#joy of my breast

[blogginmyfavoriteshit]

[aeide-thea]

getting up IS hell and i do legitimately think my body is adhd-typically wired for a later shift, such that getting up is extra hell for me personally

that said, especially with the house to myself for once there's a real pleasure in prying myself out of my oyster bed half-respectably early and absent-mindedly making myself a latte and taking it in with me to sit in the little living room while the light still looks indefinably but definitively like Morning—feels like there's something of a pome in it, only i haven't got words in me about it, exactly, just a deep swept-clean contentment and a cat that's climbed up into my lap again, warm and soft and heavy as love…

[cuntftmtf]

It seems like lactation supplements are the way to go for you! Keep taking your T, but encourage what's left of your breasts to begin swelling with milk, growing fatter and fuller as you produce more and more of the stuff. You'll get all of the horny side effects of the T, ratcheting up your libido, combined with the erotic sight of your tits getting bigger day by day until your manhood starts leaking out through your nipples.

Of course, with your body making milk, it'd probably start demanding that there be a reason why, your womb screaming out to be filled with virile, potent cum. After that, it becomes a contest to see which can win out, your artificial T or your natural pregnancy hormones.

you're so right, and honestly i would love to start growing my tits like that! staying on T means staying horny, which means staying committed to growing my tits bigger and milkier. until just looking down at my swollen udders makes my cunt throb, at which point i can only imagine the boost my tits will get when i finally go off T. not to mention what'll happen to them when i inevitably get knocked up!

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: June 7

"STFU!" by Rina Sawayama

[rockeyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy]

the town florist (+his weird fucked up siblings god bless) (names left to right are anthony, oliver, and cameron)

[octoskeletons]

I love binding !!! It brings me so much trans joy !!

[nighttimealone]

Cw: Nsfw (consent somno)

Sleeping with Simon means you might wake up from the tingling yet comfortable feeling coming from your breast, still disoriented from the slumber, letting out a sleepy whimper as the pleasure keeps coursing through your spine like tiny lightnings.

“Morning.” Simon doesn’t even detach his lips from your nipples as he greets you, lapping lazily and rolling the little peaks with his hot tongue.

“Simon…” Your fingers card through his locks to encourage him, he’s always extra horny in the early morning, but the eagerness in his movements is more evident now than the other days, practically burying his face in your breasts. “What got you so worked up today?” you ask him between the moans caused by his antics, his intentional sucking on one of your sensitive buds makes you unable to hold back a whiny cry of bliss.

“Wake up and see you sleeping in my arms, safe and sound…” Simon huffs out a laugh when he gives your nipples a nip, eliciting a yelp on you “You wearing my shirt, leaning against my chest, just the right angle for me to peek in the collar and see those cute nipples of yours…”

“It’s not my fault, you told me to wear one of your shirts last night.” Your pouty facade can’t be kept on for long, not when he finishes taking good care of your now fully hardened nipples, peppering kisses on his way downwards, as if memorizing your body and claiming his territory again with those pink love bites.

“And you’re the one who chose the thinnest and loosest shirt, ain’t you?” Taking your clothed clit between his lips, he smirks as he dart out his tongue, pressing down forcefully at your core and toying it skillfully, so you’ll throw your head back on the pillow and grind your needy pussy against his lips, begging for more with those sugar-coated pleas. “Fuck, all greedy and soaked just from me worshipping your tits, sweetheart? Who’s the eager one now, eh?”

“Just…Just pull down the panties already, god…” Not enough, your mind screams for more, yearns for his lips directly touching your wet folds.

“Bossy.” He chastises you, like you’re an impatient girl craving for candies, but he won’t deny you—or deny himself, from tasting what he’s been wanting since he woke up this morning.

Pulling down your panties and let it pull around your ankles, not even sparing time to take it off properly, he dives back between your thighs, wet tongue gliding through your core, drinking down those nectar as you reach out and push his face down further, the crook of his nose nudging your clit so good that you roll your hips to meet his consistent onslaught.

“Bloody hell, princess…smells so fucking good.” He groans, a low and half-growling one which only worsen your insatiable desires. Even when he lifts his head slightly to speak, his hands immediately move in, sliding two thick and long fingers into your dripping cunt, pumping and pressing the correct spots to make you scream out his name.

“Trying to wake the neighbors up with those cute moans, huh? ‘m not sure if they’ll feel grateful.” Thumbs spreading your pussy lips, he latches onto the now-exposed clit, bringing you another level of joy by sucking that twitching little thing.

“Simon! Si- oh, gonna…” You try to warn him before you get pushed over the edge abruptly, liquid gushing out and smearing his face, only for him to moan contently and make sure not to miss any drop.

“What a sight…” Straightening up and looking at the pool of mess staining the bedsheets, before his gaze travel to you face, eyes still blurry and cheeks tinted with rosy red, panting and quivering after squirting so hard for him, Simon smacks your pussy teasingly, earning another delectable whimper from you. “Squirting all over the sheets, will have to change it later.”

“Can’t go another round, baby…” You look down at him the moment his lips touch your puffy folds once again, big eyes meeting his dark ones with satisfaction and tiredness, but your protest is cut off by a soft smack on right on your trembling clit, and further words are replaced with moans when he ducks down to resume devouring his favorite meal, pressing a reassuring kiss to your pussy and croon. “Won’t stop until you squirt again for me, you can do it, love, and you will do it.”

[foldingfittedsheets]

So several years ago I was in Taiwan with my betrothed and two of our other friends, one of whom was Taiwanese the same one who made breast milk soap. One morning we had the bewildering experience of waking up to Beethoven’s Für Elise blaring through the misty morning streets.

We sat up in utter perplexity. We went to a window and watched people trailing after a garbage truck, chucking their trash bags at it while it slowly drove down the street, speakers pumping out orchestral music.

Three of us gathered at the window staring in rapt fascination and the one native friend was like. “Guys, it’s just the garbage truck song.”

Years later I can’t hear it without thinking of the garbage trucks.

So when I was working on Kilonova in our team space with twenty some people and heard Für Elise playing briefly my head popped up and I said, “Oh! The garbage truck song!”

I planned to explain but one of my teammates heads also shot up and said, “Yes!! The garbage truck song!!” I’d forgotten she was Taiwanese and we were both suddenly bonded in our mutual joy of knowing the garbage truck song together.

We then realized the rest of the team was just staring at us like ????

[jacesvelaryons]

Can you write something about Jacaerys velaryon x targaryen wife reader

Where she gives birth to a baby that looks like jace and it bothered alicent but they don't care? :3

Saving Face (Jacaerys Velaryon x Targtower!Reader)

(a/n): i’m sorry this request took over a year but my, what a great idea! i hope you like it

word count: 3.0k

summary: with what was supposed to be a happy moment in the new chapter of your family with jacaerys, only wounds linger when your mother is unhappy with your child's appearance.

warnings: slight angst, family tensions, complicated family relationships, implied incest (the targaryen way), not alicent hightower friendly

request status: OPEN

The joy of his newborn child is nearly eclipsed by the fear that his beloved would be called to face the same humiliation his mother endured upon his birth.

Even in distress, his beautiful wife still looked otherworldly silver hair spun in gold, and with her pale lavender eyes, he would not have that ginger sucker of joy to rob him from this life changing celebration. His relief that his beloved survived the precarious birth, worried about her lithe frame and the prostration it weighed on her during the pregnancy.

His little boy, his beloved son, a fragment of the other half of soul and his own. He is perfect, with his ten little toes and fingers, and he is all his.

Jacaerys is thankful his mother was in the birthing room with him and his wife, breaking protocol (as always) to be with the mother as she went into labour. Without her, he thinks he would’ve been hysterical and lost his mind without her guiding hand and comforting presence in seeing Y/N in distress.

“Where is my mother?” Y/N cradles the babe to her breast, as he suckled in his mother’s warmth and he feels his heart drop to his stomach as her face contorted in disappointment.

The child yearned for nourishment, and the midwives guided the young mother so she could feed the child with her milk.

The Dowager Queen remained unyielding even as her step-daughter arose as Queen, and she was still given some privileges even with her dispute with his mother. The marriage of Jacaerys and Y/N, her youngest daughter, was made as a desperate attempt to patch the two sides together and make peace as his mother sat on the Iron Throne.

Her mother attended the wedding, wearing a dark muted forest green that still appeared obsidian in certain angles, but the flame patterns could not be missed on her gown.

A mockery indeed as if she did not accept his mother’s ascendance to the throne and wanted her small rebellions in forms of cloth, he would not grant her the satisfaction of his reaction, for the sake of the realm and his wife, her daughter. It would be too scandalous to do so.

When his beloved was called abed, all pretense of dignity and calm collapsed underneath him. Whatever confident front he had broke apart as fear consumed him, sweat dripping from his forehead, hands shaking, heart beating wildly as he realized his wife was to cross the barrier between life and death to birth their child.

Seeing Y/N’s clean white robes stained the bed in scarlet as she quickens and the pain increases as the babe nears reminds him of the chills whenever he walks the path from the princess’ chambers to the queen’s, the same path forged in blood when his mother then Princess Rhaenyra, the crown princess and heir to the Throne, had to face the humiliation called upon by her stepmother, now Queen Dowager Alicent.

His blood boils when he sees the auburn former queen walk that path meekly nowadays on her way to see her daughter, as if it was all an act when she had pulled rank and caused so much suffering to his beloved mother. Jacaerys fears his wife, now the Princess of Dragonstone will have to walk those same halls, perform the same walk of shame and mummery with all the courtiers of the Keep to bear witness.

There is no possibility he will allow her to endure the same, he would bring fire and blood to all of Westeros shall she have to face that, yet it brings him relief when he reminds himself that woman is no longer Queen but his mother is, Queen of her own right and first of her name, and yet all the same, that woman is also his mother-in-law, mother to his darling. And grandmother to the child that shares his blood.

Jacaerys never left the side of his wife even when her birth continued onto the hour of the wolf, his hands intertwined with her own, assuring kisses on her temple and cheek and encouraging her when she would cry she wanted to relent. Across from him stood his mother, whose locks resembled her half sister and his wife, an experienced mother who has felt such joy and such sorrow too, with a maternal comfort gained with experience.

He would not allow a woman filled with hate to the brim in her heart to rob him of the joys of fatherhood and the relief of his wife safe and sound after such birth to their babe. Jace felt relief like no other when he began to see the dark haired head of the child crowning, and the guttural, final scream she exerted as the child exited her womb.

Jacaerys comforted and whispered assurances of gratitude and encouragement to his lady wife, that she be reminded how grateful he was of her efforts to grow their family, of her devotion and love for him, and fulfilling her duty with nothing but grace, peppering kisses all over her flushed face.

As he caressed the fine hair of his child much like own while he fed from his mother’s breast, his elated expression dropped as if in a chilling reminder when she asked for her mother. As despicable as that woman was, he could not deny her wishes if it brought her reprieve. Jace smiled and promised her that she would be coming and has been informed of the birth of her new grandchild.

When Y/N was beyond earshot, he approached the young midwife with a hardened gait, grinding through his teeth. “If the Dowager Queen wishes to see the prince, she will make her way here herself. She can walk, can she not?!"

While his wife was preoccupied and in isolation during the last few months of the pregnancy, Jace had made efforts to convince his mother to move the Lady Alicent to the second floor below the palace where the current royal family lived. “To remind her of what she’s done to us and may feel the pain we have endured.” He told Queen Rhaenyra, who was hesitant but accepted afterwards.

Jacaerys marched his way outside the ornate doors where his wife and their babe rested, raising his chin and standing with his chest puffed out, a cold indifferent expression, back straightened and fists clenched white as his wife’s mother made her way up the stairs with difficulty.

In the years since her queenship, the then young queen had begun to develop striking pain all over her body, especially down her spine and legs no matter what the maesters or foreign healers would advise. Jacaerys thought it was fitting for when he would make his mother walk up with him and his newborn siblings, bleeding across the hallways and staircases due to the green queen’s attempt to humiliate them.

Perhaps he is his mother’s son, as diplomatic, gracious, intelligent and cunning as he may be, grudges linger.

He could hear a pin drop as the auburn haired woman nearly stumbled down the final stairs and tripped over her gown, with a few septas rushing over to assist her but he showed no commiseration.

The doors swung open as Alicent limped towards her daughter’s bedside, slightly softening in consolation her daughter was safe in childbirth and the child was kicking like a goat.

“Praise the Mother, my girl.” She brushed her blood-smeared fingers over her silver hair shakily, whispering. He did not miss the glimpse of disappointment when she noticed the dark brown hair of the child, even when the boy had her pale lavender eyes.

Alicent cleared her throat, avoiding the gaze of those around her. “I see that the prince strongly resembles his father.”

Jacaerys’ eyes narrowed in suspicion, instinctively reaching towards the pommel of his Valyrian steel sword. “Is that supposed to be a problem, Dowager?” He stomped forward, hovering above his wife and child.

“Not at all, my prince. He is a handsome boy-”

Queen Rhaenyra noticed the tension beginning to develop and interrupted with a smile. “She means no ill, Jacaerys. Merely an observation.”

“An observation?! She wished to have us named as bastards to replace you as heir with one of her spawns and humiliate you.” He raised his voice, accusatory at his mother’s former adversary, and he could feel Lucerys next to him, pulling him away to calm him.

His wife Y/N, exhausted and delirious from the birth, began to grow pale and overwhelmed from the commotion around her, just as her babe broke out in tears and wailed. The Queen ordered everyone but Jacaerys to exit the room and give the family their space. The door shut with a thunderous thud.

…

Hours later, the midwives finished cleaning up the afterbirth, bathed and cleaned the lady and the child before they both fell asleep in new linen sheets and fed.

Jacaerys never left his young family’s side, despondent he had lost his cool, distressing his family during a vulnerable moment, turning what should have been a celebration into an altercation.

He cringed as he could only imagine what the murmurs and whispers about his behaviour and the events that followed with his wife’s mother would share about him. He had brought this upon himself and his family.

AS Y/N began waking from her first rest since the labours, he turned to her as soon as he could hear her rise from her sheets, reaching for her hands in his.

“I have failed you, wife. I should have protected you but I have only raised in anger over old wounds and created altercations when I should have.” Jacaerys felt his tears brim, cheeks red with ignominy and shame.

Her eyes fluttered awake, still weary from the long delivery but visibly more rested already. She shook her head in understanding with an enervated sigh.

“I understand your relationship with my mother has been tense, for what she had done to Her Grace and your family. But I can assure her she has changed, if she is not with me, she is on the knees at the Sept begging for forgiveness and giving alms-”

“She looked at our son the same way she used to look at me and my brothers as children, when she would use her tongue to call us bastards! I fear she will do the same to you and the boy. What good will alms do if she still wishes to see me and our son six feet under ground for the colour of our hair!?” Jacaerys exclaimed, lips quivering in fear as he felt tears brim in his eyes.

Y/N brought their son closer to her arms, only comforted by the sight of her child and her beloved.

“I will handle her, trust me. She thinks I do not pay attention to these things, but I do.” She reaches her free hand to his, unmoving to not wake the babe and squeezes his larger palms into her own.

Jacaerys sniffles, wiping his tears with his sleeve. “I do not wish to drive you apart from your mother, my love. I only worry about you and our family’s safety, and the throne. That you and our son may not suffer on my behalf.”

Their son had just begun to fall asleep in her arms, and she began bouncing him instinctively, quickly gaining the ropes of what it took to be a good mother. Jacaerys knew she would be nothing like her own mother, eagerly learning from his mother Queen Rhaenyra, speaking with other royal and noble mothers and even listening to wet nurses and nannies on how to rear children best.

“Are you sure you can handle this conversation? Would you like me outside or in the room with you?” He asks with uncertainty, not entirely confident with his wife even with her own mother.

The wife of the heir to the Iron Throne and Princess of Dragonstone nods fiercely. “You forget I am a dragon too. We do not bow to these snakes that suck from their prey.”

…

In the overmorrow on the first day of spring, Y/N had just put her son in his cradle, handcrafted in limestone and marble with seahorses and dragons, lined with sheets of silk with pearls and aquamarines, befitting the future King, and the scion of Houses Targaryen and Velaryon.

She hummed as she watched him sleep, having gone through feeding him herself to the surprise of the wet nurses she had followed through, unlike most royalty. She swore she would leave nursing and care to others if she had no other choice.

Underneath sat the hearth of the magenta and mauve swirled dragon egg surrounded by pieces of coal, emitting whirls of smoke that signified the life alive in those eggs. The egg was special as it was the first from her young ride, a nervous flighty thing who only managed to hatch when she found out she was expecting herself, rarely only having one dragon when most on Dragonstone laid many.

As she hums old Valyrian nursery hymns from the crypts of ancient Valyrian text retrieved from the tombs of the Keep’s libraries, she recognizes the steps of her mother without a glimpse.

In her jade hued robes, Lady Alicent was quaint yet undaunted to remind the court of her former standing as once the queen who ruled these halls. A black veil hid part of her auburn hair that turned to flames in certain lighting.

Her mother grimaces with a smile that does not reach her eyes, but relief is painted all over her being. “You are well, daughter? I presume so is the babe.”

Y/N curtly interrupts her. “The babe is your grandson, my child when I am your flesh and blood, mother. Most importantly, he is the future heir to the throne, second in line to my husband.”

Alicent frantically fidgets with her fingers, tugging at her old emerald rings in consternation.

“Of course, yes. His name, Aemon, is fitting for a future monarch.” She could hear the strain in her mother’s words, laced with lies. All her life she had learned those sealed with malice and deceit.

“You forget yourself, mother. My husband and my children are of the blood of the dragon, as do I. You do not understand the ways of the dragon, in your jealousy of wanting to unseat my sister and put Aegon on the throne. Your attempts to disgrace and dispossess my future husband and his brothers has brought the Stranger hanging over mine and my own son’s head!” Y/N chides in betrayal, voice tinged with disbelief her mother would do such a thing.

“Y/N-”

“I could not believe you, mother, that you still harbour such ill will after many years. My marriage with Jacaerys should have buried whatever disagreements you may have had with Queen Rhaenyra, but you value imbuing hate and division on this house more than choosing the peace and stability of this kingdom!”

“Your husband and your son are unbecoming of what Targaryen princes are supposed to look like-” The Dowager attempted to reason, but was impeded as her daughter held an imposing hand towards her.

