just outside the door. The sound of your laughter was like music to him, a familiar melody he had sorely missed since the accident. It felt normal to hear you in the building, like it had been before, a sense of déjà vu that was both comforting and bittersweet.

But hearing that last snippet of conversation—that you couldn’t believe you were loved by someone you didn’t remember—was like a punch to the gut. It was a reminder of how much had been lost, how fragile the threads of your connection had become in the wake of your amnesia.

Spencer’s heart clenched with longing and sadness. He wanted to be there with you, to share in the laughter and help rebuild the life you had once shared. Yet, he also knew that the path to healing was not a straight line and that you needed time to find your footing.

With a heavy heart, Spencer decided against going into the break room. He felt it would be too much to face you right then, knowing that he was part of the gap in your memory. He turned on his heel, heading back to his desk with a resolve to give you the space you needed while still being there for you in whatever way he could.

Back in his office, Spencer tried to focus on his work, but his mind kept drifting back to you and the conversation he had overheard. He wished he could do more, be more, to help you remember. The thought of the love you had shared, a love you now couldn’t recall, weighed heavily on him.

—

Over the next few weeks, life became a series of ups and downs, filled with moments of both clarity and confusion. Living with Emily had its comforting moments—her presence a soothing balm to the chaos in your mind. You cherished the time you spent with her, grateful for the bond that had been rekindled. You missed Emily deeply during high school, and living with her felt like a second chance to reconnect and make up for lost time.

But the reason for your reunion weighed heavily on you. You were so happy to be living with Emily again, until you remembered why. Some nights, the memories—or lack thereof—were overwhelming, and you’d find yourself crying silently into your pillow, grieving for the life you learned about but couldn’t recall. You mourned for the person you once were, the experiences you’d lost, and the love you had built with Spencer, a man who was now a stranger in your life.

In those darker moments, a part of you wondered if a second accident could somehow reverse the damage, though you knew deep down that it wouldn’t work. The thought was fleeting, a desperate whisper in your mind, quickly silenced by the knowledge that the path to healing lay elsewhere.

You wanted to love Spencer, you really did. Everything you’d learned about him painted a picture of a man who was kind, intelligent, and deeply devoted to you. But every time you looked at him, all you felt was a sense of apathy and resentment. It was an unfair burden, one you didn’t want to carry but couldn’t seem to shake. He knew you, but you didn’t know him. He had gotten to know the you that you couldn’t remember, had built a life with a version of yourself that no longer existed.

Safe to say, you hadn’t spoken to anyone but Emily since that day at Spencer’s apartment. Despite Emily’s best efforts to coax you out of your shell, to encourage you to re-engage with the world, you found solace only in her presence. She would suggest small outings, opportunities to reintroduce you to the life you’d lived—a coffee date with Penelope, a lunch with Noah, a casual dinner with the BAU team—but you declined each invitation with a sense of dread.

—

Emily understood your reluctance, though she worried about the isolation you were imposing on yourself. She was patient, never pushing too hard, but she tried her best to gently encourage you to take those first steps toward reconnecting with your life.

"Y/N," she said one afternoon as you both sat in the living room, the afternoon sun streaming through the windows. "I know it’s hard, but you have so many people who care about you. They’re all here, ready to support you whenever you’re ready."

You nodded, your eyes fixed on the floor. “I know,” you replied softly, your voice tinged with frustration and sadness. “I just... I don’t know how to face them, Emily. It’s like they’re expecting me to be someone I’m not.”

Emily reached over, taking your hand in hers, her grip reassuring. “They’re not expecting anything,” she said gently. “They just want to be there for you, to help you find your way back. And you don’t have to do it alone. I’ll be with you.”

Despite her words, the idea of facing Spencer or any of your friends felt daunting. It wasn’t just about remembering; it was about rebuilding a sense of self that had been shattered by the accident. You felt like a puzzle with missing pieces, unsure of how to fit back into the picture of your own life.

—

One night, as you lay in bed, the weight of it all pressed heavily on your chest. You stared at the ceiling, the darkness a mirror to the emptiness you felt inside. The person you were before the accident seemed like a ghost, haunting the edges of your consciousness, taunting you with glimpses of a life you couldn’t quite grasp.

Tears slipped silently down your cheeks as you grieved for the life you’d lost, for the love that was now a distant memory. It felt like an insurmountable chasm between the past and present, a gap you couldn’t bridge no matter how hard you tried.

You curled up under the covers, wishing for relief from the emotional storm, longing for a sense of belonging that remained elusive. But as much as you yearned for the past, you knew the journey to healing had to start from where you were now—from this moment, with its uncertainties and challenges.

Emily found you the next morning, the traces of tears still visible on your face. She didn’t say anything, simply pulled you into a hug, offering her silent support. You leaned into her embrace, grateful for the unconditional love and understanding she provided.

“I’m here, Y/N,” Emily murmured, her voice steady and reassuring. “Whenever you’re ready to take that next step, I’m here.”

—

On a random Tuesday morning, you regained a glimpse of yourself. It was an ordinary day, the sun barely peeking over the horizon as you padded into the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. Emily was already there, pouring herself a cup and offering you a warm smile as you entered.

"Good morning," she said, her voice carrying the comforting tone you had come to rely on over the past few weeks.

“Did I bring any files home?” you asked, the question slipping out naturally as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “I want to review the Cooper case.”

Emily whipped around so fast she thought she might get whiplash, her eyes wide with shock and a glimmer of hope. “What did you just say?” she asked, her voice almost trembling with anticipation.

“The Cooper case?” you repeated, frowning slightly as you tried to grasp the memory that felt just within reach. “Oh, I wanted to review the evidence for the upcoming trial. I want to make sure that son of a bitch gets locked away.”

Emily’s face lit up with astonishment and disbelief, a slow grin spreading across her features. “Y/N… how do you remember that?” she asked, her voice tinged with awe.

“What?” you blinked, the realization dawning on you like a gentle wave, the fog lifting ever so slightly. “Oh…” you murmured, the pieces clicking into place.

“Oh my god! Oh my god! I remember!” you exclaimed, your heart pounding with excitement and relief.

“Do you remember anything else?” Emily asked eagerly, stepping closer as if to catch every word.