“Unbecoming? Have you not glimpsed into a mirror? You are nothing of what a Targaryen queen should be, a mere second son’s daughter who brought nothing of value to the throne, and only sought discord to advance her family. Who replaced the Targaryen tapestries with ones of the Seven in hopes of bringing your radicalism to the rest of the kingdom!”

Guards barge in the doors of the babe’s nursery, their armour and swords clattering loudly in the quiet hall.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Y/N coldly turns away from her mother, even as she frowned the same way she would. “By order of the Princess of Dragonstone with the seal of approval of the Prince of Dragonstone and the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,

I order your arrest for treason, and insubordination not only for your past grievances but your efforts to call my son a bastard. You will be stripped of your privileges of Queen Dowager, and turned into a septa who will serve the Seven for all her days.”

The former queen is astonished, struggling among the grips of the soldiers who surround her. “Daughter, you are mistaken, please do not do this to me. For all I have sacrificed for this realm and for your father, you must understand why I am the way I am.” She pleaded on her knees, hands clasped as she cried for mercy.

“No, you have served your ambitions and my late grandsire’s treacherous longing for power and the throne, that you would put the Hightower banners and replace Targaryen customs with the Seven and southern ways, that you would tear the kingdom apart for it. I have given you too many chances, forgiving you and turning the cheek in hopes you have accepted it and at least been happy for me, but I am a fool. I am not as forgiving as my father was to your digressions!”

Y/N paced slowly around her mother, sorrow on her face, but no regret or forgiveness.

“You are lucky I will not be putting you in a cell, because for better or for worse, you are still the mother who birthed me. But you would understand, there is nothing a mother would do to grant protection to her children.”

The princess dazed into the window, grasping onto the rails as she heard her mother being dragged out the halls and stripped of her royal ordinances. She could feel herself biting into her nails nervously after years of no longer doing so.

Jacaerys sauntered carefully, approaching his wife with comfort, rubbing her shoulders and bringing her into his arms, looking down at their son as he slept.

“Was I not too cruel, Jace?” She whimpered, weeping into his arms as she was devastated at whether treating her own kin in such a way was a fatal mistake.

He rests his chin on the top of her head before pressing kisses on her temple. “I understand why this troubles you, wife. As abominable and misguided she was, you still are her blood, her daughter.”

She glimpsed at her son, cooing at him as he quietly sleeps. “As a mother, I want to be nothing like her. My son will never be safe while she is around.”

[neuvistar]

LOTUS FLOWER. pt one.

— featuring ┊ genshin men (neuvillette, wriothesley, lyney, kaveh, alhaitham) x f!pregnant reader

— warnings / content warnings ┊nsfw. not proofread. all consensual! mentions of breeding k!nk, t!tplay (neuvillette), vaginal fingering (lyney?), implied semi-public s3x (wriothesley), s!ze kink if u squint (alhaitham), dirty talk obvi, them being absolute sweethearts, reader implied 2 be physically smaller than them, cunnilingus (kaveh), nicknames used, overall suggestive content. 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

— a/n ┊ this is part one guys!! part two will come soon! since i’m a little late for kinktober (oops) i’ve decided to try n do this thingy of my own </3 genshin men w a pregnant partner n maybe i’ll do separate oneshots too throughout the month if im not busy enough, i’ll try my best! i also took time 2 try n improve my writing style n i think it paid off.. anyways reblogs + feedback appreciated ! (guys i wroye this when i’m half asleep #help)

𝐍𝐄𝐔𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄, 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐅 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄

— "love, you're too cute when you pout like that," neuvillette chuckled, lightly pecking your cheeks with soft chaste kisses

NEUVILLETTE has always been your caretaker during your hard months of pregnancy, he was always there to aid you even if he had such a tight schedule! trust me, he’s always there to aid you no matter where he is.. oh you’re craving something? he already had it made and prepared downstairs for you to eat, oh you’re in pain? he’s already massaging your body to calm your nerves, oh you want him to get something for you? he’s already making his way downstairs to get it! let’s all be honest, this dragon is one of the sweetest darlings ever.. he’s just so thrilled that you’re carrying his little dragonlings, he couldn’t be happier! neuvillette’s so gentle with you.. even during intimate moments. neuvillette always has you laying down on a soft surface, his lips dancing across your flesh as his hair tickled your sensitive skin, he knows how to make sure you feel good.. sometimes he gets too lost in the moment he doesn’t even notice the littlest things! trust me, he knows how to make you feel good, he knows how to calm your hormones.. he knows how to pleasure you. neuvillette knows it all.

here you were, laid down comfortably on the mattress.. the sheets beneath you warming you up as you tugged on your husband’s white locks, emitting a soft grunt from him. neuvillette had been too caught up in the moment to notice only a little milk dripping from your other breast. instead, he kissed and sucked at your other one passionately, his hands caressing your waist in between bouts of fondling your tits. the sight of your exposed body sent a deep and primal wave of lust through him, it was enough to send him into pure euphoria as the feeling of your body against him was a kiss from the heavens above and the archons themselves. “my sweet angel," neuvillette whispered gently, his voice soft yet full of passion. "i want to love you from head to toe, i want every part of you to scream my name in delight.. i want you to experience pleasure beyond your wildest imagination. please, let me give you more litters of dragonlings inside this irresistible body of yours..”

𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘, 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄

— “you’re positive, right? you sure you’re alright?” he mumbled, nuzzling his nose against your neck

WRIOTHESLEY honestly never thought of having kids himself, but that all changed when you announced your pregnancy to him a few months prior.. he was thrilled! a little shocked and nervous to say the least, since he was nervous he wouldn’t be a good husband and father to your future kids but it went by smoothly, wriothesley had a major soft spot for you and only you. his face always fills with love and joy as he took note of your swollen and pregnant belly, sometimes he lets you wander around the fortress but sometimes he knows you’re sensitive to many smells and all that so he just keeps you in the house. but yet sometimes.. he has too much on his hands that he never has time to come home. visiting him at work became a frequent thing but he grew more protective of you, telling w few workers down at the fortress to scram if they bother you too much. wriothesley loves having you around his office, but yet, huh.. who knew visiting him here could also have it’s benefits.

wriothesley held your knees, his large hands engulfing your flesh as he grunted at the mere pulse of your pussy around his cock. he knew he shouldn’t be doing this, someone could walk in any moment but who was he to deny his own wife? he can’t deny you when you’re all shy and embarrassed like that.. asking him to fuck you and breed you just like he did those few months before, who was he to deny a request like that? the larger male had kept a slow and steady rhythm with you, he promised himself he wouldn’t listen to your begging.. begging for him to go faster. but i guess it’s fine to break promises every now and then, right? wriothesley picked up the pace as he rubbed his thumb against your clit, the feeling of his cock pounding deep inside your cunt was enough to send you to the moon. “fuck.. taking me so well, princess.. ‘gonna make me cum quicker than normal.” he whispered against your ear, caressing your belly ever so gently.. his gentleness corresponding with his harsh thrusts. “what, hm? you want someone to see you in this state? ‘want someone to catch me breeding my pretty pregnant wife in my office?— mm.. seems like y’do.. look at how much you’re sucking me in.”

𝐋𝐘𝐍𝐄𝐘, 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄

— “oh? someone’s moody today.. did i do something wrong, sweetheart? you know i didn’t mean it, c’mon! talk to me.”

LYNEY was one of the main reasons for your constant smiles and giggles throughout the day, your baby isn’t even born yet and he’s already an excellent father! the magician always sits down and chats with you, chatting about all sorts of things. what you both can name your baby(s), what magic tricks he can teach to them, how adorable they’ll look in clothes he bought for them.. he’s excited to be a father and he makes that clear! he spreads the news to lynette and freminet, and sometimes he might accidentally spread the news throughout public eyes. i mean, in a positive way! lyney takes great pride in being the father of your kids, he wants you to stay healthy and happy so your pregnancy goes smoothly, that’s all he wants. lyney’s touch is always so gentle.. caressing you like you were a mere piece of glass he had to protect.. there was something about his touch that just never fails to make you squirm, he’s good with his hands, of course you know that.. he’s just so gentle with you in many ways possible, it drives you absolutely insane sometimes.

“yeah? you like that? hmm.. how about you show me where else you would like me to touch you, go on.” his voice was just as hypnotic as his gaze.. lyney’s lips pressed against your neck as he waited for you to show him. “c’mon, you can do this.” he urged you on, you could feel your hands moving on their own as your hands made their way to your breasts, pinching your sensitive nipples in between your fingers with your mouth hung open in pure ecstasy, sending nothing but deep electric vibrations throughout your body. “l—lyney.. here. i want you to touch me here.” your voice was laced with honey, the magician could’ve sworn he could taste and sense the need and want in your tone, it only made him desire you more. “mm.. we both know that’s not all, sweetheart. show me another, and show me how you want me to touch you there.” your other hand came down slowly, lazily playing with your clit as your body shook at the even the softest touch. lyney hummed against your ear as he pressed his finger gently against your lips, trying to silence you as he gazed down at your swollen belly the blonde magician held you close, pumping two fingers inside your hole, smirking against your skin. “there, there.. good girl. such a good girl for me, are you?”

𝐊𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐇, 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓

— “alright.. i have this, this and this for you. do you need anything else? still hungry?”

KAVEH is a a good and caring husband.. though sometimes he’s a little too busy, which often frustrates you since he isn’t there to support and be by your side half of the time. honestly, you can’t blame him sometimes, he always comes home late with a shit ton of papers and piles and piles of sketches and drawings he made that day, kaveh’s always busy, you can’t stop or deny that. most of the time, he makes up to you by providing you with the things you like.. like food you’ve been craving! kaveh adores talking to his baby within your belly, always talking about how ‘papa is always there for them’ and how much he loves them. to put it in a more easier way, the young architect considers your pregnancy an absolute blessing, you were sure he kissed the floor and thanked every star in the universe when he found out you were expecting his little one, he was overjoyed! despite his busy tasks, kaveh will be willing to provide you with anything you want. especially pleasure.

“you want me to please you here?” his voice rung in your ears, nodding slowly as you bit your lip. you missed this, you missed him. kaveh had too many rough and difficult schedules already, you missed him and his touch.. you missed everything, but tonight he was gonna give it all. your lashes slowly fluttered open as your hands tightened your grip on his shoulder, kaveh smiled softly, his eyes looking deep into yours with affection. "i’m giving you what you want now, sweet angel.” the architect caressed your thighs as he slowly lifted your dress up and started to caress your stomach. "you’ve certainly become quite attractive with your pregnancy bumps," he whispered softly, smiling warmly before he allowed his urges take over, closing his eyes as his tongue mingled with your folds, giving small kitty licks before pushing himself further into you, savouring your juices. he was slow, yes.. but he wanted to get used to your taste again, flicking his muscle against your sensitive bundles of nerves as he allowed himself to get lost in your taste, palming the bulge through his pants. “let go, lovely. let me claim you once more.”

𝐀𝐋-𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐌, 𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐀 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐄

— “tell me, go on. what do you need? i’m in all ears.”

AL-HAITHAM is a hard individual to read, that’s for sure. sometimes you couldn’t really tell if he was happy about some story you decided to share with him and whatnot, but one thing you do know is that he’s absolutely thrilled about your pregnancy. alhaitham would be lying to himself if he said that the sight of your expanded belly didn’t awaken something in him. he’s always there, helping you around despite how busy he gets sometimes.. he’s calm and collected, sometimes you’d catch him talking to your baby when you’re asleep, talking about how pretty their mama is, and how excited he is to teach them about his own knowledge about this world they’re about to enter, he’s excited for his baby to be born and you know it. well.. maybe a little too exited.

he tried to be gentle, he really did. but you know he can’t resist you when you’re whining and whimpering like this, especially with that beautiful round belly of yours. alhaitham can’t help himself, really. he was needy, needy for you. he needed you and he needed you now. the scribe bit his lip as his large hands grabbed at your hips, lifting you further against him as his cock slid into your cunt so perfectly. alhaitham’s thoughts went blank at the sound of you calling his name in that way, as if you were speaking words of pure music. “mmh.. look at you. look at how good you’re taking me, even when you’re pregnant you’re still a slut for my cock now, aren’t you?” his hair fell onto his shoulders in wet clumps, “so fuckin’ full, so damn soft. you’re all round and smooth, the perfect body to bear our children." his dick buried myself into your walls, your juices coating it with white, “just like all my other possessions, this body is mine. maybe i should even put my name on it.. so damn perfect, yeah?”

[maliciouslove]

me wanting to sleep at 2:00am

me receiving serotonin at 2:40am and consequently being wide awake

[reidmarieprentiss]

Forever & Always

Summary: At 28-years-old Spencer Reid finally has his first girlfriend, you. You are bold, confident, and experienced, everything he's not, and he feels very insecure because of it. You own your own nightclub, and when Sean Hotchner needs a job, you let him come and work for you. Spencer can't handle this attractive womanizer being in your space all day long. Will the two of you make it through this?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst, smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut, virgin Spencer, insecurities, not trusting partner, arguing, threatening people, therapy

Word count: 22.3k

a/n: Sean Hotchner is a treat for the eyes ,, but no one will ever be better than Spencer -- genuinely one of my favorite fics !!

main masterlist

Additional warnings: grinding, finishing in pants (m), light breast play, handjob

Spencer had always been confident in his knowledge, his intelligence a constant source of reassurance in his life. But this—this was different. Sitting across from you in the dimly lit coffee shop, his eyes flickered nervously to the table, then back to you. You were animated, telling a story about your friends, your laugh bright and infectious, but Spencer found it hard to focus. His mind kept drifting back to that quiet, gnawing feeling that had been lurking for a while now. 

You were his first real girlfriend. At 28, Spencer Reid had never been in a serious relationship, at least not one that had progressed beyond awkward dates or brief romantic entanglements that always seemed to fizzle out before they even began. But you were different. You were confident, experienced in ways he wasn’t. It wasn’t just about the relationship itself. It was everything. You had dated other people before him, had your fair share of relationships and even casual hook-ups. The weight of it pressed down on him like an invisible burden, one he wasn’t sure how to navigate.

Spencer forced a smile, willing the tension in his chest to settle as you finished your story, your words floating through the air like a melody. He didn’t want to let on that something was bothering him, not when he saw how happy you looked. He couldn’t be the one to disrupt that joy. 

“Spence?” Your voice softened as you noticed the subtle shift in his expression, the way his eyes lingered on you a little too long, as if he was lost in thought. “You okay?”

He blinked, his face instantly smoothing into a look of reassurance. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied quickly, his voice a bit too light. “I was just really... engaged in what you were saying. You always tell such great stories.”

Your smile brightened, the warmth of his words making you feel lighter, like you were walking on air. You chuckled, your fingers playing with the rim of your coffee cup as you gazed at him. “You smooth talker.”

Spencer returned your smile, but beneath it, a twinge of doubt lingered. He didn’t want you to think there was anything wrong—didn’t want to give away the insecurity gnawing at him. He wasn’t used to this, wasn’t used to feeling unsure about something. But the thought of appearing inferior to you, of not being enough, was something he couldn’t shake.

You, on the other hand, were oblivious to the internal struggle he was masking. You were just happy—so incredibly happy. In all your past relationships, there had been a constant feeling of walking on eggshells, of waiting for things to fall apart. But with Spencer, it was different. He was different. His kindness, his gentle heart, his brilliant mind—it was everything you hadn’t even realized you were searching for.

Spencer was the best person you had ever dated. And it scared you, deeply. The fear of messing things up gnawed at the back of your mind constantly. What if this ended the same way your past relationships had? What if this incredible thing you had with Spencer was fleeting, destined to crumble just like all the others?

But you didn’t want to think about that now. Not when you were sitting here with him, sharing moments that felt real, that felt good. You let out a breath, pushing away the nagging thoughts. Spencer made you feel like maybe, just maybe, this time could be different.

You caught his gaze again, your eyes softening as you took him in. “You know,” you started, leaning in a little closer, “I feel so lucky to have met you, Spencer. You’re... you’re unlike anyone I’ve ever been with.”

Spencer's heart ached at your words, a bittersweet pang that settled deep in his chest. You said it with such sincerity, such affection, but all he could hear were the things that made him different in a way he didn’t want to be. Of course, he was unlike anyone else you’d been with. How could he compare to the others? He was awkward, inexperienced, and—by his own assessment—weird. The guy who overthought everything, who could recite obscure facts but had no idea how to casually flirt or initiate a kiss without rehearsing it a dozen times in his head first.

So he forced a weak smile, nodding as if your words had filled him with the same happiness they brought you. But inside, it only made him feel more out of place, like he was somehow failing at this relationship without you even knowing.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice softer than he intended. He wanted to say more, wanted to tell you that being with you was the best thing that had ever happened to him. But instead, he let the moment pass, watching as your face lit up with excitement, diving into another story.

He focused on your words, or at least tried to. You had this way of captivating him, of pulling him into whatever you were talking about, but right now, it was harder to stay present. The feeling of inadequacy, of not being enough, pressed heavily on him. As you talked about past adventures, dates with friends, and experiences that felt so far removed from anything he’d ever known, Spencer couldn’t help as his fingers nervously tapped against the side of his cup, his mind wandering.

—

It was late, well past midnight, when you noticed Spencer’s quiet sigh as he shifted beside you in bed. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, casting long shadows on the walls. You had been reading, but you couldn’t focus on the book in your hands. Not when you could feel the weight of something pressing down on Spencer.

You set the book aside, turning onto your side to face him, your hand resting gently on his chest. “Spence,” you whispered softly, “what’s going on?”

His gaze remained fixed on the ceiling for a long moment before he sighed again, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your arm where it draped over him. “I don’t know,” he muttered, though the heaviness in his voice said otherwise.

You waited, knowing that he would open up when he was ready. That was how these late-night conversations always started. Sometimes it took a while for Spencer to find the words to express what was on his mind, and you had learned to give him that space.

Eventually, he turned his head to look at you, his brow furrowed, eyes shadowed with the insecurities he often tried to hide. “It’s just... I keep thinking about how different we are. You’ve had all these experiences, and I... haven’t. I’m still figuring things out, and sometimes I worry... I worry that it’s not enough for you. That I’m not enough.”

Your heart ached for him, the depth of his vulnerability cutting through the quiet of the night. You shifted closer, wrapping your arms around him, holding him as tightly as you could. “Spencer,” you whispered against his shoulder, “I don’t care about any of that. You being a—less experienced… doesn’t matter to me. It never has, and it never will.”

He let out a soft, shaky breath, his arms coming around you in return, but the tension in his body didn’t fully ease. “But what if... what if you change your mind? What if one day you realize I’m... I’m just not enough? I don’t know how to be what you deserve.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look him in the eye. “Spence, listen to me,” you said firmly but gently. “You are enough. You’ve always been enough. I didn’t fall in love with you because of some checklist of experiences or expectations. I fell in love with you. All of you. The dorkiness, the brilliance, the way you look at the world. I don’t care if you never want to have sex, or if we figure it out together. What matters is that I love you, exactly as you are.”

He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering down to where your fingers were tracing soothing circles on his chest. “I want to believe that,” he whispered, his voice so small, so fragile.

You pressed a soft kiss to his temple. “I know it’s hard,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his skin. “But I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. With you. Always.”

For a moment, there was only the sound of your breathing and the quiet hum of the world outside. Spencer’s grip on you tightened as if holding on to the reassurance you offered. The doubt didn’t disappear entirely—it never really did. But you could feel him relax into your embrace, letting himself lean on you, trusting in your words even if the insecurities still lingered.

“You know,” you said after a while, a playful lilt entering your voice to lighten the mood, “you’re not the only one who has insecurities, Spence.”

He turned his head, curiosity softening the edges of his earlier worry. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’m terrified of messing this up. Of somehow ruining the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Your voice was light, but the truth behind it was evident.

His brow furrowed, clearly confused. “You? You’re worried about messing things up?”

You nodded, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “Yeah. Every relationship I’ve had before this… it’s ended in an unsavory way. I don’t want that to happen with us, I don’t want us to end at all. You’re different, Spencer. In the best way. And I want this to last.”

Spencer’s expression softened, a small, almost shy smile appearing on his face. “I guess we’re both a little scared, then.”

“Maybe,” you agreed, resting your forehead against his. “But we’re in this together, okay? No matter what happens, we’ll figure it out.”

He kissed you then, a tender, lingering kiss that felt like a promise. When you pulled away, he whispered, “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection. “You deserve every bit of happiness, Spencer Reid. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Though the insecurities never fully went away, they didn’t define your relationship. Over time, those late-night conversations became a safe place for both of you, a time to share your fears and your hopes, to remind each other of what you had.

And despite the occasional moments of doubt, you and Spencer were happy—truly happy. You built a relationship that was healthy, full of love, trust, and understanding. You were a team, navigating life together, and every step forward only brought you closer.

Because, in the end, it wasn’t about who had more experience or who was more confident. It was about being there, for each other, in every way that mattered. And that was more than enough.

—

Sean Hotchner leaned against the doorframe of Aaron’s office, his disheveled appearance a stark contrast to the professional atmosphere of the BAU. His hair was longer than Aaron remembered, tousled in a way that made it look like he had just rolled out of bed. The leather jacket slung over his shoulder was worn, his jeans frayed at the edges. Aaron barely looked up from his paperwork as Sean cleared his throat, but the tension in the room was palpable.

"Sean," Aaron greeted flatly, his tone carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken frustrations. He didn’t even need to ask why his younger brother was here. Sean only showed up when he needed something.

“Aaron, man, I need help,” Sean began, already trying to soften his tone as he stepped inside. He glanced at the bullpen behind him, noticing the open door but not caring enough to close it. "I, uh, got fired from my job. Again."

Aaron’s jaw tightened, his hand clenching around the pen he held. "And?"

"And I lost my apartment," Sean continued, running a hand through his hair. "I don't have anywhere to go. I was hoping… I could crash with you for a bit. Just until I get back on my feet."

Aaron finally looked up, his dark eyes narrowing as he studied his brother. His fingers drummed impatiently against the desk as he exhaled through his nose. “So, let me get this straight—you got fired, again, and now you’re asking to live with me? Sean, this is the third time. When are you going to take responsibility for your life?”

Sean shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at his boots. “I know, I know. It’s just... I hit a rough patch, alright? I’ll figure it out, I just need some time.”

Aaron’s frustration boiled just beneath the surface, his voice rising slightly, enough that it carried out into the bullpen. “You always say that, Sean. ‘I’ll figure it out.’ But you never do. I can’t keep bailing you out every time you screw up.”

In the bullpen, the conversation didn’t go unnoticed. Everyone sat at their desks, their eyes darting toward Aaron’s office. Emily leaned over to JJ, lowering her voice but not enough to hide her words.

“Is that Hotch’s brother?” Emily whispered, her eyes widening as she watched Sean from across the room.

JJ nodded, her gaze flicking between Aaron’s stern expression and Sean’s slouched posture. “Yeah, that’s Sean. He hasn’t been around in a while.”

Penelope, standing nearby, leaned in with wide, curious eyes. “Okay, but, uh... is it just me or is Sean... kind of hot?”

Emily raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk forming on her lips. “Oh, it’s not just you. He’s definitely got that... bad boy thing going on.”

JJ chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You two are terrible.”

Penelope shrugged dramatically. “What? I mean, I’ve heard stories, but I didn’t know Hotch had such an attractive brother! Seriously, if I didn’t know better, I’d be thinking some very impure thoughts right now.”

“Garcia,” JJ admonished lightly, but she was clearly amused.

They all tried to suppress their laughter, watching as Aaron’s stern voice carried into the bullpen, his frustration with Sean evident. But they couldn’t help the whispered commentary as Sean stood there, looking like the picture of trouble.

“I’d hate to see what Hotch is going to do to him once that door closes,” Emily mused, shaking her head. “But I have to admit, he’s got a certain... charm.”

Penelope wiggled her eyebrows playfully. “Maybe I should go in there and offer him some moral support.”

JJ rolled her eyes, grinning. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly what he needs right now.”

Back in the office, Aaron had stood up, his hands planted firmly on his desk as he glared at Sean. "You need to grow up, Sean. This can’t keep happening. I’ve got Jack to think about now. I’m not running a halfway house."

Sean's shoulders slumped, his voice lowering as he tried to appease his brother. "I know, Aaron. But I don’t have anyone else. Please, just this one last time. I swear I won’t mess it up."

Aaron ran a hand over his face, torn between anger and the sense of duty he always felt toward his family, no matter how much they disappointed him. His voice softened slightly, but only just. “This is the last time, Sean. I mean it.”

Sean gave a small nod, grateful but visibly embarrassed, as he mumbled, “Thanks, man. I owe you.”

As he turned to leave the office, the gossiping trio quickly straightened up, trying to look busy. But as Sean made his way toward the exit, Penelope couldn’t resist shooting one last glance, her voice barely above a whisper. “I mean... Hotch’s brother, right? Who knew?”

JJ stifled a laugh, shaking her head as she turned back to her paperwork. Meanwhile, Emily just smiled knowingly, her eyes trailing after Sean for a moment longer before settling back into work.

No one noticed Spencer sitting at his desk behind them, listening to every word.

—

That evening you and Spencer sat across from each other at your dining table, plates of food between you, but Spencer’s voice held an unusual tension as he recounted the events of the day. His fork poked absentmindedly at his meal, his eyes flickering between you and his plate as he spoke.

“So, Sean Hotchner showed up at the bureau today,” Spencer began, his tone neutral but carrying an undercurrent of something heavier. “Apparently, he’s having a tough time. Lost his job again.”

You tilted your head slightly, setting your fork down to give him your full attention. “Sean? Aaron’s younger brother, right?”

Spencer nodded. “Yeah. He’s... been bouncing around, trying to figure things out. He came to Hotch for help, and it sounds like he’s pretty desperate.”

You sighed softly, a familiar pang tugging at your heart. You knew that feeling all too well—the desperation, the uncertainty of trying to rebuild when everything felt like it was crumbling. “That’s rough. I feel for him. It’s not easy trying to make something of yourself when you’ve hit rock bottom.”

Spencer glanced at you, his brows knitting together slightly. He knew your story, knew how hard you had worked to pull yourself up and build something successful out of nothing. Owning a nightclub wasn’t just a job—it was a symbol of everything you had overcome.

You took a sip of your drink, lost in thought for a moment before something clicked. “Does Sean have any bartending experience?”

Spencer raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting the question. “Uh, yeah, actually. He’s worked at a few bars. That’s where he got fired from, this last place.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you reached for your phone, fingers quickly typing out a message. Spencer watched, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.

“What are you doing?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual, though his curiosity was piqued.

You looked up, still smiling as you explained, “I’m texting Hotch. I can offer Sean a working interview tomorrow at my club. We’re always looking for good bartenders, and if he’s in need, it’s worth a shot, right?”

Spencer froze, his fork hovering in mid-air, his brain scrambling to catch up with what you’d just said. He forced a smile, but there was a storm brewing inside him. Not because you had texted Hotch—Spencer had long accepted that your relationship with his boss had developed into a friendly, professional one—but because of Sean.

He had seen Sean walk into the bureau today, watched as the women in the office had practically swooned when they saw him. Sean was tall, undeniably attractive, with an easy charm that Spencer knew was irresistible. It didn’t help that Sean had a reputation. Spencer knew he had “gotten around,” experienced in ways that Spencer wasn’t. And now, Sean was going to be working for you, in your club, where you’d be seeing him regularly.

Jealousy gnawed at Spencer’s insides, dark and insidious, feeding on his deepest fears—that one day, someone else would come along. Someone like Sean. More experienced, more charming, more… everything.

But he couldn’t let you see that. He couldn’t let you know how much this was eating at him. So, instead, he plastered on a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and leaned back in his chair.

“That’s... that’s really generous of you,” Spencer said, his voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil he felt. “I’m proud of you, honestly. It’s such a kind thing to do, helping him out like that.”

You beamed at his words, unaware of the storm raging inside him. “Well, it just makes sense, you know? If he’s a good bartender, why not give him a chance? It’s not like I’m handing him the job—he still has to prove himself.”

Spencer nodded, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched you. He could see how happy you were to be able to help, how genuine your intentions were, and it only made him feel worse for the insecurities twisting in his gut.

You reached across the table, taking his hand in yours. “I love you, Spence,” you said softly, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “I’m glad you’re okay with this. I was worried you might think I was overstepping by getting involved.”

Spencer swallowed hard, squeezing your hand gently. “Of course I’m okay with it,” he lied, his smile still in place. “I love you too, and I’m so proud of how much you’ve accomplished. You’re always looking out for people, giving them chances. It’s one of the things I admire most about you.”

You smiled again, leaning across the table to kiss his cheek. “Thanks, Spence. That means a lot.”

As the conversation shifted to other topics, Spencer kept his mask firmly in place, not letting his doubts show. But deep down, that gnawing feeling refused to go away. No matter how much he tried to push it aside, the thought lingered: What if one day, you realized someone like Sean was better?

—

Sean had already impressed you the moment he walked through the doors of your nightclub, right on time for his working interview. Dressed in the attire you had specified—black from head to toe—he looked sharp and professional. You had expected someone more casual, maybe even a bit cocky given his reputation, but Sean Hotchner showed up ready to work.

Aaron had called earlier that morning, expressing his gratitude for your offer. "I really appreciate this," he had said, his voice heavy with something between relief and exhaustion. "But you don’t have to feel obligated to help Sean. He’s not your responsibility."

You had assured Aaron you didn’t mind at all. After all, you were always on the lookout for good bartenders. "Especially since I just promoted my best bartender to the VIP level," you had explained. “We’ve got space to fill, and if Sean can handle the bar, it’ll be a win-win.”

Now, as you watched Sean behind the bar, you felt a quiet sense of satisfaction. He moved with precision, taking orders smoothly, mixing drinks quickly, and keeping up with the flow of the night like a seasoned professional. It was clear he had experience, and that gave you a sense of relief. You had taken a chance on him by allowing him to skip the usual server stage, something you typically required of all new hires. But it seemed like that gamble was paying off.

You made your way over to the bar as Sean finished serving a group of customers. He noticed you approaching and straightened up, giving you a nod. "How’s it going?" you asked, leaning against the counter with an approving smile.

“So far, so good,” Sean replied, a hint of confidence in his voice. “I’m used to a fast pace. It feels good to be back behind the bar.”

You smiled, appreciating his composure. “I have to say, you’re doing a great job. I usually don’t let people jump straight to bartending, but you’ve handled everything perfectly tonight.”

Sean’s face lit up with a genuine smile, his posture relaxing a little. "Thanks, that means a lot."

You nodded, understanding the weight of those words. "I think we can skip the formalities—if you’re interested, the job’s yours."

Sean’s eyes widened slightly, clearly surprised by the offer. "Really? Just like that?"

"Just like that," you confirmed. "You’ve shown me enough tonight. You know what you’re doing, and I could use someone like you on the team."

He blinked, momentarily taken aback by the swiftness of it all, before breaking into a grin. "Thank you. Seriously, I won’t let you down."

"You’d better not," you teased, giving him a wink. "Welcome to the team."

As Sean returned to his work, you stood back, watching him interact with customers and noticing how well he fit in with the atmosphere of the club. He was a natural behind the bar, and you were already confident in your decision. 

The next day, before the crowd came in, Aaron stopped by to check on his brother. As you greeted him, he glanced toward the bar, where Sean was preparing before what was supposed to be a busy shift.

"I have to thank you again," Aaron said, his tone sincere. "Sean needed this, more than you know."

You shook your head, brushing off the sentiment with a smile. "He’s doing a great job. Honestly, I think I’m the one who got lucky. You were right—he’s not my responsibility, but I’m happy to have him here."

Aaron gave a small, appreciative nod, his face softening. "I’ll make sure he knows how grateful he should be. You’ve done more for him than you realize."

You smiled, watching as Sean continued his work, his focus sharp and his movements steady. "He’s earned it, Aaron. I’m glad I took the chance."

Later that night, the club was in full swing, lights flashing in sync with the beat of the music, and the energy was palpable. People crowded the dance floor, moving to the rhythm, while others clustered around the bar, talking and laughing as they sipped their drinks. You navigated the floor easily, greeting regulars and keeping an eye on how things were running. It was a typical Friday night—lively, loud, and just the way you liked it.

In the center of the dance floor, Derek and Emily were having the time of their lives. Derek had drawn Emily out to dance almost as soon as they arrived, and now the two were lost in the music. Emily laughed as Derek spun her around, her dark hair flying as she moved effortlessly with him. Their laughter echoed even over the thumping bass, and it was clear that they were in their element, shaking off the stress of the week.

“Come on, Em! You can do better than that!” Derek teased, flashing her that playful grin he was famous for.

“Oh, you think so?” Emily shot back, her competitive side kicking in as she matched his dance moves with a flick of her hips. “Watch and learn, Morgan.”

Nearby, JJ stood at a high-top table, sipping a cocktail while watching them, shaking her head with an amused smile. “They’re ridiculous,” she said, laughing softly.

“They’re having fun,” Penelope added, her eyes glowing with excitement as she scanned the room. “This place is amazing! Y/N has really outdone herself!”

But Spencer was quieter than the rest, standing a little farther back from the group, his drink untouched in his hand as his eyes remained locked on the bar where Sean worked. He wasn’t dancing or chatting like the others; his focus was entirely on you and Sean. Spencer’s jaw tightened slightly as he watched the two of you exchanging easy conversation. You stood at the bar, laughing at something Sean said as he mixed drinks with practiced ease.

Sean was good, no doubt about it. He looked completely in his element behind the bar, effortlessly charming customers as he handed out drinks, his smile quick and easy. And there you were, standing beside him, looking equally relaxed and at home in your own nightclub. You smiled at Sean, gave him a friendly nudge as you helped out, your laughter ringing out above the hum of the crowd.

Spencer’s grip on his glass tightened just a fraction.

"Spence?" JJ’s voice pulled him out of his spiral. She was looking at him with concern, her head tilted slightly. "You good?"

Spencer quickly forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

JJ gave him a knowing look but didn’t press further. “You sure? You’ve been staring at the bar for a while now.”

Spencer swallowed, forcing his gaze away from the scene. “Just... keeping an eye on things,” he said, trying to sound casual.

But his eyes drifted back, drawn to the way you leaned in close to talk to Sean, laughing easily at something he said. Spencer clenched his jaw, trying to shake off the irrational jealousy. He didn’t want to feel this way—not when he trusted you so deeply. But the insecurities simmered just beneath the surface, no matter how much he tried to tamp them down.

At the bar, you noticed Spencer’s gaze from across the room, giving him a quick wave and a bright smile, unaware of the storm brewing in his head. Spencer waved back, forcing himself to return your smile, but his heart was still heavy with the weight of his unspoken fears.

As Derek and Emily continued to dance, their carefree energy a stark contrast to the tension building inside Spencer, he tried to push his jealousy aside. He wanted to trust in what you had, to remind himself that you loved him, not Sean.

But as he watched you lean against the bar, your attention completely on Sean as he worked, Spencer couldn’t help but feel that gnawing insecurity settle deeper in his chest.

Spencer’s eyes flickered toward you again as you moved across the club, checking on customers, making sure everything was running smoothly. Even in your all-black uniform, which was meant to look professional, you somehow made it look effortlessly chic. The fitted black blazer, the lace tights, and that sleek skirt—it all came together in a way that caught people's attention. And it wasn’t just the customers. Spencer saw how Sean’s gaze lingered a little too long every time you walked away, his eyes drifting down to the hem of your skirt, to the low neckline of your top.

It didn’t sit right with Spencer. He tried to tell himself that Sean wasn’t doing anything out of line—he was just looking, and maybe that was normal. You looked amazing, after all. But it gnawed at him, the way Sean’s eyes followed you, the way he smiled that easy, flirtatious smile at customers and coworkers alike. There was something too comfortable about the way Sean was acting, and Spencer couldn’t shake the irritation growing in his chest.

JJ was talking with Penelope next to him, her attention catching on Sean’s antics at the bar. She chuckled, leaning closer to Spencer, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. “Classic Sean,” she said, shaking her head as she watched him chat up a group of women by the bar. “Talking up every person within earshot.”

Spencer didn’t laugh. He didn’t find it funny. His fingers gripped his drink a little tighter, his jaw tensing as he tried to ignore the bubbling jealousy rising inside him. Sean wasn’t just talking to the women, he was clearly charming them, making them giggle and blush with every word.