“My, um, my unit chief… her name is, uh, Sarah Freeman!” you said, a smile breaking across your face as more fragments of memory bubbled to the surface. It was like pulling on a thread and watching a tapestry unfold before your eyes.

“That’s amazing! You’re amazing!” Emily cheered, her eyes shining with pride and joy. She grabbed your hands, squeezing them tightly as if to anchor this precious moment in reality. “I’m going to call your doctor! Keep thinking!”

You nodded, your mind racing with possibilities. There was a thrill in the air, a sense of rediscovery that felt like sunlight streaming into a darkened room.

—

As the days and weeks passed, your world gradually came into sharper focus. You began to remember more and more, and your doctors believed that your brain was finally healing from the trauma of the accident, allowing you to access information that had been temporarily locked away. It was as if the fog that had settled over your mind was beginning to lift, and the memories of your life were emerging from the shadows.

With each passing day, you started seeing people more. The familiarity of their faces and the warmth of their presence became less overwhelming and more comforting. You remembered small bits of Noah, moving in with Emily, a few girls’ nights, and coffee dates with Penelope. Each memory was like a small gift, a piece of the puzzle that was slowly coming together.

Whenever you shared a memory with someone, it was met with tears of joy and hugs of relief. They were all so patient and understanding, celebrating every little moment of rediscovery with you. It was a testament to the love and support that surrounded you, a constant reminder that you were not alone on this journey.

—

With your birthday approaching, the excitement in the air was palpable. Everyone was thrilled that they would at least get to celebrate with you, even if the memories of past birthdays were still hazy. The anticipation of the party, the chance to be surrounded by the people who meant so much to you, filled you with a sense of hope and gratitude.

The only person you couldn’t seem to remember, however, was Spencer. Despite the progress you were making with others, there was an inexplicable block when it came to him. It was as if the memories you shared were trapped behind a door that refused to open, no matter how hard you tried.

Spencer felt the weight of this exclusion acutely. While everyone else reveled in your regained memories, he remained on the outside, watching as you reconnected with the life you’d once shared. At first, he tried to be patient, understanding that recovery was a complex and unpredictable process. But as time went on and the memories continued to elude you, Spencer began to feel a growing frustration, a simmering resentment that he struggled to contain.

—

The night of your birthday party arrived, and Emily had invited everyone important to you: the BAU team, Noah, your unit chief, and colleagues. The apartment was filled with laughter and music, the air buzzing with the joy of celebration. You moved through the crowd, receiving hugs and well-wishes, feeling more like yourself than you had in months.

The party was a joyful affair, filled with the warmth of friends and loved ones, each of them eager to share in the celebration of your continued recovery. You spent time with everyone, enjoying the opportunity to catch up and reconnect.

You found yourself talking to Derek Morgan, recounting a small memory that had surfaced earlier in the day—a humorous moment from a case your units had worked on together. Derek’s laughter echoed through the room, a rich, joyful sound that drew the attention of others nearby.

Spencer overheard your conversation with Derek and felt the frustration within him build past his boiling point. It was like a dam breaking, all the emotions he had tried to keep in check spilling over into an overwhelming wave. The exclusion, the constant reminder that you remembered everyone but him, finally pushed him to the edge.

Unable to contain his feelings any longer, Spencer stormed past you, his shoulder bumping into yours as he made his way toward the front door. The suddenness of his actions caught you off guard, the usually sweet and gentle Spencer now a storm of emotions.

“Spencer?” you called after him, confused by the abruptness of his departure. You quickly excused yourself from Derek and followed Spencer, determined to understand what had upset him.

You found Spencer in the hallway of the building, his back turned to you as he tried to compose himself. But when he turned around, you saw the angry tears in his eyes, the hurt etched across his features. It was a side of Spencer you hadn’t seen before, and it unsettled you.

“Spencer, what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice gentle but firm, wanting to understand the source of his pain.

He took a deep breath, his emotions churning within him. The question felt like a catalyst, igniting the frustration and hurt he had been holding onto for so long. And then, finally, he exploded, the words tumbling out in a torrent of anger and anguish.

“Why, Y/N?” Spencer’s voice was raw, filled with desperation and resentment. “Why do you remember everyone but me? Do you secretly remember me but don’t know how to break it off, so you keep pretending you don’t know me?”

His accusation hung in the air, sharp and cutting. It was a blow that took your breath away, the depth of his pain evident in every word. Spencer’s eyes bore into yours, searching for answers, for some explanation that could make sense of the exclusion he felt so deeply.

“I’m not pretending, Spencer,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, the shock of his words settling over you like a heavy fog. “I wish I could remember. I want to remember you more than anything.”

Spencer’s expression shifted, hurt and frustration warring within him. He turned away, running a hand through his hair as he tried to gather his thoughts. “It just feels like... like I’m the only one left out,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I watch you remember all these moments, all these people, and I keep hoping that one day you’ll look at me and just... know.”

His words hung in the air, each syllable a reminder of the distance that had grown between you—a distance neither of you wanted, but couldn’t seem to bridge. It was like standing on opposite sides of a vast chasm, reaching for one another but never quite able to touch.

“You think this is easy for me?” you shot back, your voice rising with each word. “Do you think I wanted to get hit by a semi and lose my memories? No! I want it all back, I want my life back.” You took a step closer, the intensity of your emotions propelling you forward. “Do you know how much it kills me that you know a version of me that I don’t? You want her back, and so do I, but Jesus Christ, Spencer! I’m not her, I can’t just be her, I’m fucking trying, okay?”

The hallway seemed to close in around you as you stood there, the weight of your words hanging heavy between you. Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise at the raw honesty in your voice, the depth of your struggle laid bare before him.

“I know you’re trying,” Spencer said, his voice softening even as his frustration simmered beneath the surface. “But it’s so hard to watch you remember everyone else and not me. It feels like I’m losing you all over again, every single day.”

"I’m losing myself too!” you replied, your voice breaking with emotion. “Every time I remember something, it’s like I’m meeting a stranger who’s supposed to be me. It’s terrifying, and I don’t know how to make it better. And it doesn’t help when I’m constantly reminded that you’re disappointed in me too.”

Spencer ran a hand over his face, his own anger and hurt warring with the compassion he still felt for you. He wanted to say the right thing, but his emotions were tangled, pulling him in different directions. The frustration that had built up over the weeks finally met the compassion he still felt for you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the fight leaving his voice as he took a step back, trying to regain control. His eyes softened as he looked at you, the anger giving way to vulnerability. “I know it’s not fair to put this on you. God, I’m not disappointed in you, I’m just... I’m scared, Y/N. I’m scared that I’ll never get you back.”

The vulnerability in his words pierced through your own defenses, the rawness of his confession echoing the fears that had plagued you both. It was as if the anger that had fueled the argument had stripped away the layers, leaving only the truth of your shared fears and insecurities.

You sighed, your own anger giving way to a wave of exhaustion and sadness. The argument had drained you both, leaving behind a hollow ache that you couldn’t ignore. “I’m scared too,” you admitted, your voice trembling as you spoke. “I’m scared that I’ll never be able to remember the love we had, that I’ll never be able to be the person you fell in love with.”

Spencer's eyes met yours, and you could see the struggle within him—the longing to reach out and bridge the gap between you, the desire to hold onto the love that had once been so strong and certain. “You’re still the person I fell in love with,” he said softly, his voice tinged with desperation. “I know it’s hard to see right now, but you are. And I don’t want to lose you, even if it means starting over.”

His words hung in the air, a lifeline thrown across the chasm that had opened between you. You took a deep breath, the weight of his words.

“Can I ask you something?” Spencer spoke up, his voice laced with vulnerability. His eyes held yours, searching for an answer he seemed afraid to hear but needed to know nonetheless.

“Of course,” you replied, curious about what was weighing so heavily on him. You wanted to reassure him, to offer some comfort amid the storm of emotions that had engulfed you both.

“Do you find me attractive?” Spencer’s question was simple, yet it held a complexity of emotions—self-doubt, insecurity, a desire for reassurance.

“Spencer… what?” you asked, taken aback by the suddenness of his inquiry. You hadn’t expected that question, and yet, as you looked at him, you realized how important your answer would be.

He shifted his weight, his gaze dropping for a moment before returning to yours, the raw honesty in his expression clear as day. “Do you think that I am attractive? Even now, that you don’t remember me?”

You considered his question carefully. Spencer was undeniably an attractive person—his features were striking, with a gentle kindness in his eyes and a quiet strength in his posture. There was an undeniable allure to him, a magnetic pull that you felt even in your current state of confusion.

You imagined seeing him in a bar or a crowded room, where his presence would stand out, where you would undoubtedly look twice. His intelligence, the way he carried himself with quiet confidence, and the kindness in his eyes were all qualities that would draw you in.

“Yes,” you replied honestly, your voice steady and sincere. “Yes, Spencer, I find you attractive.”

Spencer let out a small breath he seemed to have been holding, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he absorbed your answer. There was a flicker of relief in his eyes, a subtle shift that spoke volumes about how much your opinion mattered to him.

“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice a blend of gratitude and something deeper, something that felt like hope.

You took a step closer, wanting to close the distance between you. “Spencer, it’s not just about looks,” you added, wanting to make him understand. “I may not remember everything, but I can see the person you are. The way you care, the way you’ve been so patient with me… that’s what makes you truly attractive.”

His lips curved into a tentative smile, the tension in his features easing as your words reached him. It was a smile that held the promise of new beginnings, a shared understanding that even in the absence of memory, there was a foundation upon which you could rebuild.

Spencer nodded, a small chuckle escaping him as he rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture you found endearing. “I guess I just needed to hear it,” he admitted, his vulnerability laid bare in that moment.

You nodded, reaching out to take his hand in yours. “We’ll figure it out,” you said, your voice filled with determination.

Spencer's fingers intertwined with yours, his touch gentle yet reassuring. The simple act of holding hands felt like a small victory, a step toward rebuilding the connection that had been so abruptly severed.

“You couldn’t possibly remember this,” Spencer said with a wry smile, “but I don’t usually touch people’s hands. It’s actually safer to kiss; fewer germs are spread that way.”

You let out a laugh, the tension between you dissolving into a moment of lightness. It was the first genuine laugh you'd shared since the accident, and it felt like a breath of fresh air.

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” you replied, raising an eyebrow with a teasing grin. “But if that’s a line, it’s not working.”

Spencer chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “It’s not a line, I promise,” he said, a hint of mischief in his tone. “Just one of those strange facts about me you’ll probably hear more about as you get to know me again.”

“Good to know,” you said, your smile softening into something more sincere. “But for now, hand-holding is just fine.”

—

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter and joy, a celebration not just of your birthday but of the progress you had made and the hope that lay ahead. Surrounded by friends and loved ones, you felt a sense of belonging, a reminder that even in the midst of adversity, there was a community that held you close.

As the night drew to a close, you and Spencer stood together on the balcony, the city lights twinkling in the distance like stars. It was a moment of quiet reflection, a chance to breathe and appreciate the small victories that had brought you to this point.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” Spencer said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that resonated deep within you.

You turned to him, your heart full of gratitude and the promise of what was to come. “Thank you, Spencer,” you replied, your words laced with sincerity.

—

“Y/N! Spencer is here for you!” Emily called out from the living room, her voice carrying through the apartment with an excited lilt that made you smile.

You were in your bedroom, putting the finishing touches on your outfit, excitement and nervousness fluttering in your stomach. Today marked your fifth date with Spencer, a milestone that felt both exhilarating and significant as the two of you continued to rebuild your relationship from the ground up.

The past few weeks had been a journey of rediscovery. You and Spencer had taken it slow, giving each other the space and time needed to navigate the complexities of your situation. Each date had been a new beginning, a chance to learn about each other all over again, and it had been going well—better than you had dared to hope.

You’d spent hours talking about everything and nothing, sharing stories and memories that both filled in the gaps and created new ones. There were still moments of hesitation and uncertainty, but they were gradually being replaced by laughter and warmth, a growing sense of familiarity that felt like home.

Taking one last look in the mirror, you adjusted your necklace and took a deep breath, feeling a thrill of anticipation for the evening ahead. You made your way to the living room, where Emily was chatting with Spencer, her eyes lighting up with the kind of mischief only a big sister could muster.

“Hey, Spencer,” you greeted him with a smile, feeling the familiar flutter in your chest that had become a welcome sensation. “Ready to go?”