Why did I even come tonight? Spencer thought to himself. Maybe staying home would have been the better option. Watching Sean work the bar—watching him charm the customers, and worse, watching him look at you—was a slow burn of frustration that Spencer didn’t know how to handle.

JJ nudged him lightly with her elbow. “You sure you’re alright, Spence?”

He forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, I promise, I’m fine,” he said quietly, though his thoughts were far from fine.

He didn’t want to seem insecure, didn’t want to show just how much Sean’s presence was bothering him. But it was hard to shake the image of Sean’s lingering glances, the flirtatious air about him, and the unsettling thought that maybe, just maybe, Sean was good for you in ways that Spencer wasn’t.

As you made your way over to Spencer and his friends, completely unaware of the internal storm that had been brewing inside your boyfriend all night, your smile brightened when you saw him. “Hi, baby,” you said sweetly, leaning down to give Spencer a quick peck on the lips.

But to your surprise, instead of the brief kiss you were expecting, Spencer’s hands found their way to your waist, pulling you in closer as he deepened the kiss. His lips lingered on yours longer than usual, and the intensity of the gesture caught you off guard. You could feel the heat of his hands through the fabric of your blazer, the possessiveness in his grip that was unlike him, especially in public.

When you finally pulled back, slightly dazed, your cheeks flushed as you whispered, “Damn, baby, what did I do to deserve that?” You playfully tucked a loose strand of his hair behind his ear, grinning at him.

Spencer’s grip on you didn’t falter. In fact, he pulled you even closer, positioning you between his spread thighs from where he sat on the stool. His gaze was soft, but there was something in his eyes, something deeper. “You just look so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low, almost vulnerable. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, feeling heat rise to your face. Spencer wasn’t usually so bold, so forward—especially not in front of other people. The sweet boy you loved was often shy, reserved, but this moment? This was different. It was as if he was trying to show you something, stake a quiet claim that you couldn’t quite understand.

You gave him another quick kiss, smiling softly against his lips before pulling back. “Well, thank you,” you said, feeling your own cheeks flush. You glanced at the group with a bright smile before excusing yourself to check on a few things at the bar. As you walked away, Spencer’s eyes followed you, his hand still resting on his thigh, feeling the lingering warmth where he’d held you close.

No sooner had you disappeared from view than Penelope was already nudging Spencer with a playful grin. “Spencer Reid!” she teased, her voice brimming with amusement as she lightly slapped his shoulder. “Save it for later, horn dog!”

Spencer felt his entire face turn scarlet, his heart pounding with embarrassment. He wasn’t trying to be… well, that! But the way Penelope’s eyes twinkled, the implication that she thought the two of you were all over each other in that way, made him squirm in his seat.

“Oh, come on, don’t blush, pretty boy,” Penelope giggled, thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. “You’ve been staring at her all night. We know what’s on your mind.”

JJ joined in, her laugh warm and teasing. “Yeah, Spence, is that why you’ve been keeping an eye on her all night? Can’t wait to get Y/N all to yourself later?”

Spencer wished he could disappear into thin air. He shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the heat rising to his ears. “Something like that,” he muttered, but the truth weighed heavier on him than he wanted to admit.

It wasn’t that Spencer wasn’t physically attracted to you—he adored every part of you—but the teasing only made him feel more inadequate, more aware of the gap between your experience and his. The others didn’t know. They had no idea that he hadn’t crossed the line into physical intimacy with you yet, despite your relationship being serious, despite you having already moved in together and said “I love you.” 

Most couples would have by now, he thought bitterly. And everyone else, Penelope and JJ included—they probably assumed you two were just like everyone else, that he was just another guy in a committed relationship. The teasing implied as much.

But Spencer knew the truth, and it gnawed at him—those dark fears he kept bottled up, that you would eventually find someone more experienced, more capable, someone who could offer you more than he ever could.

The soft click of the door echoed through the apartment as you stepped inside, already feeling the exhaustion from the long night creeping in. It was well past 3:00 a.m., the time when the world was quiet, and you expected the same from your apartment. Usually, Spencer would be fast asleep by now, his rhythmic breathing a comforting sound you’d find when you crawled into bed after closing the club. But tonight, as you set your bag down and kicked off your heels, you were surprised to see the warm glow of a lamp in the living room.

Spencer was sitting in his favorite green armchair, the soft pages of a book resting in his lap as he looked up, a sleepy but genuine grin spreading across his face. The sight of him there, waiting for you, made your heart swell. His hair was slightly disheveled, his long fingers trailing off the edge of the chair as he beckoned you closer with open arms.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he mumbled, his voice warm and low, the kind of greeting that made you feel instantly at home.

You couldn’t resist the invitation, crossing the room in a few quick strides before slipping into his arms, settling into the chair with him. “Hi, my love,” you sighed, leaning into his warmth, your face nuzzling into the crook of his neck as you inhaled his familiar scent. The combination of coffee and books was something uniquely Spencer, and it always made you feel safe.

“How was closing?” he asked, his voice gentle as his hand moved to stroke your back in slow, soothing circles.

You shivered lightly at his touch, enjoying the familiar rhythm of his fingers. “It was fine,” you murmured, your breath soft against his neck. “Sean is so much faster than Amber was. It makes things a lot easier.”

As soon as the words left your lips, you felt it. The way Spencer’s body tensed beneath you, the way his hand paused for a fraction of a second before continuing. You didn’t think much of it at first—maybe he was just tired—but then his touch changed. The gentle strokes on your back turned into something more deliberate, more intent as his hand slid lower.

“Hmmm,” Spencer hummed, his tone almost too casual. “I’m glad he’s been helpful.”

You opened your mouth to continue, but your thoughts trailed off as Spencer’s hand slid down further, past the small of your back, coming to rest on your thigh. His fingers pressed into the fabric there, his thumb tracing slow circles that sent a shiver through you. At first, you didn’t think much of it—Spencer’s touch was always affectionate, but this felt different.

“Yeah, he really has been—” Your sentence was cut short as Spencer’s hand traveled higher, his fingers brushing over your ass with a boldness that caught you off guard. His touch was unmistakable now, filled with an intensity you weren’t used to seeing from your typically gentle and reserved boyfriend.

You lifted your head, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes, searching for the meaning behind this sudden shift. His gaze was dark, filled with something you hadn’t seen before—jealousy and possessiveness that simmered just beneath the surface.

“Is this okay?” Spencer asked, his voice a little rougher than usual, his hand still resting firmly on your body.

You blinked, your heart racing a little faster as you processed his question. “Yeah, baby, of course,” you whispered, stroking his cheek softly with your thumb. You gave him a reassuring smile, letting him know there was nothing to be uncertain about. “You can touch me anywhere.”

At your words, you felt something shift in Spencer. A quiet storm brewing behind his soft exterior, flared up. His hand flexed against you, and you could see it in his eyes now—he was staking his claim, reminding himself, and maybe even you, that he was the one who had the right to be close to you like this.

He was the one allowed to touch you, to hold you, to love you. Not Sean, not anyone else. Only him.

Without another word, Spencer pulled you closer, his grip on you tightening slightly as if to make sure you understood. You weren’t sure where this sudden intensity came from, but it made your heart race in a different way. This wasn’t the soft, shy Spencer you were used to. This was something deeper, something more primal. And for a moment, you were both wrapped up in it, the quiet room charged with unspoken tension.

You pressed a kiss to his lips, slow and tender, hoping to ease whatever storm was brewing inside him. “Spence,” you whispered against his lips, “I’m yours.”

Spencer's heart pounded in his chest as the moment stretched between you. He had always felt a deep sense of attraction for you, but acting on it had been something he’d carefully avoided—out of nervousness, out of insecurity. But tonight there was something about the way you had reassured him, the way you said he could touch you, that ignited a new kind of confidence in him. 

He leaned down, closing the space between you, and kissed you with a passion that surprised even him. It was much like the kiss you’d shared earlier at the club, only this time there was an intensity behind it—a hunger that had been quietly building for a long time. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as his lips moved with yours, no longer tentative, but sure, as though he had made a silent decision within himself.

You were taken aback for only a brief moment, but not at all upset by the new direction your night was taking. If anything, you were thrilled to see this side of him, this bolder, more assertive Spencer. You brought both hands up to cradle his face, your thumbs gently stroking his jawline as you kissed him back, pouring all your affection into the moment. His hands, meanwhile, began to roam your body, exploring what little he could in this current position, his fingers tracing the curve of your hips, your thighs. There was an eagerness in his touch, a yearning that you could feel pulsing from him.

You could sense that he wanted more, that he wasn’t sure how to ask for it, but you knew. You knew exactly what he needed. Without a word, you sat up from where you were nestled in his lap, moving slowly so you could shift your position. You swung one leg over him, straddling his lap and settling back down, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders. Then, with a teasing smile, you took his hands in yours, guiding them back to where he seemed to want them the most—onto your ass. 

“Better?” you asked, your smirk playful, though your heart was racing just as fast as his.

Spencer’s breath hitched slightly, the weight of your body on his lap combined with the newfound freedom in his touch making him dizzy with need. His fingers instinctively squeezed the flesh beneath them, reveling in the feeling of holding you like this, of having you so close.

“Much,” he managed to say, his voice weak with desire, his eyes wide as he looked up at you. He leaned forward again, capturing your lips in another kiss, more urgent this time. His hands tightened around you, holding you as if afraid you might slip away. You could feel the tension in his body as he leaned into the kiss, the way he was holding back so much yet giving in more than he ever had before.

The kiss deepened, and you could feel the heat between you building as his hands roamed your back, your thighs, then found their way back to your ass, squeezing you with newfound confidence. He wasn’t just nervous Spencer anymore—he was Spencer who wanted you, and that thought made you smile against his lips.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to catch your breath and look into his eyes. His gaze was filled with a mix of awe and desire, as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening, yet he was determined to take the leap.

“I love this side of you,” you whispered, your fingers brushing through his hair as you leaned your forehead against his. “But we don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

As you whispered those reassuring words, you saw the subtle flicker of doubt flash across Spencer’s face. His confidence, which had been so bold a moment ago, seemed to waver. You could practically see the question forming in his mind—Did you not want this? Was he misreading the situation? 

You were quick to close the gap between his fear and your truth. “I want to do everything with you, baby,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss him softly, your lips brushing against his with tender intent. Then, in a playful move, you gently bit down on his bottom lip, just enough to make him whine, a small, needy sound escaping his throat that sent a thrill through you. “I just don’t want to rush anything,” you continued, your voice soothing but firm. “We have all the time in the world.”

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, making sure your next words landed where they needed to. “I am not going anywhere, okay? You don’t have to worry about that.”

Spencer’s chest rose and fell with the deep breath he took, his gaze softening as your words sank in. He nodded, his hand still resting possessively on your waist. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath but carrying the full weight of his emotions.

You smiled at him, a loving, genuine smile that only deepened his feelings. “I love you more,” you whispered back before leaning down to kiss him again.

In that moment, the kiss was everything. Soft, slow, reassuring, full of the love and trust that you’d both built together. But then, as you shifted in his lap, your body moved instinctively—rolling your hips ever so slightly. You hadn’t meant to, but the unmistakable hardness beneath you pressed against your core, causing a delicious friction that neither of you expected.

Spencer whimpered into your mouth, the sound raw and unrestrained, his hips jerking upward involuntarily in response to the sudden, new form of pleasure. The sensation seemed to spark something deep inside him, a rush of need that had been bubbling under the surface for so long. You felt his fingers tighten on your waist, his breath hitching as he chased the friction, his body moving beneath you as if on autopilot.

The way Spencer reacted to the brief touch, the soft sounds of desperation coming from him, sent a thrill through your own body. You could feel the heat rising between you both, the chemistry shifting from sweet to something more electric. Your lips hovered just above his, your breath mingling with his as you caught the look in his eyes—dark, yearning, and yet still so full of love.

You kissed him again, slower this time, savoring every second as your hands cupped his face, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “Spence…” you whispered, his name a quiet plea on your lips, “Does that feel good, baby?”

“Mhm,” he whined softly, eyes closed as he leaned into the feeling, chasing the sensation your touch brought him. His body responded instinctively, moving with you, completely lost in the moment.

You were just about to suggest something more, thinking about shedding some of the clothing between you, when suddenly, Spencer stilled beneath you. His entire body tensed, and before you could ask what was wrong, he let out a long, unexpected moan. You felt it—an undeniable wetness seeping through your tights. 

Spencer’s eyes shot open in mortification, his face flushing crimson as he realized what had just happened. Panic set in immediately, and without a word, he scrambled out from under you, pushing you off gently but urgently as he bolted toward the bathroom. 

You barely had time to process what had happened before he disappeared behind the door. The sound of it closing echoed through the quiet apartment, leaving you sitting there, still feeling the heat of the moment but now overtaken by concern. You stood up, adjusting yourself and taking a deep breath, your mind quickly shifting from your own arousal to Spencer’s sudden distress.

You followed him to the bathroom, heart heavy as you heard him breathing heavily on the other side of the door. Gently, you knocked, your voice soft and filled with care. “Spencer? Honey, are you okay?”

A sniffle came from the other side, a sound that broke your heart. “No,” he whimpered, his voice small, ashamed.

You leaned your forehead against the door, trying to offer him comfort without pushing too hard. “Can I come in?” you asked, your tone gentle and filled with reassurance.

“No,” he answered again, his voice cracking, clearly embarrassed.

You sighed softly, wanting nothing more than to hold him, to make sure he knew there was nothing to be ashamed of. “Why not, baby?” you asked, your voice soft but persistent.

Spencer hesitated, his breath shaky as he tried to find the words. “Because... because I... I... ruined it,” he stammered, his voice thick with tears.

Your heart broke at his words. Ruined it? There was nothing to ruin. You leaned against the door more firmly, wanting him to hear the sincerity in your voice. “Spencer,” you said softly, “you didn’t ruin anything, my love. Please let me in. We can talk about it, okay?”

He sniffled again, his breathing still shaky. You could hear him shifting on the other side, his back still pressed against the door. “I... I couldn’t control it. I didn’t mean to... it’s so embarrassing,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Baby, it’s okay,” you reassured him, feeling your own heart ache for him. “It’s normal. It happens. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, I promise.”

There was a pause, and you could hear him take a deep breath, as if he was trying to gather himself. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you heard the soft click of the door unlocking.

Slowly, you opened the door and found Spencer standing there, his eyes red-rimmed, his shoulders slumped in defeat. His gaze dropped to the floor, avoiding yours out of sheer mortification. Without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a comforting embrace.

He hesitated at first, still feeling the weight of his embarrassment, but eventually, his arms came around you, holding on tightly as if you were his lifeline.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled into your shoulder, his voice muffled and thick with emotion.

You pulled back just enough to cup his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. Your eyes were filled with nothing but love and understanding. “Spencer, you don’t have to be sorry,” you said softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He blinked at you, clearly still struggling to accept that. “But... it was... I didn’t even—”

“Shh,” you soothed him, gently placing a finger against his lips, your voice soft but reassuring. “How about we focus on how that felt, yeah?”

Spencer��s brow furrowed slightly, tilting his head at you, still unsure how to navigate this moment. His embarrassment was still fresh, but your calmness helped ease the tension that had built up inside him.

“Did it feel good, baby?” you asked, your tone gentle and coaxing. “Like something you’d want to try again?”

There was a moment of hesitation before the realization hit Spencer—what you were doing. You weren’t focusing on his embarrassment, his mistake. You were helping him see past it, guiding him back to what mattered: the feeling you had shared, the intimacy of the moment. His heart swelled with gratitude, a soft warmth spreading through his chest.

“Yes,” he said softly, his voice filled with relief and sincerity. “It did.”

You smiled up at him, and that smile was all it took to melt the remaining tension in his body. Leaning in, you kissed him, a slow and tender kiss filled with the reassurance that everything was okay, that he was okay. “I liked it too,” you whispered against his lips. “Maybe we can do that again soon?”

Spencer’s lips quirked into a small smile, more confident this time. “I would like that,” he admitted, his voice steady, a little more sure of himself.

Your heart swarmed with affection as you pulled him close, pressing your cheek against his as he tucked his head into the crook of your neck, his body relaxing into yours. You gently rubbed his back, feeling the tension ease from his muscles as he sighed against your skin.

“Do you want to shower, Spence?” you asked softly, your hand trailing soothing patterns up and down his back.

Spencer nuzzled closer to you, his voice a low mumble into your skin. “Together?”

You smiled, kissing the top of his head. “We can,” you hummed, “but if that’s too much right now, I don’t mind leaving. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Spencer shook his head rapidly, pulling you closer. “Don’t want you to go anywhere.”

“Okay, okay,” you soothed, your fingers still brushing lightly across his back. “I won’t leave. We can shower together.”

Spencer sighed happily, his arms tightening around you as if to confirm that you were staying, that you weren’t going anywhere. He pressed a soft kiss to your neck before mumbling, “Just… don’t look at my penis, please?”

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that bubbled up, but you quickly reassured him, kissing his cheek as you whispered, “Of course, my love. My eyes will stay on your face.”

With that promise, Spencer relaxed further into you, his trust in you deepening with every passing second. The shame and embarrassment from earlier slowly dissolved, replaced by the comforting knowledge that you accepted him fully, without judgment. You held him for a moment longer, your arms wrapped securely around him.

The shower was filled with steam and laughter, the sound of water splashing mixing with your playful giggles and Spencer’s rare, carefree chuckles. It was the first time you had shared the shower, a new experience that was turning out to be much more fun than either of you had expected. Usually, one of you would sit outside on the toilet, talking through the curtain while the other showered. But now, the barrier was gone, and the playful side of both of you was in full swing.

You couldn’t resist puffing your cheeks full of water and spitting it in Spencer’s direction, making him laugh out loud as droplets hit his chest. “Hey!” he protested, though his grin betrayed him as he retaliated with a splash of his own, his hands sending a wave of water your way.

You laughed, dodging the water as best as you could, enjoying this lighthearted, silly moment between you two. It was refreshing to see Spencer like this, so relaxed, his usual careful demeanor replaced with playful mischief.

But there was something else too. Spencer tried his hardest to keep his eyes on your face—his eyes darting up quickly whenever they drifted a little lower. You couldn’t help but giggle each time he looked away, a blush creeping up his neck, his face flushed for reasons beyond just the heat of the shower.

After the fourth or fifth time of catching him sneaking a glance only to immediately avert his eyes, you decided to call him out on it. “Spencer,” you giggled, crossing your arms over your chest playfully. “I am your girlfriend, you know?”

Spencer looked back at you, his brow furrowing in that adorable, confused way he did when he was trying to figure something out. “I know that, why are you asking?” he asked, his head tilting slightly, genuinely perplexed.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter at his expression, shaking your head in amusement. “Because, you big dork,” you cackled, “you’re allowed to look at my boobs! You can even touch them if you want!”

Spencer’s eyes widened, his blush deepening as he processed your words. “I—well, I just didn’t want to... I mean...” He stammered, looking flustered but also a little curious, his gaze flickering down before darting back up to your eyes. “I didn’t want to seem disrespectful.”

You burst out laughing, stepping closer to him, your hands resting lightly on his chest as you stood on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Spence,” you said between your giggles, “you could never be disrespectful. Trust me.”

He blinked, still looking a little unsure but also charmed by your playfulness. “I... I guess that makes sense,” he murmured, his lips curving into a shy smile.

You rolled your eyes affectionately, moving his hands from your waist to your chest with a smirk. “Here, I’ll even help you.”

Spencer’s face turned crimson as he felt the softness beneath his hands, his fingers lightly tracing over your skin as if he were still processing what was happening. His touch was tentative, delicate, like he wasn’t sure if he was doing it right.

You smiled, leaning in to kiss his nose. “See? Not so scary, right?”

He swallowed, finally letting himself relax a little, his thumb brushing softly over your skin. “Not scary,” he echoed softly, his eyes filled with a mix of wonder and affection. Then, as if realizing the silliness of it all, he let out a small laugh, shaking his head at himself.

You both stood there in the warmth of the shower, your bodies close, the steam curling around you as Spencer finally allowed himself to look, to touch, to enjoy this new level of intimacy with you. It was another step in your relationship, one that made both of you feel more connected, more comfortable with each other.

But as always, you couldn’t resist keeping the moment light. With a mischievous grin, you puffed your cheeks full of water again and spat it playfully in Spencer’s direction, causing him to sputter in surprise and laugh as he wiped his face.

“Hey!” he laughed, shaking his head as water dripped from his hair. “You’re gonna pay for that!”

“Oh yeah?” you teased, backing up against the wall of the shower with a grin. “What are you gonna do about it, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he stepped closer, the playful dynamic back in full swing, earlier embarrassment long forgotten. It was just the two of you now, laughing, teasing, and enjoying each other in the most carefree way. And that, in the end, was what made this moment perfect.

—

As the weeks rolled on, Spencer found himself spending more and more time at your nightclub. It had become a routine for him during his free weekends, a way to be closer to you. On the busier nights, he would sit at the bar, watching you work, admiring the way you effortlessly ran the place. And on weeknights, when you invited the bartenders in during closed hours to practice making new drinks, Spencer would linger in the background, quietly observing.

But each time he visited, something gnawed at him. It wasn’t just the crowd, the music, or the dim lighting of the club—it was Sean. At first, Spencer tried to brush it off. He chalked it up to Sean’s naturally charming personality, how bartenders often carried themselves with confidence, flirting with customers as part of the job. But now, Spencer couldn’t help but feel like there was something more.

Sean’s eyes seemed to linger on you longer than they should, or at least that’s how it appeared to Spencer. Over the past few weeks, with Spencer spending more time at the club, he became convinced that Sean had started flirting with you. His words seemed just a bit too smooth, his smiles lingered a little too long. Spencer couldn’t ignore the casual way Sean would lean in when he spoke to you or how he seemed overly attentive whenever you checked in at the bar.

What Spencer didn’t know, however, was that Sean had recently confided in you about his lack of attraction to women. While he wasn’t out of the closet yet, he wanted to make sure his playful, flirtatious behavior was never misunderstood. It was all in good fun, a way to keep the atmosphere light and easy at work, and he trusted you enough to share his truth, knowing it wouldn’t affect your friendship or professional relationship.

One night, after a long day, you and Spencer were curled up on the couch, your legs draped over his lap as the two of you settled into your usual post-work relaxation. You were absentmindedly playing with Spencer’s hand while a TV show played in the background, the glow of the screen filling the cozy living room. But Spencer’s mind wasn’t on the show. His thoughts were elsewhere—back at the club, and back on Sean.

“Hey…” Spencer began, his voice hesitant as his fingers traced small circles on your knee.

You looked over at him, smiling softly. “Yeah, babe?”

He chewed on his bottom lip, trying to find the right words. He didn’t want to sound paranoid, but the thought had been eating away at him for days now. “I think… I think Sean’s been flirting with you.”

You blinked, taken aback by his statement. “What? Sean?” The idea made you laugh—not to be dismissive of Spencer’s feelings, but the thought of Sean flirting with you, his boss, was almost comical. “Spence, no way.”

He frowned slightly, feeling a bit vulnerable after putting it out there. “I’m serious. He looks at you… and I’ve heard him make little comments. I don’t know, it just feels like he’s always trying to get your attention in a certain way.”

You laughed again, shaking your head, though your tone was softer this time, recognizing the seriousness in his voice. “Baby, bartenders flirt. It’s literally part of the job. They flirt with everyone—it doesn’t mean anything.”

Spencer’s shoulders slumped slightly. He knew you didn’t mean to dismiss his concern, but it stung a little. “Yeah, I know, but… it’s different with him. I see the way he acts around you. It’s not the same as with other people.”

You shifted, sitting up a bit to face him, brushing a hand through his hair. “Spencer, I promise you, Sean’s just doing his job. If he’s flirting, he’s doing it with every customer that walks through the door.” You smiled warmly, leaning in to kiss him softly. “And even if he was flirting with me, it wouldn’t matter. You’re the only one I have eyes for.”

Your words were meant to reassure him, but Spencer still felt that unease. He didn’t doubt your loyalty or love for him, but there was something about Sean that bothered him. He could sense it—the subtle charm, the lingering glances that made his stomach twist with jealousy. But he didn’t want to seem overly paranoid or insecure, especially not after you had laughed off the idea. So, instead of pushing it further, Spencer just nodded, giving you a weak smile in return.

“Yeah… you’re probably right,” he murmured, though the knot in his chest hadn’t untangled.

You kissed him again, resting your head on his shoulder. “Of course I’m right. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

But even as you both settled back into your cozy position, Spencer couldn’t shake the nagging feeling. He didn’t want to keep bringing it up, didn’t want to seem annoyingly jealous or insecure, so he kept it bottled up after that night, silently watching from the sidelines each time he visited the club. But each time Sean’s eyes lingered too long on you, or every time Spencer caught the slight inflection in Sean’s voice when he spoke to you, the feeling festered inside him, unresolved.

—

Spencer hadn't realized just how much his pent-up frustration was affecting him—at least, not until the team started to notice. What began as subtle shifts in his demeanor during interrogations had gradually turned into something much more obvious. Spencer had always been the calm, logical one. The genius with a kind heart, who often sought to understand unsubs and their motivations. But recently, something had changed.

During takedowns, Spencer's grip on suspects was firmer, his actions more aggressive than they needed to be. When it came to interviews and interrogations, he was no longer the patient profiler with a steady voice. His words were sharp, cold, and sometimes downright cutting. He'd lean in too close, his eyes dark with intensity, and his voice would drop to a low, threatening tone that made even the most hardened criminals flinch. He became a version of himself that no one on the team recognized.

It all came to a head when they brought in a person of interest—someone who wasn’t even officially connected to the crime yet, just a potential witness. The woman had been nervous enough as it was, but the moment Spencer stepped into the interrogation room, his usual warmth and understanding were gone. Instead, he stared her down, his eyes hard, his tone biting as he drilled her with questions. The more she stammered, the harsher he became, until finally, the woman broke down in tears, sobbing uncontrollably.

Hotch had seen enough. The moment Spencer walked out of the interrogation room, his jaw tight and his hands clenched at his sides, Hotch made the decision to pull him aside.

“Reid, conference room. Now.”

Spencer barely glanced up, his frustration still evident, but he followed Hotch without a word. The rest of the team exchanged uneasy glances as they watched him disappear into the room, the door closing firmly behind them.

Hotch turned to face Spencer, his arms crossed, his face unreadable. "What the hell is going on with you, Reid?" His voice was stern but not unkind, giving Spencer the chance to explain himself.

Spencer, still bristling with residual anger, shifted uncomfortably. “What do you mean?” He knew exactly what Hotch meant, but he wasn’t ready to admit it yet.

“You made a person of interest cry, Spencer,” Hotch said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “That woman was barely connected to the case, and you broke her down like she was the unsub. This isn’t like you.”

Spencer crossed his arms, suddenly feeling defensive. “She wasn’t cooperating. I was just trying to get the truth out of her.”

“There are ways to get the truth out of people that don’t involve scaring them,” Hotch countered. “You’ve always known that. But this—this isn’t the Reid we all know. What’s going on?”

Spencer clenched his jaw, his eyes dropping to the floor. For a moment, he considered brushing it off, making some excuse about the stress of the job, but he knew Hotch wouldn’t buy it. The truth of it was, Spencer didn’t even fully understand what had been driving him lately. All he knew was that something inside him had shifted, a growing aggression that he couldn’t quite shake.

“It’s… it’s nothing,” Spencer muttered, though he knew how weak the excuse sounded.

“Reid, you and I both know that’s not true,” Hotch said, his voice firm but not unkind. “You’ve been on edge for weeks. I’ve noticed it, and so has the rest of the team. Whatever’s going on with you, you need to talk about it. Before it gets worse.”

Spencer exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. His mind raced, filled with thoughts of the one thing that had been eating away at him for weeks: Sean and the club. The jealousy, the fear, the constant feeling that he wasn’t enough. He had tried to keep it bottled up, had tried to pretend that everything was fine, but clearly, it wasn’t. And now, it was affecting his work—affecting who he was.

“I…” Spencer’s voice faltered, his throat tightening as he realized how ridiculous it might sound to Hotch. But there was no point in hiding it anymore. “It’s personal.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further, his gaze steady as he waited for Spencer to continue. The silence stretched between them, a gentle but firm reminder that Hotch was giving Spencer space to be honest.

Spencer shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of the conversation hanging over him. He knew what Hotch was expecting, what he should say, but the truth was harder to face than he anticipated.

“I’ll talk to someone,” Spencer finally said with a sigh, running a hand through his hair in a tired gesture. His voice was laced with reluctance, but there was a genuine attempt to reassure his boss. “I promise.”

Hotch studied him for a moment longer, the skepticism clear in his eyes, though he didn’t vocalize it. He knew Spencer well enough to recognize when he was pushing something down, burying it beneath layers of self-control and avoidance. And as much as Hotch wanted to push further, he also knew that Spencer was an adult—one who had to take ownership of his own emotions.

“Alright,” Hotch finally said, his tone even. “I’m trusting you to handle this, Spencer. Don’t let it get worse.”

Spencer nodded, though a small part of him wasn’t sure if he’d follow through. But the weight of Hotch’s gaze made it clear that this conversation wouldn’t be forgotten easily.

Hotch gave a final nod, his demeanor softening just slightly as he spoke. “Take care of yourself, Reid.”

Spencer forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I will,” he said, though the truth of the promise felt heavy.

With that, the conversation ended, and Spencer made his way out of Hotch’s office, feeling the quiet pressure of everything that had built up inside him over the past few weeks. He knew he had to do something about it—he had to talk to you, or someone, before this spiral led him further down a path he didn’t want to follow.

For now, though, he’d keep the promise to himself, hoping that he’d find the strength to follow through.

—

Spencer had barely set foot through the door before you were there to greet him, your usual warmth and love surrounding him as you kissed him softly, welcoming him home. But instead of the usual sense of relief he felt in your embrace, something inside him snapped. The frustration from the case, from everything that had been building inside him, surged to the surface.

Without thinking, Spencer grabbed your face, pulling you into a deep, urgent kiss. It wasn’t the kind of kiss you were used to from him—it was rough, almost desperate. He devoured your mouth like he was trying to lose himself in you, his hands gripping you tighter than usual. You assumed it was just the result of a tough case, and maybe he just missed you. But something about the intensity of it was off.

As Spencer’s hands tugged at the hem of your shirt, right there in the walkway by the front door, you tried to pull back slightly to ask him if everything was okay. But he didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just didn’t care—because he kept tugging, his fingers working to get your shirt over your head.

You let him pull it off, still unsure of what was going on but trusting that Spencer wouldn’t act like this without reason. Maybe he just needed you, needed to feel close to you. But when he backed you towards the bedroom with that same roughness, something in the pit of your stomach twisted with unease.

Then, when he pushed you onto the bed—aggressively, without the usual care he always showed—alarm bells started ringing in your head.

"Spencer!" you called out, your voice louder than intended, hoping it would snap him out of whatever was happening.

But Spencer didn’t stop. If he noticed your tone, he either misread it or ignored it, because he crawled over you, his hands fumbling with your pants now, too focused on what he was doing to realize you were uncomfortable.

Panic set in then. This wasn’t your Spencer. He had never acted like this before. You pushed at his hands, your heart racing as you called out again, louder this time.

“Spencer, stop!” you shouted, finally shoving his hands away from your waist.

Spencer froze, his body going rigid above you as your words seemed to cut through the fog of whatever had taken over him. His eyes widened slightly, and you could see the mix of confusion and shame washing over his face as he registered what you had said.

“What’s gotten into you?” you asked, your voice breathless but firm, your hands still on his chest to keep some distance between you.

For a moment, Spencer didn’t say anything. He looked away, the sting of rejection clear in the way his shoulders slumped and his hands fell limply to his sides. “Nothing,” he muttered, his voice quiet and defensive.

You sat up, pulling your shirt back on, your concern growing with every second that passed. “It’s obviously something, Spence. You’ve never acted like this before.”

Spencer kept his eyes down, not meeting your gaze. “I just… I just missed you,” he mumbled, though you could tell there was more to it than that. The way he was avoiding your eyes, the tension in his body—it all told you that this wasn’t just about missing you.

You reached for his hand, gently pulling him to sit down on the bed beside you. “I know you missed me,” you said softly, trying to keep your tone calm and reassuring. “But this isn’t like you. Please, talk to me.”

Spencer’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might stay silent. But then, he let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over his face as if he was trying to push away whatever emotions were swirling inside him.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he admitted quietly, his voice thick with frustration. “I’ve just… I’ve been feeling so off lately. Angry. Insecure. And I keep telling myself not to, but… I can’t stop thinking about Sean, and how he looks at you, and how much better he is at everything, and—” He stopped abruptly, his hands clenching into fists in his lap as he tried to control the storm of emotions building inside him.

You blinked, finally starting to piece together the reason behind his behavior. “Spence, this is about Sean?”

Spencer’s shoulders sagged, his silence confirming your suspicions. He finally looked up at you, and in his eyes, you saw all the fear, jealousy, and insecurity he had been trying to hide for weeks.

“I know it’s stupid,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I know you love me, and I know he’s just a bartender at your club, but… I can’t stop feeling like I’m not enough. Like you’ll realize you could have someone… better.”

Your heart broke at his words. You cupped his face gently, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Spencer,” you said softly, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “You are more than enough. I love you. There is no one better for me. Sean is just a coworker. You’re the man I want, please believe me.”

Spencer sat back on his heels, looking down at his hands, feeling the weight of his own frustration and shame. He had never wanted to make you uncomfortable, never wanted to act like this, but the jealousy that had been building inside him finally broke through. Now, here he was, on the edge of ruining something so precious to him.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know we talked about it, and I know you don’t see Sean that way. It’s just… it’s so hard, watching him flirt with you every day. And you don’t stop him. It feels like… like I’m not enough.”

You sat up, still catching your breath from the intensity of the moment, but your heart ached hearing his words. You hadn’t realized how deep his insecurities ran. The playful flirting from Sean, which you had brushed off as part of the job, had been festering inside Spencer for weeks, and you hadn’t seen it.

“Spencer, baby,” you started, your voice gentle but firm as you reached for his hand. “You are enough. More than enough. I don’t let him flirt with me because I want him to, or because I’m interested. It’s his job to be friendly, charming even, but that’s all it is. I don’t see Sean the way I see you. I only have eyes for you.”

Spencer looked up at you, his eyes filled with vulnerability. “But what if one day… what if one day you change your mind?” he asked softly, the fear evident in his voice. “What if one day, you find someone who’s more… experienced, more everything?”

You cupped his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “That’s not going to happen, Spencer,” you said firmly. “I love you. Not because of experience, or because of anything physical, but because of who you are. You’re kind, brilliant, thoughtful, and you make me happier than I’ve ever been. No one else even comes close.”

Spencer swallowed, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean to… to act like that. I just—I didn’t know how to handle it.”

You stroked his cheek, offering him a small, understanding smile. “It’s okay,” you reassured him. “But we need to talk about these things, okay? If you’re feeling like this, I want to know. I don’t want you to keep it bottled up until it explodes like this.”

Spencer nodded, his head dipping down as he let out a shaky breath. “I know. I just… I didn’t want to seem weak.”

“You’re not weak, Spencer,” you said softly, leaning in to press a tender kiss to his forehead. “Being vulnerable doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. And I’m here for you, no matter what. We’ll get through this together.”

He let out a long sigh, his body finally relaxing as the tension drained out of him. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close as if he were afraid to let go.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice muffled against your skin.

“I love you too, Spencer,” you whispered back, holding him just as tightly. "Always."

Later that evening, after Spencer had unpacked his things and taken a long, soothing bath, the two of you settled onto the couch with a bowl of popcorn and a movie playing softly in the background. The warm, familiar glow of your living room felt comforting, but you couldn’t help but notice how hesitant Spencer was. He sat beside you, his body tense, his hands resting awkwardly in his lap, as though he was afraid to touch you. 

It broke your heart to see him like this, to see him so uncertain. You knew he still felt guilty about what had happened earlier, worried that he had somehow ruined everything.

“Honey,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the quiet. “You can still hold me, you know… or if you’d rather, do you want me to hold you?”

Spencer looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief and hesitation. But then, slowly, he nodded, his expression softening as he shifted on the couch. He leaned over, laying his head gently in your lap, and you couldn’t help but smile at how vulnerable and sweet he looked in that moment.

As soon as his head was settled, you instinctively began playing with his hair, your fingers threading through the soft strands as you stroked him gently. You felt him relax under your touch, his body finally easing into the comfort of your presence.