Spencer turned toward you, his face breaking into a warm smile that made your heart skip a beat. He looked dapper in a casual blazer and slacks, an outfit that struck the perfect balance between relaxed and stylish.

“Wow, you look amazing,” he said, his eyes filled with admiration as he took in your appearance. "If I had known you were going to look this stunning, I would have worn my best suit."

You laughed, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. "Oh, please, you look great," you replied, meeting his gaze with a teasing grin. “Besides, I think we match perfectly. You know, two fashion icons taking on the city."

Emily watched the exchange with a satisfied smile, clearly pleased to see the chemistry between you and Spencer reigniting. She gave you a playful nudge, her eyes sparkling with encouragement. “Have fun, you two,” she said, ushering you toward the door. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes at Emily’s antics, before turning back to Spencer. “Shall we?” you asked, extending your hand toward him.

Spencer took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze that sent a reassuring pulse of connection between you. “We shall,” he replied with a grin, leading you out the door and into the evening that awaited.

—

The drive was filled with easy conversation, the kind that flowed naturally and effortlessly between you. You chatted about everything from work to your favorite TV shows, reveling in the comfort of each other’s company.

“So, where are we going tonight?” you asked, curious about the plans Spencer had made for your date.

“It’s a surprise,” he said cryptically, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “But I think you’re going to love it.”

“Really?” you said, raising an eyebrow with a playful smirk. “Are you sure it’s not just another one of your ploys to impress me?”

Spencer chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Would it be working if it was?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” you teased, giving him a flirtatious glance as the car continued through the city.

Eventually, you arrived at a charming little restaurant tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It was the kind of place that exuded warmth and intimacy, the cozy ambiance inviting you in as soon as you stepped through the door.

“Wow, this place is lovely,” you said, taking in the dim lighting, the soft music playing in the background, and the delicious aroma of Italian cuisine wafting through the air.

Spencer smiled, clearly pleased with your reaction. “I thought it might be a nice spot for us to relax and enjoy some good food,” he said, leading you to a table by the window that offered a view of the city lights twinkling in the distance.

“So, any more memories come back recently?” Spencer asked gently, his tone curious yet considerate, as if he knew the subject was still delicate.

You nodded, feeling a flicker of excitement as you recounted some of the fragments that had returned. “I remembered a trip I took with Emily last year to the beach. We ended up getting caught in a rainstorm and had to take cover in this little café, where we spent the afternoon playing board games. It was such a fun day.”

Spencer listened intently, a smile tugging at his lips as you spoke. “That sounds amazing,” he said, his eyes filled with warmth and understanding. “You know, we had a similar rainy day adventure once. It involved an umbrella, a very wet cat, and an impromptu rendition of Singin’ in the Rain in a park.”

“Did we now?” you replied, a playful twinkle in your eyes. “Are you sure you weren’t just trying to get me to fall for your charming rendition of a classic?”

“Guilty as charged,” Spencer admitted with a laugh, his gaze meeting yours with a sincerity that made your heart flutter.

“Tell me, though, did we kiss in the rain?” you asked, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

Spencer blushed, a charming pink spreading across his cheeks. “We might have…”

“How scandalous!” you replied, feigning shock, but the playful glint in your eyes gave you away.

“You were the one who initiated it!” Spencer shot back, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Oh yeah, am I just supposed to believe you?” you teased, leaning back in your chair with a smirk. “You could be making it all up just to impress me.”

“Well,” Spencer said, a hint of mischief in his voice, “it is supposed to rain later. We could test out the theory.”

“Spencer Reid, you dog!” you exclaimed, laughing at the thought of dancing in the rain with him.

You shared a laugh, the sound mingling with the gentle hum of the restaurant around you. It felt like the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you in your little bubble of happiness.

—

After dinner, you and Spencer strolled through a scenic path in the park, hand in hand. The night was pleasantly cool, and the stars dotted the sky like scattered jewels. The conversation between you flowed effortlessly, a blend of teasing and genuine connection that made the evening feel special.

“I thought it was supposed to rain?” you mused aloud, glancing up at the sky.

“Are you disappointed it’s not?” Spencer asked, a playful edge in his voice as he followed your gaze.

“Are you going to kiss me anyway?” you replied with a teasing smile, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

Spencer froze up for a moment, caught off guard by the boldness of your question. A myriad of thoughts raced through his mind, each one tangling with the next.

He had been nervous to make any moves on you ever since you’d started dating again. What if you didn’t like how he kissed anymore? Or his scent, or taste? What if you two didn't have rhythm anymore? The fear of these possibilities had kept him in check, cautious and tentative.

“What’s going on in that big brain?” you asked, your voice gentle and full of curiosity. You squeezed his hand, bringing him back to the present. Your touch was reassuring, a reminder that the connection between you was as strong as ever.

Spencer shook his head slightly, chuckling at himself. “Just... overthinking, as usual,” he admitted, meeting your eyes with a sheepish grin. “I’ve just been worried that maybe things aren’t the same between us.”

You tilted your head, regarding him with a soft smile. “Spencer, nothing about you could ever disappoint me. We might be rebuilding things, but I think that’s what makes it exciting. We get to discover everything all over again.”

He nodded, his apprehension slowly melting away as your words resonated with him. The sincerity in your voice was like a balm, soothing the insecurities that had plagued him.

“And besides,” you added with a playful twinkle in your eye, “I think we both know we’ve still got that spark.”

Spencer laughed, his tension finally breaking as he took a step closer. The warmth of your presence enveloped him, and he realized how much he had missed these moments with you—the teasing, the laughter, and the unspoken bond that seemed to transcend the gap of memory.

“You’re right,” Spencer said, his voice softening as he gazed into your eyes. “I’d be more than happy to kiss you, rain or no rain.”

You smiled up at him, your heart fluttering with anticipation. As he leaned in, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you beneath the starlit sky.

When Spencer’s lips met yours, it was like coming home. The kiss was gentle at first, a tentative exploration of the familiar territory that quickly blossomed into something deeper. His lips were soft and warm, and the familiar scent of his skin surrounded you like a comforting embrace.