“Spencer,” you began, your voice soothing as you continued to run your fingers through his hair. “Earlier, I was worried because we haven’t gone that far before. That doesn’t mean I never want you to touch me again. Okay? I just want us to be on the same page, to make sure we’re both ready.”

He nodded again, his face nestled against your thigh as he let out a soft sigh. “I get it,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to push you or anything. I just… I didn’t know how to handle everything I was feeling.”

You leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to the top of his head. “I know, baby. And we’ll figure it out together, at our own pace. There’s no rush.”

Spencer shifted slightly, looking up at you with soft, grateful eyes. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice filled with emotion. “For being so understanding.”

You smiled warmly, leaning down to kiss his forehead once more. “I’ll always understand, Spence. You never have to be afraid of that.”

As you continued to play with his hair, Spencer closed his eyes, letting the comfort of the moment wash over him. You could feel the tension in his body melt away, and soon enough, he was relaxed and peaceful, knowing that everything between you two was going to be okay.

And for the first time in what felt like weeks, Spencer felt like he could truly breathe again.

—

You had taken a Friday night off to be with Spencer, trusting your number two to keep things running smoothly. Spencer had taken you to dinner, wined and dined you before bringing you home and kissing you sweetly. Now the room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm, intimate atmosphere around you both. You had been kissing for what felt like hours, tender and slow, taking your time with each other. Spencer’s hands had wandered, tentative at first, but growing more confident as the moments passed. You had already reassured him a dozen times over that you were ready, that this was something you wanted to share with him.

And now, the moment was here. You laid in front of him, completely bare, your skin bathed in the soft light. Spencer’s eyes roamed over your body, wide and filled with awe. His breath hitched in his throat, his hands shaking slightly as they reached out to touch you. He was gentle, reverent, as though he were afraid of hurting you by merely looking.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as his fingertips ghosted over your skin. He took his time, memorizing every curve, every line, as if he wanted to commit every inch of you to memory.

You smiled softly, your heart swelling with affection as you leaned down to kiss him. “Thank you, baby.”

Spencer swallowed hard, still staring in awe. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he admitted, his voice trembling slightly. “You’re perfect.”

You laughed softly, your heart swelling with warmth. "I’m not perfect, Spence."

He looked at you with nothing but sincerity in his eyes. "You are to me," he said, his voice full of honesty and affection.

With only mild hesitation, Spencer leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your collarbone, his lips trailing slowly down to your breasts. He explored every inch of you with care, his lips brushing your skin tenderly. You couldn't help but let out soft whines of pleasure, and Spencer, trying to learn what you like, paid extra attention when your sounds grew louder, lingering in the spots that made your breath hitch.

As your hands instinctively found their way into his hair, gripping softly, Spencer's teeth accidentally grazed your nipple when his lips suctioned to your breast. The unexpected sensation caused you to arch your back and moan loudly, the sound filling the quiet room.

Spencer immediately pulled back, his face filled with concern, eyes wide in alarm. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" His voice was thick with worry, afraid he had crossed a line.

You shook your head quickly, reassuring him as your hands stroked his hair gently. "No, no, baby, I liked it," you whispered, your breath still shaky from the pleasure. "It's okay. It felt good."

Relief washed over Spencer’s face, his lips curling into a small, nervous smile as he realized he hadn’t hurt you. He leaned back in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, and this time, he allowed himself to explore you with even more confidence, knowing that you were both in this together.

Spencer froze for a moment, his eyes wide with concern, his breath shaky as he pulled back just enough to search your face. His brow furrowed, worry evident in every inch of his expression. “Are you sure?” he asked softly, his voice laced with uncertainty. His hands hovered over your body, not daring to touch you until he knew for certain that you were alright. 

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling with affection at just how much he cared. Reaching up, you gently brushed a hand through his hair, guiding him back toward you. “I’m sure, Spence. I liked it, I promise,” you whispered reassuringly. “You didn’t hurt me. In fact, I liked it a lot.”

Spencer’s eyes searched yours, still looking for any signs of discomfort, but all he found was warmth and trust. Slowly, his shoulders relaxed, the tension in his body easing as he took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, though his face softened with a hint of relief. “I didn’t mean to—”

You cut him off with a soft kiss, pulling him closer, your hands threading through his hair again, this time more gently. “You don’t have to apologize,” you murmured against his lips. “I love everything you do, Spencer. Just… trust me, okay? Trust that I’ll tell you if something is wrong.”

He nodded, still looking a little unsure but reassured by the sincerity in your voice. His eyes softened as he leaned back down, pressing a tender kiss to your lips before trailing them once more along your collarbone, and then lower, toward your chest. This time, there was a careful gentleness in his touch, though the intensity hadn’t faded.

You arched your back again, your body responding to his kisses, to the way his lips brushed against your skin with both tenderness and a growing confidence. As he felt you grip his hair again, Spencer’s lips paused just for a moment, as if waiting for any sign that you weren’t comfortable. But when your soft moans filled the room, he took that as all the permission he needed to continue.

His lips pressed harder, his hands exploring your body with more intent, and this time, when his teeth grazed your skin, he did it purposefully, testing the boundaries of your pleasure.

And when you moaned again, louder this time, Spencer felt a surge of something—both pride and desire—swell inside him. He kissed you again, his lips and teeth finding the spots that made your breath hitch, his hands moving with a confidence that he hadn’t known he possessed until now.

In that moment, you both shared something deeper, a connection that wasn’t just about trust but about exploring each other fully, knowing that in this space, in this moment, there was nothing but love, vulnerability, and acceptance.

—

The bookstore was a haven of calm, a peaceful retreat from the world. The scent of old paper, leather-bound books, and the soft rustle of pages being turned created an atmosphere of quiet serenity. It was the perfect place for you and Spencer to spend the afternoon. 

From the moment you walked in, hand in hand, you could see how at home Spencer felt here. His eyes lit up with excitement as he scanned the shelves, fingers trailing over spines as if each book held a personal story he was waiting to uncover. You loved watching him like this—so in his element, so absorbed in his passion for knowledge and discovery.

But, of course, the playful side of you couldn’t resist adding a bit of mischief to the day. As Spencer dove headfirst into the non-fiction section, his attention already lost in the spines of ancient history volumes, you snuck off into a different aisle, peeking around the corner like a spy on a secret mission. You had been teasing him since you arrived—jumping out at him from behind shelves, sneaking little pokes and playful scares.

You watched from your hiding spot, stifling a giggle as Spencer carefully examined a thick book, oblivious to your plan. His brow furrowed in concentration, a small smile playing on his lips as he skimmed the pages. You took the opportunity to tiptoe closer, hiding behind a row of shelves, waiting for the perfect moment.

Finally, when Spencer rounded the corner, deep in thought about which book to buy next, you jumped out, arms raised in mock menace. “Gotcha!” you shouted with glee.

Spencer yelped, his eyes going wide in surprise as he stumbled back a step. For a split second, his brain went into overdrive, trying to process the sudden "threat." But then, his startled expression melted into laughter. “You’re ridiculous!” he chuckled, shaking his head at you, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

You couldn’t help but laugh along with him, your giggles filling the quiet space between the rows of books. You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him into a tight hug, your face pressing against his chest as you felt his warmth seep into you. 

“Maybe,” you said with a grin, looking up at him, “but you love it.”

Spencer’s smile softened, his arms coming around you as he held you close. He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his breath warm against your skin. “I do,” he murmured, his voice gentle, full of affection. “I really do.”

You both stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other, the world fading away as the quiet of the bookstore enveloped you. Spencer's hand moved up to your back, rubbing slow circles as you soaked in the comfort of the moment. There was something magical about being here together, surrounded by the books he loved and the peaceful intimacy of just being with each other.

After a few moments, you pulled back slightly, your playful grin returning. “Alright, Dr. Reid,” you teased, “what book are we getting?”

Spencer's eyes lit up again, and he immediately turned his attention back to the stack of books he had been eyeing. "Well," he began, his voice taking on that enthusiastic tone you loved so much, "I’ve been looking at this one on the history of cryptography. It has some fascinating insights into early codebreaking techniques used in ancient times, and—" He caught himself, his eyes flickering to yours as he smiled sheepishly. “But I’m not sure you want to hear me ramble about that.”

You shook your head, stepping closer to him and placing your hand on his arm. “I always want to hear you ramble, Spence,” you said sincerely. “Tell me all about it.”

His eyes softened, and for the next few minutes, he explained the intricacies of the book, his voice animated and full of passion. You listened intently, loving every second of seeing him so in his element.

After Spencer finished his enthusiastic information dump, the way his eyes lit up while talking about cryptography and ancient codebreaking made your heart swell. You couldn't resist the urge any longer. Without saying a word, you leaned in and kissed him, your lips pressing softly against his, filled with all the affection you felt in that moment.

Spencer blinked in surprise, a grin slowly spreading across his face as you pulled back. “What was that for?” he asked, his tone playful, though his cheeks flushed pink from the unexpected kiss.

You shook your head, smiling warmly as you looked into his eyes. “I just love you so much,” you said softly, feeling your chest fill with warmth at how easy it was to be with him, how completely in love with him you were in moments like this.

His grin softened into something more tender, and his hand found yours on the table, squeezing it gently. “I love you too,” he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity and that same vulnerability that always made your heart flutter.

—

The next time you found yourselves in an intimate position, the energy was different. The tables had turned, and now it was Spencer’s turn to be vulnerable, to bare himself completely to you. As you stood together in the hallway, you could feel the shift in the air, the weight of the moment pressing softly between you two. 

“Spence, are you sure?” you asked gently, guiding him by the hands into the bedroom, your fingers brushing lightly over his knuckles. “There’s no rush, baby. We can take our time.”

Spencer paused, meeting your gaze with a nervous but determined smile. His heart was pounding, but he trusted you—more than anything. “Yeah,” he said, giving you a small nod. His voice trembled slightly with nerves, but his eyes were soft with affection. “You showed me yours, I’ll show you mine, right?” He laughed, albeit a bit awkwardly, trying to lighten the tension.

You smiled back, your heart swelling with love for him. “Exactly,” you said softly. “But only if you’re ready.”

He nodded again, more confidently this time. “I’m ready.”

Once inside the bedroom, the atmosphere felt warmer, more intimate. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated the space, and as you stood in front of Spencer, you gently reached for the buttons on his shirt. His breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling quickly as you carefully unbuttoned the fabric, your fingers brushing over his skin as you went. 

With each button undone, you let your hands glide over his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. You couldn’t resist the urge to lightly trace the curve of his sides, your touch featherlight as you tickled him just enough to make him giggle.

Spencer’s reaction was instant—his eyes squeezed shut as a small, surprised laugh escaped him, his hands quickly grabbing yours to still them. “Behave,” he playfully warned, his face flushed but full of affection.

You laughed softly, loving the way his guard was down, how he trusted you so completely in this moment. “Sorry,” you teased, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on his collarbone, your lips brushing against the smooth skin. “I couldn’t resist.”

He let out a soft hum, his fingers still holding yours but more gently now, as if to anchor himself. He was nervous, you could tell, but he was also present, allowing himself to be open with you in a way that made your heart swell.

As you helped him slip off his shirt completely, you took a step back, your eyes scanning his body with nothing but admiration. Spencer’s vulnerability in this moment only made you love him more. You could see the uncertainty in his eyes, but he was doing this for you, for both of you, and that meant the world.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, your voice sincere as you reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing lightly over his cheek. “You don’t have to be nervous with me, Spence. I love all of you.”

Spencer’s eyes softened, the tension in his body easing slightly as your words settled over him. He leaned into your touch, his hands resting gently on your waist as he let out a small, relieved breath. “I know,” he whispered, his voice full of gratitude and affection. “And I love you, too.”

Spencer took a deep breath as you carefully removed the last of his clothing, leaving him completely bare before you. The tension in the room was palpable, but you couldn't resist easing it with a light-hearted joke. “Can I look this time?” you asked with a teasing grin.

Spencer laughed, the sound nervous but genuine, and it was enough to break the heavy silence hanging over you both. “Yes,” he replied, his voice still a bit shaky. “You can look.”

So look you did, your eyes trailing down his body with genuine admiration. And when your gaze settled, you couldn’t help but let out a playful gasp, your tone incredulous. “You’ve been hiding this from me? Are you kidding, Spencer?”

His eyes widened, panic flashing across his face for a brief second. “What? Is it… is it bad?” His voice trembled, the insecurities he’d tried so hard to suppress bubbling up to the surface again.

You immediately shook your head, moving closer to him, gently pushing him to lie back on the bed as you sat beside him. “No, baby, it’s not bad,” you reassured him softly. Your hand reached out, wrapping around him gently, and Spencer’s body tensed at the sensation. “It’s really not bad.”

“Ah—fuck, Y/N,” Spencer groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as his hips instinctively bucked upward. It was the first time he had ever felt someone else touch him like this, and the overwhelming sensation sent shivers through his entire body. His breath hitched, and his hands fisted in the sheets, the intensity of the moment almost too much for him.

You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction, your thumb gently brushing over his tip as you whispered, “You are so pretty, baby.”

Spencer’s heart pounded in his chest, his face flushing as he absorbed your words. The mix of vulnerability and pleasure left him almost speechless, his mind reeling as you continued to touch him, each movement slow and careful. He had never felt anything like this before, and the way you handled him with such care only made him fall even more in love with you.

As your hand moved with gentle strokes, you leaned down to press a soft kiss to his lips, whispering between kisses, “I’m so lucky to have you.” 

Spencer’s groans turned softer, his body melting into the bed beneath you as he let go of his fear, letting himself trust in you completely. “I love you,” he murmured breathlessly, his voice laced with both awe and gratitude.

“And I love you,” you whispered back, knowing that this was more than just a physical connection—it was a moment of deep trust and love between you both.

You took your other hand, softly stroking Spencer's thighs, your fingers trailing gently over his strong, lean muscles. His body, always so unassuming beneath his clothes, was more beautiful than you ever could have imagined. The way his thighs tensed under your touch made your mouth water, a thrill running through you as you explored this new side of him.

“Your body is so beautiful, Spencer,” you murmured, your voice tender and full of affection. “I hope you never hide it from me again.”

Spencer’s breath hitched at your words, his face flushed as his eyes fluttered open to meet yours. There was a vulnerability in his gaze, but also a growing confidence, fueled by the love and desire you showered him with. “I-I didn’t know,” he whispered, his voice shaking slightly, “that you’d think that.”

You smiled, leaning down to kiss the top of his thigh, feeling his body tense beneath your lips. “Well, I do. And I always will.”

Spencer swallowed hard, his hand reaching out to grip your arm, needing something to ground himself as the intensity of your touch overwhelmed him. “You’re… amazing,” he breathed, his chest rising and falling rapidly as you continued to caress him.

You smiled against his skin, feeling a surge of warmth at his words. “I’m just showing you what you deserve, Spence.”

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat as your hand shifted from his thigh to gently cup his balls, rolling them softly between your fingers. His breath stuttered, and his body instinctively arched off the bed, overwhelmed by the sudden surge of pleasure. His hands gripped the sheets tightly, knuckles white as he fought to hold on for just a moment longer, but it was no use. His back arched further, his hips jerking as he reached his peak, a loud, unrestrained moan escaping his lips as he came.

“There you go, baby,” you whispered softly, your voice soothing, filled with nothing but love and reassurance. “Let it go.”

Spencer let out a shaky breath, his body trembling as the waves of pleasure washed over him. He felt vulnerable, exposed, but not in the way that used to scare him. This time, it was different. This time, he felt safe with you, completely open and raw, knowing you wouldn’t judge him.

He tried not to feel embarrassed as the aftershocks pulsed through him, knowing full well he didn’t last long—especially not when it was you touching him like this. But there was something comforting in the way you held him, in the way your hands never faltered, even in moments like this. You didn’t mind.

And that reassurance made all the difference.

As he slowly came down from his high, Spencer let out a long, deep sigh, his body sinking into the bed beneath him. He blinked up at you, his cheeks still flushed, his breath still uneven. “I… I’m sorry I didn’t last long again,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, but there was less hesitation this time.

You smiled gently, brushing a hand through his messy hair and leaning down to kiss his forehead. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Spence,” you said softly, your tone full of affection. “You know I don’t mind. I love you exactly the way you are.”

Spencer’s heart swelled at your words, the lingering tension in his body slowly dissipating. He gave you a small, shy smile, his hand finding yours and squeezing it lightly. “I love you too,” he whispered, his voice full of sincerity.

You lay beside him, pulling him into your arms as his body finally relaxed, his breathing evening out. You continued to stroke his hair, the gentle rhythm calming him as you whispered sweet reassurances. And in that moment, Spencer realized just how lucky he was—to have you, to feel this safe, and to be loved in a way he had never known before.

—

It was the kind of lazy Sunday morning that begged you to stay in bed, curled up in soft blankets with no obligations pulling you away. The sun streamed lazily through the blinds, casting golden streaks across the room, but the promise of fresh pastries and coffee was too tempting to ignore. The two of you reluctantly peeled yourselves from the comfort of the bed, Spencer stretching languidly while you threw on something cozy for your impromptu breakfast outing.

The local bakery was a short walk away, and as you strolled hand-in-hand, the air crisp with a touch of autumn, you could smell the fresh bread and sweet confections wafting through the air long before you even arrived. The warm scent wrapped around you like a comforting hug, and Spencer squeezed your hand gently, smiling down at you as the two of you walked in step, enjoying the quiet simplicity of the moment.

Once you stepped inside, the small bakery was bustling, the display case filled with perfectly baked croissants, éclairs, and muffins, each one more enticing than the last. You and Spencer made your way to the counter, excitedly picking out a selection of pastries along with two steaming cups of coffee.

After grabbing your tray of treats, you found a little table tucked in the corner by the window, where the morning light spilled across the tabletop, catching the powdered sugar that had already dusted the surface. You sat down, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you as the two of you settled into your seats, a quiet bubble of comfort surrounding you amidst the hum of the bakery.

The moment felt perfect, simple in its beauty, as you and Spencer started tearing into the pastries, the flaky layers scattering crumbs across the table. You picked up a piece of your croissant, the sweet filling spilling out, and with a playful grin, you held it up to Spencer’s lips. 

“Here, try this,” you said, your eyes twinkling with amusement as you offered him the bite.

Spencer leaned forward, always eager to try something you loved, but as he took a bite, he purposefully let some of the creamy filling smear across his lips. You couldn’t help but burst into laughter, shaking your head as you leaned over the table to wipe it away with your thumb. 

“Messy,” you teased, your voice full of affection as you swiped the pastry cream from his lips.

Spencer’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he watched you, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Oh, am I?” he said with a grin, and before you had a chance to react, he swiped some frosting from the sticky cinnamon roll and playfully dabbed it on your cheek.

“Now you’re messy,” he declared triumphantly, his smile widening as he watched your eyes go wide in surprise.

You gasped dramatically, reaching up to touch your cheek and finding the sticky frosting smeared across your skin. “Spencer!” you protested, laughing as you grabbed a napkin to clean yourself up, but not before flicking a tiny crumb in his direction in retaliation.

He laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright! No more food fights,” he said, though the grin on his face made it clear he was enjoying every second of your playful exchange.

The two of you dissolved into laughter, the kind of uninhibited joy that made your sides ache and your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the crumbs covering the table, not the frosting still clinging to your face, not even the curious glances from the other patrons. It was just the two of you, wrapped up in your own world of love, playfulness, and laughter.

—

The local library had always been Spencer's sanctuary, a place where he found comfort in the stillness, surrounded by shelves filled with knowledge, each book a portal to another world. He had spent countless hours there over the years, developing close bonds with the librarians who worked there. So, when the head librarian’s birthday party was being celebrated, Spencer was eager to bring you along, excited to introduce you to the people who had been a significant part of his life for so long.

As you walked through the library doors, Spencer’s hand tightly holding yours, you could sense how much this place meant to him. There was a sparkle in his eyes, a lightness in his step that spoke of his deep connection to this space. The library wasn’t just a building filled with books—it was part of his identity, a place where he found peace, knowledge, and belonging.

The event itself was small, intimate, just a gathering of close friends, staff, and patrons who knew the librarian well. Balloons were strung around the circulation desk, and a small table was set up with cupcakes and tea. The room buzzed softly with the chatter of people who clearly adored each other, and the air was filled with the smell of old books and sugary sweetness. It was simple, but it felt special, like you had stepped into a warm, welcoming corner of Spencer’s world.

As you entered, Spencer’s excitement was palpable. He gently tugged you along, his face beaming as he navigated the crowd with ease, weaving through the maze of bookshelves toward a small group of people near the front desk. The closer you got, the more you could feel his pride radiating from him.

Finally, you reached the librarian, a kind-faced woman in her sixties who immediately lit up when she saw Spencer. She welcomed him with open arms and a big smile. “Spencer!” she exclaimed warmly, her eyes twinkling with genuine affection. “I’m so glad you made it!”

Spencer smiled back, his hand never leaving yours as he took a step closer. “Of course,” he replied, his voice soft but full of enthusiasm. “I wouldn’t miss it.” Then, with a hint of excitement, he turned to you, his eyes sparkling with joy. “This is Y/N,” he said, his voice filled with love and pride as he introduced you. “I’ve been dying to introduce her to you.”

You could feel the weight of those words, how much it meant to him that you were there with him in this special place, sharing a piece of his world.

The librarian turned to you, her warm smile widening as she reached out to shake your hand. “We’ve heard so much about you,” she said with a knowing grin, her eyes flicking back to Spencer for a moment. “He never stops talking about how wonderful you are.”

Spencer blushed instantly, the pink flush creeping up his cheeks as he squeezed your hand just a little tighter, embarrassed but clearly proud at the same time. “She’s pretty amazing,” he said softly, glancing at you with such affection that it made your heart swell.

You couldn’t help but smile up at him, your chest fluttering with warmth and love. In that small, cozy room filled with Spencer’s friends and colleagues, you felt like you were truly a part of his world, welcomed into the parts of him that were private, cherished, and deeply personal.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in easy conversation, with Spencer introducing you to more of the people who had become like family to him over the years. You could see how much they cared for him, how deeply they admired his intelligence and gentle nature, and how excited they were to meet you. Every introduction was filled with kind words and warm smiles, and each time Spencer’s hand remained in yours, his grip a reassuring constant, a reminder that this moment was as important to him as it was to you.

Later, as you both stood by the cupcake table, Spencer absentmindedly brushing crumbs off your chin from the chocolate cupcake you’d indulged in, you caught him watching you with a soft, almost reverent expression. “What?” you asked, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks under his gaze.

He shook his head slightly, his lips curving into a tender smile. “I’m just really happy you’re here,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely audible above the low hum of chatter in the room.

You smiled, reaching up to brush a stray curl from his forehead. “I’m happy to be here,” you replied softly. “I love seeing this side of you, Spence.”

He leaned down and kissed you gently on the forehead, his thumb stroking your hand as he pulled back. “You’re a part of it now,” he whispered. “A part of all of this.”

And in that moment, you felt like you truly were. Spencer’s world, filled with books, warmth, and the people who had shaped him, now included you. You were building something beautiful together—slowly, steadily, and with every shared experience, you were growing closer, learning more about each other, and weaving your lives together in ways that felt as natural as breathing.

—

Spencer had returned to the nightclub feeling confident and secure in your relationship. After all the beautiful moments you had shared—bookstore dates, Sunday mornings filled with laughter and pastries, intimate nights spent wrapped in each other's arms—he thought nothing could come between you two. But as soon as he stepped back into the club, all of that confidence started to erode.

At first, Spencer tried to keep calm, to enjoy the night as just another visit to your world. He watched you from across the room, smiling and laughing with the staff and customers. But then his gaze landed on Sean, who was standing much too close to you, his body language too familiar, his laugh too casual and comfortable. Spencer’s stomach churned, but he kept it to himself, telling himself that it was just work—that Sean had no place in your personal life. 

But then it happened.

Spencer saw Sean’s hand casually smack your ass. You had your back to Spencer, so you couldn’t see his reaction, but you laughed at Sean’s action, clearly finding it harmless. You didn't think twice about it, but Spencer's vision blurred with a sudden surge of anger. His blood boiled, his breath caught in his chest, and every rational thought flew out of his mind. The sight of someone else—Sean, of all people—touching you like that felt like a punch to his gut.

Before he could stop himself, Spencer stormed across the club, his footsteps heavy with intent. His jaw was clenched, his hands balled into tight fists as he closed the distance between you and Sean. He didn’t care about the crowd or how it might look. All he could see was red—his insecurities and fears bubbling up to the surface with a force he hadn’t expected.

By the time he reached you, Sean was laughing, clearly oblivious to the brewing storm that was Spencer. Without a word, Spencer grabbed Sean by the collar, pulling him toward him with more aggression than he’d ever shown before. The music in the club seemed to dim in Spencer’s ears, and the people around him faded into the background.

“Don’t you ever touch her like that again,” Spencer growled, his voice low and dangerous, the words spilling out before he could even process them.

Your eyes widened in shock, your heart leaping into your throat as you turned to see Spencer—his face twisted in anger, his usually calm and collected demeanor gone. You had never seen him like this before, never seen him this furious, this close to losing control. You quickly stepped between them, putting a hand on Spencer’s chest to stop him from doing something he’d regret.

“Spencer, stop!” you exclaimed, your voice laced with confusion and concern. “What are you doing?”

But Spencer’s gaze was locked on Sean, his grip on the bartender’s collar tight. Sean, for his part, looked stunned but didn’t fight back, raising his hands in defense.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, man,” Sean stammered, trying to defuse the situation. “It was just a joke.”

But to Spencer, it wasn’t a joke. It was a direct assault on everything he feared—the fear of not being enough, the insecurity that had been festering inside him since the day he first saw Sean. And now, all that pent-up jealousy and anger was pouring out in one destructive moment.

You could feel Spencer’s chest heaving beneath your hand, his breathing ragged as he stood there, frozen in his fury. Your heart raced, and you knew you needed to stop this before it escalated any further.

“Spence,” you said softly, trying to get through to him. “Baby, please let go. This isn’t you.”

For a long moment, it seemed like he hadn’t heard you, his eyes still boring into Sean’s. But then, slowly, the tension in Spencer’s body began to ease. His grip on Sean’s collar loosened, and finally, he let go, stepping back and running a shaky hand through his hair. His face was still flushed with anger, but the look in your eyes—hurt, confused, pleading—cut through the haze of his rage.

Spencer glanced between you and Sean, suddenly aware of what he’d done, of how far he’d let things go. Guilt washed over him like a cold wave, and he took a step back, his hands trembling as the adrenaline began to fade.

“I—I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible over the thumping music. “I didn’t mean to…”

But the damage was done. You stood there, still in shock, trying to process what had just happened, while Sean backed away, clearly wanting to put some distance between himself and the situation.

You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to make sense of what had just unfolded. Spencer—your Spencer—had never acted like this before. And as much as you wanted to reassure him, to tell him it was okay, you couldn’t ignore the heaviness in your chest, the weight of what had just happened.

Spencer looked at you, his eyes wide with regret, but all you could do was stare back, unsure of what to say, unsure of what came next.

The tension in the air was palpable as security started making their way over, eyes locked on Spencer with the clear intent of handling the situation. Your heart sank even further, realizing that this night had spiraled so far out of control. Before you could say anything, Sean held up a hand to stop them. “It’s fine, Steve,” Sean sighed, shaking his head. “We’re good.”

But his words didn’t ease the knot in your chest. You looked at Sean, “Are you?” Then at Spencer, who stood there looking lost and ashamed. “Are we?” you muttered, your voice heavy with sadness. Without waiting for an answer, you turned on your heel and walked away, unable to even look at Spencer right now. The weight of his actions, of what had just happened, was too much to process in that moment.

Spencer’s heart dropped as he watched you walk away, the pit in his stomach growing deeper with every step you took. “Y/N! Please wait!” he called after you, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You were too overwhelmed, too upset. He chased after you, his feet moving quicker as the panic set in. “Sweetheart, please!” Spencer begged, following you all the way back into your office.

You stepped inside, your hands shaking as you slammed the door shut behind you. The lock clicked into place, but before Spencer could say another word, you whirled around, the anger and frustration bubbling over.

“He’s fucking gay, Spencer!” you yelled, the words coming out with a mix of hurt and exasperation.

Spencer froze, his face falling in utter confusion. “What?” he stammered, blinking rapidly as he tried to make sense of what you just said.

“I didn’t tell you because it’s not my place,” you continued, your voice trembling with the weight of the emotions swirling inside you. “And frankly, it doesn’t fucking matter, but Jesus, Spencer!” You raised your hands in disbelief, the frustration too much to contain.

Spencer stood there, his mind racing as he tried to grasp what you were saying. “I—I’m sorry,” he managed, his voice weak, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know… I just, he slapped your—your butt, and I saw red. I lost control.”

You ran a hand over your arm, trying to calm yourself down, trying to make sense of why this had gotten so out of hand. Your voice softened, but the hurt was still there as you asked, “Spencer, you’ve seen my friends do it all the time. Hell, your team smacks your ass, and it’s all in good fun. How is it different?”

Spencer’s breath hitched, his eyes dropping to the floor as guilt washed over him. He didn’t have an answer—at least not one that made sense. The truth was, it wasn’t different. But somewhere in the haze of his jealousy and insecurity, he had convinced himself that Sean was a threat. That somehow, Sean’s friendship with you, the easy banter and playfulness between you two, meant he had something Spencer didn’t. And tonight, all of that had come crashing down in the worst way.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his shame. “I—I guess I just got scared. I got jealous. I didn’t think.”

You shook your head, tears of frustration welling up in your eyes as you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “You didn’t think at all,” you muttered, your voice tinged with disappointment. “You didn’t trust me.”

Spencer winced at your words, the truth of them hitting him harder than any reprimand could. “I do trust you,” he said quickly, stepping forward, his hand reaching out for yours. “I trust you more than anyone. I just… I let my insecurities get the best of me. I know it was wrong, and I’m so sorry.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, rubbing your temple as you tried to process everything. You wanted to believe him, to believe that this was just a one-time mistake, but the hurt still lingered. “Spencer, I love you,” you began, your voice softer now, but still firm. “But you can’t keep letting your insecurities drive you. I’ve told you time and time again—there’s no one else. No one but you.”

“I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I know that, I do. But when I saw that… when I saw him touch you, it just—everything I’ve been feeling came to the surface. And I’m so sorry I didn’t handle it better.”

You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned back against the desk, still trying to calm your racing heart. “You scared me, Spencer. I’ve never seen you act like that.”

He stepped closer, his face full of regret, his hand reaching out again as he spoke. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to scare you. I just… I messed up. I know I did. Please, sweetheart, I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. Just… don’t walk away from me.”

You looked at him, his eyes filled with guilt and desperation, and you knew he meant every word. Spencer was never one to lash out like this, never one to let his emotions get the best of him. But tonight, his insecurities had taken over, and now you both were left picking up the pieces.

After a long moment, you took a deep breath and nodded, your voice steady but still firm. “You need to work on this, Spencer. This jealousy, this need to protect me from something that isn’t even there. We can’t have this happen again.”

“I will,” he promised, stepping closer and taking your hands in his. “I swear to you, I’ll work on it. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just please… forgive me.”

"You need to go apologize to Sean," you said, your tone firm but not unkind. "And maybe... maybe you should think about seeing a therapist or counselor. This—this kind of insecurity, it’s not healthy for you or for us."

Spencer nodded, his head hanging low as he absorbed your words. He knew you were right. He had let his own fears and jealousy take control, and now he was faced with the aftermath. "You're right," he repeated, his voice tired and remorseful. "You’re absolutely right."

He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair, trying to gather himself. His mind was racing, filled with guilt and the weight of what he had done. He knew he had crossed a line, and it hurt to think that he had not only disrespected Sean but also hurt you in the process.

"I’ll go apologize right now," Spencer said, his voice steady, though there was a slight tremble beneath the surface. He looked at you, his eyes filled with regret, but also determination. He wanted to make this right. Not just for you, but for himself.

You gave him a small, encouraging nod, knowing that this was a step in the right direction. "Good," you replied quietly. "But Spence, don’t just apologize for what you did—make sure you understand why you did it. That’s the only way this is going to get better."

"I know," he said softly, his hand reaching out to take yours, squeezing gently. "I’ll fix this. I swear."

You watched as Spencer turned and walked toward the door, his shoulders slightly slumped with the weight of everything he had to face. As he left the office, you let out a long breath, hoping that this moment would be a turning point. For both of you.

Spencer walked up to the bar with hesitant steps, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the weight of what he needed to do, the guilt and embarrassment swirling together in a tight knot in his stomach. As he reached the bar, he stood there for a moment, awkwardly waiting for Sean to notice him. His palms were sweaty, and he rubbed them against his jeans, trying to calm himself.

Finally, Sean approached, clearly still a bit shaken from the earlier confrontation, but his expression was guarded, more curious than angry. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for Spencer to speak.

“H–hi, Sean,” Spencer stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes flicked up to meet Sean’s briefly before dropping back to the floor, the guilt weighing heavily on him. “I… I am so sorry for what I did earlier.”

Sean’s face softened slightly, though his guard didn’t completely drop. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter, waiting for Spencer to continue.

“I completely overreacted,” Spencer admitted, his voice trembling as he spoke. “I let my jealousy get the best of me, and I said and did things I never should have. You didn’t deserve that. I didn’t… I didn’t even know the whole story, and I just assumed the worst.”

Sean stayed quiet for a moment, studying Spencer. He could see the sincerity in Spencer’s eyes, the regret etched in every line of his face. Finally, Sean let out a soft sigh, uncrossing his arms.

“Look, man,” Sean began, his tone more understanding than Spencer had anticipated. “I get it. I’ve seen guys lose it over jealousy before. But that doesn’t make what you did okay.”

Spencer nodded quickly, swallowing hard. “I know,” he said, his voice strained. “It’s not okay, and I regret it. Y/N means everything to me, and I let my insecurities cloud my judgment. I’m not trying to make excuses… I just wanted to apologize.”

Sean leaned back slightly, his arms resting on the bar as he gave Spencer a small, almost sympathetic smile. “I appreciate the apology,” he said. “Just… maybe work on not jumping to conclusions next time, alright?”

Spencer nodded vigorously, his heart still racing but relieved that Sean hadn’t completely written him off. “I will,” he promised, his voice soft but filled with sincerity. “I’m going to talk to someone about it. I’m… I know I need to deal with this.”

Sean nodded, his expression easing a little more. “Good. And just so you know, man, I’m not interested in Y/N. Like, at all.” He gave Spencer a meaningful look, letting the words sink in.

Spencer blushed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah… I, uh, I know now. I’m sorry I ever thought otherwise.”

Sean let out a small chuckle, shaking his head and gave Spencer a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “We’re good. Just don’t make a habit of it.”

Spencer breathed out a sigh of relief, his shoulders finally relaxing. “Thank you, Sean,” he said quietly, feeling a weight lift from his chest. “I really appreciate it.”

Sean offered a small smile in return. “No problem. Take care of her, alright?”

Spencer nodded again, his heart swelling with a renewed sense of determination. “I will,” he promised, meaning every word.

And with that, Spencer turned away from the bar, feeling lighter than he had when he’d first walked up. He still had a lot of work to do, but this was a start—a step in the right direction.

—

Spencer navigated his way carefully through the hallway, dodging the maze of moving boxes that now cluttered the apartment. The feeling of excitement from his therapy breakthrough still thrummed inside him as he called out for you. 

“Y/N!” he shouted, eager to share his day.

“In the bedroom!” your voice echoed back warmly.

As he pushed past the last of the boxes, Spencer entered the bedroom and found you sitting cross-legged on the floor. A box of printed photos lay open in front of you, and scattered around were dozens of pictures, some slightly faded with time, others bright and new. You looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, your cheeks glowing from a mixture of nostalgia and emotion.

“What do you have there, sweetheart?” Spencer asked gently, his voice filled with warmth as he crouched down beside you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You sniffled and smiled, holding up one of the photos—a snapshot of the two of you from a Sunday morning at the bakery, crumbs on your faces, laughing uncontrollably. “All of our memories,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “I found this box while I was packing. I didn’t realize we had so many photos together.”

Spencer’s heart swelled at the sight of the old pictures and the happy tears in your eyes. He gently took the photo from your hand and studied it for a moment, the joy from that day flooding back to him. He remembered the way you had fed him pastries, how you had teased him for getting frosting on his nose, how perfect the world had felt in those little moments.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “We’ve made a lot of good memories, haven’t we?” he murmured, his fingers brushing lightly over the scattered photos.