All the previous worries melted away as you found your rhythm together, the familiarity and connection more than you could have hoped for. Spencer’s kiss was tender but charged with an intensity that made your heart race, a reminder of the passion and warmth that had always been at the core of your relationship.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, feeling the subtle tension in his muscles beneath your fingertips. Spencer responded in kind, his hands finding their place on your face, drawing you into him as if he was afraid to let go.

The kiss deepened, and it was as if time had stopped, the world around you fading away until only the two of you remained. Lips slotted together perfectly, tongues gliding in a slow, sensual dance that sent shivers down your spine.

You felt Spencer’s teeth gently nipping at your bottom lip, a playful gesture that made you gasp softly against his mouth. The small sound seemed to spur him on, and you could feel the gentle pressure of his hands pulling you even closer, until there was no space left between you.

In that moment, everything felt right—the way his lips moved against yours, the warmth of his touch, and the gentle thrum of your heartbeat syncing with his. It was a moment of pure connection, a dance of lips and breath and emotion that left you both feeling dizzy and alive.

You could feel the tension and uncertainty of the past few weeks melting away, replaced by a deep sense of belonging and peace. As you finally pulled back, you looked into Spencer’s eyes, seeing your own emotions reflected back at you—the warmth, the longing, the hope that you both shared.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless but smiling, the shared moment leaving a lingering warmth that seemed to wrap around you both.

“Wow,” you murmured, gazing up at Spencer with a soft, genuine smile. “That was... perfect.”

Spencer chuckled, relief and joy evident in his eyes. “I’d say it was pretty amazing,” he agreed, still holding you close.

You both lingered there for a while, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment, the cool breeze whispering through the trees, the world feeling just a little bit brighter.

—

As you continued your stroll through the park, the clouds did open up, and the rain did come, soaking both you and Spencer. The unexpected shower was a sudden thrill, droplets of water cascading down your hair and cheeks, drenching your clothes in moments. The rain brought a fresh, invigorating scent to the air, wrapping around you like a cool embrace as you and Spencer burst into laughter.

“You said you wanted rain,” Spencer quipped, looking at you with a playful glint in his eye, water droplets clinging to his hair and eyelashes.

“I did, didn’t I?” you giggled, brushing a lock of wet hair out of your face. You both sprinted toward his car, shoes splashing through puddles, the sound of your laughter mingling with the rhythm of the rain.

You reached the car, breathless and exhilarated, climbing inside and closing the door behind you. The heated air enveloped you both in a welcome warmth, and you shivered slightly, feeling the chill of your soaked clothes.

Spencer turned on the car’s heater, and soon the air filled with warmth, contrasting the rain still pelting the car roof outside. You shared a look of amusement, the shared adventure bringing a delightful sense of connection.

“I don’t want to go home, but I’m uncomfortable,” you admitted, glancing down at your soaked clothes with a bemused smile.

“We could… go back to our—my apartment and change. Maybe watch a movie?” Spencer suggested, his voice soft and inviting, a hint of hesitation in his words as if worried you might say no.

You met his eyes, the warmth in them offering reassurance. “I’d love that,” you replied, your heart fluttering with the anticipation of spending more time with him.

—

Spencer drove you both back to the apartment, the windshield wipers swishing rhythmically as the rain continued its steady drumming against the car. It was your first time returning to the apartment since the night you’d cried there, overwhelmed by the weight of memories you couldn’t quite grasp. But now, the thought of revisiting felt different, less daunting and more like a step forward.

As you entered the apartment, you paused to take it all in again—the familiar scent, the little touches that made the space feel like home. Spencer watched you with a gentle smile, allowing you to explore at your own pace, offering silent support as you reacquainted yourself with the surroundings.

“Do you want to take a shower?” Spencer asked, breaking the comfortable silence. “All of your stuff is still in there.”

“Um, sure. Thank you,” you replied, grateful for the chance to shake off the chill of the rain.

You made your way to the bathroom, feeling a sense of nostalgia as you stepped inside and closed the door behind you. The shower was just as you remembered it, a familiar haven of warmth and comfort.

The water was soothing as it cascaded over you, washing away the rain and the lingering remnants of the day’s adventure. You felt a sense of relaxation settling in, a quiet moment of peace as you let the warmth envelop you.

But then, as you turned too quickly, your foot slipped, and you fell onto your tailbone with a startled yelp.

“Ow!” you exclaimed, wincing at the sudden jolt of pain.

“Y/N?? Are you okay?” Spencer’s voice called out from the other side of the door, filled with concern.

“Yeah! I just fell,” you called back, trying to keep your tone light despite the embarrassment.

“I’m coming in,” Spencer announced, the worry evident in his voice.

“Wait, Spencer, no—” you began, but he was already in the bathroom, eyes wide as he took in the scene.

He saw your naked form on the ground of the tub through the clear glass, his expression filled with worry and, perhaps, just a touch of awkwardness.

“Spencer!” you exclaimed, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment and amusement.

“What happened? Are you hurt? Did you hit your head?” he asked, his concern overriding any sense of propriety.

“I’m fine, I’m naked!” you replied, laughing at the absurdity of the situation even as you tried to cover yourself.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Spencer said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I forget. I’ve seen you naked many times.”

“That is so weird,” you teased, rolling your eyes playfully.

Spencer laughed lightly, his eyes twinkling with warmth. “I don’t think so,” he said, his voice softening into something more tender.

“Can I see you then? Even it out?” you asked, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

“What?” Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, his cheeks flushing a delightful shade of pink.

“I’ve seen you naked before, right?” you continued, your playful tone belying the genuine affection in your gaze.

“Well, yes, but it’s different,” Spencer stammered, trying to maintain his composure.

“So it’s okay for you to see me, but not for me to see you?” you challenged, a teasing lilt in your voice. “Come get in the shower and help me up.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, then his expression softened into a smile, affection and delight playing across his features. “Alright,” he said, his voice filled with laughter. “Just this once.”

He quickly shed his clothes and joined you in the shower, his presence a comforting warmth amid the steam and water. With a gentle touch, he helped you up, his hands steady and reassuring as he held you close.

“Thank you,” you said softly, meeting his eyes with a smile.

Spencer’s gaze was warm and tender, his hands lingering on your waist as he smiled back at you. “Anytime,” he replied, his voice a gentle promise.

Your eyes couldn’t help themselves as they wandered downward, taking in the sight of him. The realization that you were both standing there, unashamedly bare, brought a new kind of awareness that was both amusing and endearing.

“Y/N!” Spencer laughed. “Eyes up here.”

“I'm sorry,” you said with a playful smirk, your eyes darting back up to meet his. “It’s human nature, after all.”

“I know,” Spencer replied, shaking his head with a chuckle. “But at least pretend to be subtle.”

“You’re quite large,” you teased, unable to resist the opportunity to keep the mood light. “Are you a grower still? Or always a shower?”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed a deep red, his hands instinctively moving to cover himself as he groaned, “Oh my godddd.”

“Answer the question, and I’ll shut up,” you promised, a sweet smile playing on your lips as you looked at him with mock innocence.

With a sigh of resignation, Spencer removed his hands, his expression a mix of bashfulness and humor. “Still a grower,” he admitted, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

“Lucky me!” you exclaimed, your tone full of playful triumph.

Spencer shook his head, his laughter infectious as he declared, “Not anymore, this was great. Goodbye!” He made a half-hearted attempt to step out of the shower, clearly feigning an exaggerated exit.

“Not so fast!” you interjected, grabbing his arm and pulling him back gently, your own laughter bubbling up as you did so.

His eyes met yours again, and the playful banter settled into something softer, a mutual understanding that transcended words. The silliness of the moment gave way to a quiet intimacy, the kind that came from truly seeing one another and finding joy in simply being together.

As the water continued to rain down, you and Spencer stood there, wrapped in each other’s presence, feeling a sense of comfort and safety that went beyond the physical.

You both eventually turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, towels wrapped snugly around you. The steam-filled bathroom felt like a private world where the rest of the day’s worries faded away.

—

Once dried and dressed in cozy clothes, you settled into the living room, the aroma of freshly brewed tea wafting through the air as you curled up on the couch together. The rain had stopped outside, leaving a soft patter of droplets against the windows, the perfect backdrop for a cozy movie night.

Spencer draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “So, what’s our viewing pleasure tonight?” he asked, his voice filled with a relaxed contentment.

“I was thinking something classic,” you suggested, snuggling into his side. “Maybe a bit of Casablanca?”

“Casablanca, it is,” Spencer agreed, reaching for the remote with a smile.

As the movie played, you found yourself not only immersed in the storyline but also in the warmth of Spencer’s presence beside you. The shared laughter, the gentle teasing, the comfortable silence—it all felt like home.

—

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you wake up, you find yourself nestled in the bed, no longer on the couch. The room is softly lit with the early morning sun filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow over everything. Spencer is still sound asleep next to you, his arms wrapped around you in a protective embrace. His breathing is steady and calm, and you watch him for a moment, feeling a rush of affection for this man who has been so patient and kind through everything.

Wanting to do something kind for him, you slowly and carefully extricate yourself from his embrace, trying not to wake him. You slip out of bed, pulling on his robe as you head to the kitchen to make some coffee, a small gesture of appreciation for the many times he’s been there for you.

As you move about the kitchen, the familiar routine of making coffee brings a sense of comfort. You smile to yourself as you measure out the coffee grounds and water, the rich aroma filling the air. It feels good to be doing something for him, even if it’s just a small gesture.

When Spencer finally wakes up, the smell of freshly brewed coffee lures him from the cocoon of blankets. In his sleep-delirious haze, he doesn’t realize anything has changed, and he instinctively walks into the kitchen, still half-asleep, and wraps his arms around you from behind.

“Morning, Spence,” you say softly, feeling the warmth of his embrace as you continue to stir the coffee.

“Mmm, good morning, baby,” he mumbles into your hair, his voice thick with sleep.

“I made your coffee, just how you like it,” you say with a smile, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the little surprise you’ve prepared for him.

“Black, seven teaspoons of sugar?” he asks, his voice carrying a note of playful suspicion.

“Precisely,” you reply, leaning back to kiss his head where it’s nestled against your neck. You love the way his hair feels soft and slightly tousled from sleep, the familiarity of the moment wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

Spencer hums contentedly, the combination of your affection and the promise of coffee stirring him more fully awake. You hand him a steaming mug, and he takes a grateful sip, savoring the sweet warmth.

“Thought we could call Diana today, check in on her progress,” you suggest casually, remembering the conversations you’ve had about keeping in touch with his mom.

Spencer’s mind is still catching up to the morning, the mention of his mother registering slowly. “Okay, that’s a good id–wait… what?” His eyes widen as he pulls back slightly, looking at you with surprise and hope.

“Diana, babe? Your mom? I haven’t talked to her in a while, and I wanted to see how she was doing,” you say, turning to face him, your own excitement bubbling beneath the surface.

“Y/N, are you messing with me?” Spencer asks, his voice a blend of disbelief and anticipation, as if he’s afraid to hope too much.

“No… Are you okay, Spence?” you ask gently, reaching up to touch his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin.

“Spence? My coffee preference? My mom?” Spencer’s eyes search yours, an array of emotions flickering across his face. “What are you not telling me?”

You smile, unable to contain your excitement any longer. “Oh, I woke up this morning with a few memories of our time together.”

Spencer’s eyes widen, his expression shifting from confusion to pure joy. “You remember?” he asks, voice filled with a hopeful wonder that sends a warm thrill through you.

“Bits and pieces,” you admit, nodding as you set your own coffee down on the counter. “It’s like little snapshots coming back, but they’re there. And you were in them.”

His face lights up with a brilliant smile, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners and sends warmth flooding through you. “That’s amazing, Y/N,” he says, pulling you into a tight embrace, his arms enveloping you completely.

You melt into his hug, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. It’s a moment of connection and triumph, a small victory in the long journey of reclaiming the life you once shared.

“I’m so happy,” Spencer murmurs, his voice muffled by your hair but no less filled with emotion. “I’ve missed you—every version of you.”

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze with a smile that mirrors his own. “I’ve missed you too, Spence. I can’t wait to see what else comes back.”

Spencer leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. His touch was a gentle reassurance that you were exactly where you were meant to be, a soothing balm to the uncertainty that had lingered since the accident. The warmth of his lips against your skin sent a wave of comfort through you, a reminder that love was a constant, waiting patiently to be remembered.

“I love you,” Spencer murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with sincerity and a gentle vulnerability. “Can I say that now? Is that okay?”

His eyes searched yours, seeking not just permission but a confirmation that the love you once shared was finding its way back, stronger and more resilient than before.

“Only if it’s okay for me to say I love you too,” you replied, your voice soft but filled with the depth of emotion that had grown in your heart.

The words were a quiet declaration, an acknowledgment of the bond that had endured through the haze of forgotten memories and the challenges of the past. It was a promise of the future you were eager to explore together, a future built on the foundation of love and understanding.

Spencer’s smile widened, his eyes sparkling with a joy that mirrored your own. “Then it’s more than okay,” he said, his voice warm and full of affection.

You both stood there for a moment, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the morning, the aroma of coffee mingling with the soft light filtering through the kitchen. It was a simple moment, yet it held the weight of everything you had been through together, a testament to the resilience of love and the power of memory.

“Come here,” Spencer said, pulling you into another embrace, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that spoke volumes.

You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting reminder of the life you were rediscovering together. In that embrace, you found not just comfort but a sense of belonging that had been waiting for you to come home to.

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mrsbarnesblog · 3 months ago

Text

first choice

masterlist

requests are open

summary: being an incredibly reserved person, it took Rafe a long time to finally feel comfortable enough to let you see him break down

words count: 2.5k

warnings: hurt/comfort, crying, talk about feelings, Ward being a shitty father as always, insecurities

a/n: couldn't help myself but mention Wheezie as well because she deserves so much better💔

The first time you saw Rafe crying was not so long after you started dating. You went to Tanneyhill that day and were nearly knocked off your feet when Ward Cameron stormed out the front door. He was seething with anger and it seemed like he didn’t even register you standing there with wide eyes and a lost face expression.

You slowly walked into the house, hearing the sound of Ward’s truck driving away, and slowly patted into the light and big kitchen. Your eyes instantly caught sight of your boyfriend, standing with his back facing you and his body hovering over the counter. His hands were firmly gripping onto the edge of the marble, and his head was lowered so you couldn’t take a look at his face behind his hair. When you heard muffled sniffs, your eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“Rafe?” You almost whispered, talking one step closer to him. Rafe’s body instantly tensed, but he didn’t turn around. His shoulders and back seemed harder than rocks, and you swore his body was shaking from tension.

You debated for a few seconds, considering what was best to do. Something obviously had happened between Rafe and Ward, and even though they always fought, you never saw Rafe crying. You quickly figured out that he didn’t like to be seen as "weak,” so he rarely showed any emotions, even to you, no matter how hard you tried to create a comfortable environment for him. That’s why you knew that there was no point in trying to make him talk.

When he sniffed again, not moving for an inch or acknowledging your presence, your heart clenched and not waiting anymore, you slowly went closer to him.

When he felt your arms wrapping around his middle part with your chest firmly pressed against his back, his whole body stiffened at the unusual touch. Rafe had never had someone comforting him, and the whole thing with you constantly trying to go past his walls slightly terrified him. He desperately wanted to just give in, because Rafe knew that you would never hurt him, but something inside his head was still fighting against it.

You held him as close to you as possible, hoping to give him some sense of security. When Rafe’s body finally eased up a little, you turned your head to place kisses on his back while your hands moved up and down his stomach.

You didn’t know how long you two were standing like this—close to each other and in complete silence. Rafe clearly didn’t want to talk about it and you knew better than to push him. It was a small step for both of you, but you knew that you would do anything to make him feel safe.

The second time it happened, you were in Rafe’s bed, too invested in your book, when he entered the room. Your gaze shifted to him and you instantly noticed that slightly distant look in his blue eyes, as well as his clenched jaw and rapid breathing.

You were trying not to be very obvious by the way your instant reaction was to jump out of bed and ask what happened. Rafe was not this type of person and he needed gentle handling. So you went back to your book, only lifting your eyes every few seconds while he silently changed his clothes to something comfortable.

“I want to cuddle.” You suddenly said, placing a bookmark in between the pages and putting your book on the bedside table. Rafe just looked at you and it felt like your eyes were having their own conversation. He knew that you knew that something had happened and were now just trying to make it seem like you were the one who needed affection, and he was thankful for you not trying to get the information out of him.

He nodded, and the next thing you knew, he was on top of you, arms wrapped around your body, face in the crook of your neck. Your fingers started to brush through his hair and he let out a deep sigh of relief.

The room was silent, except for your quiet breathing; that’s why your ears easily caught a soft sniff. Rafe moved his head back and forth, trying to be closer even if it was impossible, and it made you feel something wet touching your skin. You didn't say a word because you knew that it was not the right time yet. Instead, you left one hand in his hair to massage the scalp and moved another one to Rafe’s back, rubbing it up and down. You let your lips brush against his temple and he tightened his hold on your waist in return.

You didn't know what had happened and you hoped that he would tell you when he felt like it, so for now, you were just giving him the safe space that he desperately needed. It clearly worked, because as Rafe’s body became limp on top of yours and his breathing started to slow down, you guessed that he had fallen asleep.

The next morning, you were standing in the kitchen and making breakfast when you felt two hands sneaking around your waist and turning you around. Before you could say anything, Rafe gave you a breath-taking kiss, which you knew was his way of saying "thank you."

At one of Friday’s evenings, you and Rafe’s family and a few closest friends were having a dinner in the restaurant to celebrate Ward’s important deal at work being finally successfully signed. You honestly didn’t listen to the conversation that everyone was having, looking down at your almost full plate, until Ward and Sarah started a little argument about him doing something that she didn’t like.

“It also turns out that the most important thing for me is you, Sarah. That’s why I did it.” Your heart skipped a beat when your ears caught the end of the conversation, with your whole body freezing in your chair. He said it so easily, not even hesitating or considering the feelings of his other kids, who sat at that exact table.

Rafe sat near you and your eyes instantly drifted to him, only t just a blank expression on his face. He looked at his father, then at Sarah, then back at Ward. The disappointment and hurt were written all over his features. It was so obvious for you, probably because you spent so much time trying to figure out him and his emotions, yet his father didn’t care.

Nobody did, honestly, as everyone at the table just brushed that comment off and continued talking. Only Wheezie looked equally sad, with a frown and with her hands crossed over her chest.

Rafe’s eyes drifted to his full plate as he became completely distant from the conversation, not even paying attention to your worried gaze. He just felt numb.

It's not like he didn't know that Sarah was everyone’s priority; he just didn't need to hear another reminder of that.

He hated the feeling of not being good enough. He tried to impress his father countless times, being loyal and jumping at every opportunity to do the dirty work, just to hear any kind of praise or approval. Yet Sarah has always been the best girl, the best daughter, and the best child.

A quiet groan escaped his lips in desperation, as he felt that similar tightness in his chest and throat.

It just fucking hurt.

Your worried eyes didn’t leave him even for a second, and when you noticed in which state he was in, you moved closer so only he could hear what you were saying.

“Do you want to leave, Ray?” He just nodded, taking your hand in his and making some lame excuse about needing to leave.

Sitting in his truck a few minutes later, Rafe didn’t even look at you, staring at something through the window. You saw the way he was occasionally clenching his jaw and blinking rapidly—signs that he was trying not to break down in front of you.

You bit your lip, thinking to yourself, before finally deciding that you couldn’t just look at your boyfriend being hurt. So, tossing your purse aside, you got up from your seat, moving quickly to straddle Rafe’s lap. He looked at you in shock, but still placed his hands on your waist, rubbing the soft fabric.

“Hey, look at me. You don’t have to keep it to yourself. Your feelings are normal, baby.” You tried to reassure him, holding his face firmly in your hands.

He furrowed. “It’s just— It’s just that—“ Rafe paused, looking down and trying to control his breathing. You didn’t know whether it was anger or sadness, but as his chest started rising faster, in the darkness of the car, you saw a tear rolling down his cheek.

Then another, and another, and another.

Rafe tried to physically distance himself from you, pulling your hands away from his face and throwing his head back with a frustrated groan as the palms of his hands pressed into his eyes.

“That’s fucking’ pathetic.” He hissed.

“No, it’s not. Stop trying to hide from me and just talk. You know I’m the last person to ever judge you.” You soothed him by softly caressing the skin of his neck with your thumbs, and then took a hold of his face to make him look at you. “Talk to me. It’s just us and no one else.”

Rafe’s blue eyes seemed even brighter with tears gleaming in them, even though it was dark outside and the only light that you had was a lamppost near the restaurant. He gave you a long look, probably fighting his own barriers inside of his head because of how hard it was for him to open up. You waited patiently, not looking away or rushing him and it must’ve worked.

“The shit that he says and does… It hurts me. No matter how much I try, how much effort I put into everything, or how often I do what he needs and wants, it’s never enough. I’m never fucking good enough for anyone or anything.” You took Rafe’s hand in yours, interlacing your fingers. He instantly focused on it, mindlessly playing with your ring and rubbing your skin. “And I don’t hate Sarah—fuck, I really don’t, ‘cause it’s not her damn fault, y’know? But it makes me so fucking mad and-and I just don’t know what to do or what’s wrong with me.”

Angry tears continued to flow down Rafe’s cheeks freely, as he was not capable of trying to hide them and wipe them away quickly anymore. You looked at him softly, with your heart aching for your boyfriend and for the way this situation deeply affected him.

“He does this to Wheezie too. She’s a child, Y/N, and I know how it messes up with her head.” Rafe sighed, throwing his head back and looking at the ceiling. “Sometimes... sometimes I feel like I fuck up everything in my life. I think that maybe it’s my fault for him to act like that. Maybe I do something wrong, I dunno.”

“I know that I can't give you what Ward was supposed to give you. That type of love, I mean. But you’re important to me, Rafe. I won't put you in second place because you're always my first choice.” You freed your hands, again placing them on his wet cheeks. Big blue eyes stared back at you with vulnerability and despair as hands on each of your thighs tightened, so you tried to let Rafe know how much he meant to you. “You are good enough, and don’t you dare think otherwise.”

You leaned closer, hovering over Rafe’s body, just inches away from his face, before tenderly pulling him into a kiss.

“You shouldn’t let Ward ruin your life and your relationships with your sisters, because it won’t benefit you in any way. Ward is the problem, not you, Ray, so no matter how hard you try, he won’t change his mind.” You kiss away his tears, still firmly holding his face in your hands. “I’m here for you. I love you, and I hate seeing you kill yourself over this.”

Rafe suddenly pulled you closer by your waist, hugging you with all the strength that he had. His body trembled against you while you soothingly scratched the back of his neck.

“I love you too. ‘M sorry f’ being a mess.”

“Don’t say that. Everything is okay, we are okay. I’m happy that you finally opened up to me a little bit, because I support you, okay?” He nodded and kissed your naked shoulder, trying to catch his breath.

“Thank you.”

A few minutes later, Rafe’s breathing calmed down and his hands were just slowly going up and down your back. Your legs were already sore from your position on his lap, but it was peaceful with just you two sitting in a comfortable silence, so you didn’t mind. You looked up at him as the idea came to your head. "What if we take Wheezie away from there and go out to eat or ride around?"

Rafe placed a kiss on your forehead, thinking about your words. His and Wheezie’s relationships were weird, with Rafe feeling distant from his family and her just being a child who didn't know how to handle the situation. But he always had a soft spot for her and he hated thinking about his sister sitting there and being invisible to everybody.

“Yeah, we can. She’d like that.” He mumbled, focusing on your lips that curled into a smile.

“Great!” You pushed away from him, opening the door and casually sliding on the floor. Rafe looked at you curiously, silently grateful that you were absolutely normal about what happened just a few minutes ago in his car. His heart suddenly raced, and he could not resist the urge to grab you by the waist and pull you in for a kiss.

Rafe connected your lips, then slightly tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Your skin got covered in goosebumps as you smiled against his lips before pulling away. Rafe subconsciously followed your face, trying to get more.

“Fuck, you’re amazing. So gorgeous. I love you so much, baby.”

“You already told me that… but I love you more!” You giggled, taking his hands away from your body. “Now I’ll go get Wheezie, and you remove my lipstick from your face.” You gave him a teasing smile before finally going back to the restaurant and leaving Rafe with a soft smirk on his lips.

He thought that maybe opening up for you was working much better in his favor than he expected.

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