You nodded, blinking back the tears as you picked up another picture—one from the bookstore, where you had sneakily snapped a photo of him deep in thought, completely absorbed in the world of books. “I never want to forget any of this,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of everything the photos represented.

Spencer sat down beside you, his heart full as he looked over the memories you had collected. “Hey,” He said softly, taking your hand in his. “I had a breakthrough at therapy today.”

You looked up at him, your tear-filled eyes widening with interest. “You did?”

He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “Yeah. I think I’m finally starting to understand where all that insecurity came from… and how to manage it better. I’ve still got a lot of work to do, but… I’m getting there.”

Your smile widened as you squeezed his hand, pride swelling in your chest. “Spence, that’s amazing,” you said, your voice filled with love and encouragement.

He squeezed your hand back, his heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he admitted quietly. “You’ve been so patient with me, even when I wasn’t always patient with myself.”

Your eyes widened at his words, the weight of the question sinking in as you looked up at Spencer. The room seemed to still for a moment, the sound of your breath catching in your throat the only noise breaking the silence. You blinked, trying to process what he had just asked, your heart racing in your chest.

“Will you marry me?” Spencer repeated, his voice softer this time, but no less certain. His eyes were filled with love, vulnerability, and a touch of nervousness, as if he’d been carrying this question for a while, waiting for the right moment to let it out.

Tears welled up in your eyes again, this time from pure joy. You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you took in the sincerity of his expression. He wasn’t just asking for a promise—he was asking to continue writing the rest of your story together, side by side, forever.

You cupped his face with your hands, your heart swelling with love and excitement. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “Yes, Spencer, I’ll marry you.”

Spencer let out a breath he was holding, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears as he pulled you into a deep, heartfelt kiss. Relief, joy, and love coursed through him all at once, making the moment feel surreal. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, as if he never wanted to let you go.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were laughing through the tears, caught up in the magic of the moment.

“You really want to marry me?” you teased gently, your forehead pressed against his, your fingers lightly brushing his cheek.

“More than anything in this world,” Spencer said, his voice full of conviction. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Your heart felt like it might burst as you nodded, still in awe of how this moment had unfolded. “I want that too,” you whispered, “forever.”

Spencer kissed you again, slower this time, savoring the sweetness of the moment, the promise of a future filled with more memories, more laughter, more love. And as you sat there, surrounded by the snapshots of your shared past, you couldn’t help but feel excited for all that was yet to come.

You pulled back from the kiss, a playful glint in your eyes. “And hey,” you teased, running a hand through his hair, “maybe you can wear white at the wedding.” Your smirk deepened as you watched Spencer’s expression shift from one of love to amusement.

Spencer threw his head back, laughing loudly, the sound filling the room and making your heart flutter. You always loved how his laugh could light up any space. “I have one problem with your plan,” he said, still chuckling, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Oh yeah? What’s that, honey?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, fully enjoying the banter between you two.

Spencer leaned in closer, his voice low and full of playful confidence as he said, “I don’t plan on being pure for much longer.”

You burst into laughter, your cheeks flushed from both the teasing and the thrill of the moment. “Oh, is that so?” you teased, leaning into him, your fingers trailing down his chest. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to do something about that, won’t we?”

Spencer grinned, his blush deepening as he kissed you again, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you closer. “I guess we will,” he murmured against your lips, his tone both playful and full of promise. 

The two of you stayed wrapped in each other’s arms, the lightness of the moment mingling with the deep love you shared. It was another memory added to the many you had created together, and you couldn’t help but feel that your future, together as partners, was only just beginning.

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[lolitakirstein]

CW:Implied smut, pregnancy, Toji being feral for you

Thinking about how Toji loves when your pregnant.

He loves watching your belly grow weekly, constantly comparing it to the week before. Your small little bump in the first trimester drives him wild. “I just look fat” you complain anytime he’d come up behind you and rub on your little pooch that had formed, not yet a solid form distinguishable underneath. “No baby it’s much different, you look so adorable, “ he’d softly pinch the skin, causing you to squeal. Your breast started growing rapidly as you neared your delivery date, and toji adored how swollen they were becoming even though you were still complaining about your changing body “None of my bras fit, they’re so heavy and sore,” “I know baby,” he’d coo at night while he palmed your tender breast to relieve the aches. “But you’re still so sexy. Your perfect tits swollen with milk to feed our baby. Fuck you’re gonna be a pretty mama.” You feared your changing body would make Toji less attracted to you. “Not at all baby, i think this is the most beautiful you’ve ever looked. All knocked up with my child,” he'd say from the couch as he watched you strolling around the house-more like waddling, in nothing but a large tshirt and panties.  “Real eloquent, Toji,” you roll your eyes.  The final weeks and days of your pregnancy were rough. Your stomach distended so big you worried if you breathed too heavily you would pop.  “Look at youuuuuu,” Toji would sigh, getting on his knees infront of you to kiss and rub your sore belly. “Our little guys gonna be big like his daddy.” Sure enough, your little bundle of joy was in fact a large, bouncing 9lb baby boy. And sure enough, Toji was ready get you pregnant again as he watched you breastfeeding your little creation in the rocking chair.  “God that’s about the most beautiful sight i’ve ever seen,” he breathed while laying in the floor of the nursery, absolutely swooning over you and your child. “Let’s have another.” “Toji! I just gave birth,” you half laugh half shout.  “Yeah?” he shrugged, reaching for your feet and massaging your achey ankles. “You’d look heavenly feeding my child while full of my other one” You playfully kicked him in the chest.

Honestly, Toji would keep you pregnant 24/7/365 if he could. The pride he felt seeing you busting with his child. How your skin glowed from the hormones. Even how your nipples would darken and enlarge, leaking with milk near feeding time- hell he even loved rubbing nipple cream on your sore nipples and breast, always trying to soothe you. 

And sure enough, not even a year after the birth of your child, Toji smirked as you showed him the 2 faint lines. “Mmmmm, get to see my baby all big again, fertile little mama.” You only half teased about getting him “fixed”, because you secretly loved being pregnant as well and watching the literal heart eyes pulse in his eyes. The massages were also a plus

[sgrplumditz]

You had his baby and he didn't know.

She sat with the 3-month-old baby girl. Every time she looked at her she saw His eyes, the eyes of the father of her child that had no idea she existed. A perfect blend of the two, but like her father the most recognizable feature was her eyes. Carrying her mother's soft and feminine features, while having her father's gaze.

She was standing in the kitchen of her two-bedroom apartment preparing to pump her full, plump breasts as her daughter slept soundly in a playpen nearby. Thinking of her daughter had become second nature to her, which meant that her thoughts only revolved around her daughter from the moment she found out she was pregnant. Although she was struggling as a single mother, she did not hold any resentment toward Simon. After all, he had no idea their daughter existed.

Simon was forced to leave for his work responsibilities. He knew he would be gone for a long time, it was a no-brainer that they would go their own separate paths. When her thoughts were not consumed by her daughter they were consumed by Him, she craved the closure, or support, or comfort that she knew he could bring her.

Interrupted. Her thoughts were interrupted by a light knock on the door. Her protective nature took over as she walked to the front door while holding a bottle in her right hand. Her heart sank the moment she looked through the peephole. "What is He doing here?" she thought before slowly swinging the door open.

His gaze immediately dropped to the pink bottle in her hand, "Why didn't you tell me?" he spoke, his voice was soft, yet it still held a slight tone of hostility. His accent was prominent, something she noticed would happen whenever he was emotional. His eyes looked drained, tired, and confused, but physically he looked as good as ever. His tall stature and wide frame cast a shadow over her significantly smaller build.

"Tell you what?" she said as her face flushed red and her heart pounded in her ears. Her ears also burning.

Simon walked into her apartment closing the door behind him, "You have never been a good liar". There it was, the exact gaze she saw in her daughter staring back at her in His body. That same gaze turned to his sleeping daughter in the pink playpen that was littered with stuffed animals and pink accents.

She couldn't tell what he was thinking or feeling. Anger, frustration, joy, sadness -- it was evident that he was on a roller coaster.

"Why didn't you tell me?", he sighed running his hand through his thick blonde hair. She was stunned, but she didn't know if it was because he actually showed up, or if she was stunned because this was their first time standing in a room together as a family. "Who told you?" her voice came out soft, timid almost.

"Price, but that is beside the matter" he paused to take in the sight of his daughter. "Why didn't you contact me? I gave you my cell for emergencies... th-this is an appropriate reason to contact me." he now sounded frustrated with her. She was gripping the bottle in her hand still, unable to relax and let it go. Was he mad?

He wasn't. He approached her and gently took the bottle out of her hand -- he knew her better than anyone meaning that he knew that she reacted poorly to confrontation. "You're okay, Love" he spoke gently as he held her small hands in his, "Talk to me, please." he pleaded as he guided them to the nearby couch, making her take a seat. There was new sense of gentleness when he spoke. The shift came naturally to him as now he was fixated on protecting the mother of his child in all aspects. His thumbs massaged her wrists gently while he waited for her to find her words. Simon has always been patient, a quality she loved about him.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the only audible noise coming from the cooing sounds of their daughter. "Whenever you're ready, Love. I'm here to stay," he said with his warm hands still on her.

[lokischocolatefountain]

home in three days, do not wash

Fandom: Gladiator II Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Wife!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: age gap, mild choking, mentions of child death, hurt comfort, breeding kink, lactation, reader has children, taboo for the time oral sex, talk of war. Word count: 3.6k words Summary: Your General returns home ravenous for you and you cannot decline him, even if any exposure of his act would bring him great shame. A/N: Thanks to @saradika-graphics for the awesome graphics. Napoleon said 'be home in three days, do not wash' and what was I supposed to do? Not use it for our big thicc roman general returning home from war to fuck us? I did research and shit and came to know that eating pussy was a big no no back in the day. dj Khaled would love to be an ancient roman ig. also learned that rich ladies didn't breastfeed and used a wet nurse but they knew that breastfeeding could help and some women did it. Outside all that research, it's just depravity, baby. Anyway, validate my depravity with some comments pls.

Laughter echoed through the hallways of your palatial home and you stood at a balcony with the best view from atop the hill. The campaign that had taken your husband away had finally come to an end with victory for Rome. Far from the hustle and bustle of the city, you were always one of the last people to receive the latest news of importance. This time was an exception to the rule. 

Home in three days. Do not wash.

All you wanted when you received the message was to run in the direction of the roads that would bring your beloved home. Three days were too long. You wanted to curtail the long wait, run to him so you would be in one another’s arms in a day and a half. 

But you chose the more realistic path and prepared the home for his arrival. The servants polished every surface, your handmaiden ensured you had all your most preferred clothing— that which he loved to see on your body. The kitchen was busy preparing every meal that the master loved. Your two older children with your general busied themselves recollecting everything they learned from their private tutor to impress their father. 

Your youngest, your first son, was still so young he had never met his father. He was the child your dearest had longed to have for so long. For all the luck the gods had given him in the battlefield, they had given very little in the way of children to carry his legacy. In his heart, he was father to seven daughters and six sons. The gods had only allowed four daughters to live. Two of his sons passed in infancy, one passed in birth, taking his mother with him. One other was taken by disease and another killed in battle. 

He now had only one son and he hadn’t yet the joy of holding him in his arms. Everyday that Marcus was in the battlefield was torture. Babe on your breast and fear in your heart over whether his father would live to see him. Fear sometimes subsided for anger to have its way. That very anger remained in your chest, prepared to unleash on him the moment he stepped into the home. 

When the sun dimmed, night crept in and so did Marcus. You refused to greet him at the door. A warm welcome was reserved for men who told their wives where they were going before they left. You had half a mind to ask for a bath to be prepared. To wash yourself with milk and fragrant oils in front of him so he could see your defiance in action. 

But you remained in the balcony, eyes set on the moon who served as your companion when he left you. For all the fury you had for him, there was also an ache of sympathy. You wouldn’t sour his mood the moment he entered. He must see his son first. Then you would see to that he groveled at your feet for his cruelty. 

Just as you thought, you had a long time to relax on the settee. He always went to his children first. Be it after months away on the battlefield or a mere day in the city. You asked for your son’s crib to be moved to your daughters’ room so he would be able to see them all at once, saving him the battle of choosing between his great loves. You’d sent word to him on the battlefield after you gave birth, sent him the name of his son so he would know to include him in his prayers. 

You heard whispers of his voice conversing with a servant. Your heart quickened its pace, each thud against your ribs matching the thuds of his feet against the floor. Oh how you wanted to turn around. It had been so long since your eyes were blessed with him. His towering height, broad frame, the pink of his lips and the curls you so loved to comb through with your fingers. You trembled, the cold breeze reminding you how devoid you’d been of his warmth. Yet you were resolved to not give yourself up to him so soon. You stayed in place and closed your eyes.

He stopped behind you and your name spilled from his lips like honey. It had been so long since anyone spoke your name so… The servants called you mistress and your children called you mother. Your birth family only wrote your name in their many letters. He was the only one who spoke your name, leaving you without hearing your own name since his departure. But you stayed, did not turn, did not open your eyes. He spoke it again, his voice gentle but louder as he stopped at your side. 

“Open your eyes, dearest.” 

“Where have you come, General?” You asked, your voice cold enough to be the envy of the winter breeze. 

“General?” He asked, a hint of amusement playing at his lips. 

“Are you not a General?” You taunted, finally opening your eyes. He looked weary from battle and travel. You longed to take him to your chambers and strip him of his armor to count his wounds, kiss each one be it new or old. His hair was grayer than when he left, his skin duller, but his eyes were still the soft brown that gave you peace when you first saw him as his young bride. 

“Your General,” he said with a small smile as though his words were supposed to make you forgive him at once and shower him with kisses. It only strengthened your resolve. If he wouldn’t treat you as a wife, you wouldn’t give him the respect of a husband. 

“You have a son,” you said, stretching your legs out in the settee just as he made to take his seat there. His hand wrapped around your ankle and you kicked it off, daring him to make another attempt at moving your legs so he could sit. He smiled softly, conceding as he moved to stand by your head. 

“He is beautiful, mellilla,” he said, caressing your cheek. You slapped his hand away. All of Rome may fall at his feet and welcome him back with praises of his victory. He was deserving of course, not only for his achievements but for his undying loyalty to Rome. If Rome were a woman, she would be his principal wife and you— you would only be a tavern whore he fucked and left in the dead of night. 

“You block the moonlight, General Acacius.” 

“Marcus,” he said, moving to allow you sight of the moon once again. He sat in the little remaining space on the settee and looked down at you. Despite the toll war had taken on him, he was incredibly handsome. Bold nose, pink lips and graying curls that only made him look ever so slightly more distinguished. He bent down and pressed a kiss to your lips. You did not return the kiss, but you did not push him away. There was an limit even to your anger. You placed a hand on his shoulder, the act of denying yourself the joy of your lover weighing heavy in your heart.

“I’m afraid I haven’t such an honor.” You bit down on your lip, annoyed at yourself for the trembling of your voice as you spoke. Your anger for him had a foundation of pain after all. 

His face fell and he sighed. He looked down at his lap and you hoped it was from shame.

“If you have nothing to say, you may leave. If you need it, you may summon the servants for your meal. But I am sure the emperor did not send his best general hungering for food or cunt,” you spat, rising to sit up on the settee. Hand as strong as iron wrapped around your wrist, coupling with his strong torso that trapped you in place to keep you from getting up. You squirmed in his grasp, but he did not budge.

“Listen to me.” 

“Is that an order?” 

He wrapped an arm around you and held your cheek in his hand. You looked up at him, giving him biting fury to his firm yet gentle gaze. “If it is the only way I will have your obedience, then yes. It is an order.” 

“You may speak, but you cannot make me listen and you most certainly cannot make me respond.” 

“I am your husband.” 

“A husband doesn’t leave for a year long war at the dead of night with no explanation to the woman swelling with his child,” you screamed, fist slamming against his chest. It didn’t affect Marcus. Nothing affected the great General Acacius, you thought with derision. You hit him in the chest again, tears brimming in your eyes and clouding your vision.

“Forgive me,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You ceased your attacks as his apology coupled with the pain in his eyes reduced you to tears. You’d kept everything in for so long, put on a brave face for your daughters and hid your heart in your letter to your father. It was only with Marcus that you didn’t need to hide. He always tore your fears down and pulled you into the safety of his arms.

“I wouldn’t have been able to leave had I said goodbye.” 

“I was so afraid,” you confessed, leaning into his chest. Every pretense of strength and composure left your body as you let him hold you to his chest. The gold earrings you wore to please his eyes pressed cold against your skin under his hand. He moved next to your hair and then you neck, the hand that held swords and spilled blood only to return home to love you. 

“Carissima…You were all I could think of after I left. Forgive me,” he begged, taking your hand in his and pressing a kiss to each finger. 

“Later. I have missed you. Marcus,” you whispered, craning your neck to kiss him. He returned your kiss in an instant, arms cradling you as you devoured each other. He smelled of war— blood, soil, sweat, and leather. It was far more pleasing to your senses than any fragrant oils and flowers. Your Marcus and his distinctly masculine scent was above all but the fragrance of your newborn. 

You whined as he retreated. He laughed and returned to scatter kisses along your jawline like Rome scattered rose petals along the steps of the Colosseum for his feet. He reached under your layers of silk and linen, making you tremble and press yourself closer to his chest. 

“So soft…” 

“I need you, please.” It was all he needed to hear before he walked up to the doors of the balcony and slammed them shut. What he did with you, for you, wasn’t for anyone else’s eyes but your own. 

He unlatched the gold clips that held your palla to your shoulders and set them aside. Your stola and tunic followed, piling up on the marble floor. Cold air caressed your bare breasts, bigger and fuller now as you nursed your son yourself. You traced your hand up his arm, feeling his vambrace before finding his muscular arms. You whimpered from just how big he was in your hands. You squeezed, feeling the hard muscle and rough skin. 

Your General knelt before you and you sat up straight, confused by his action. He couldn’t be… You sought his apologies and regret, but by no means would you ask him to humiliate himself for you. Such a man, superior to you in every way. 

“Dominus!” You shrieked, reminding him who he was even when he came home. 

“Shh…” 

“Are you going to—?”

“Lick you cunt? Yes. Sit back, now,” he said as he guided you to lean back on the settee. You shook your head from side to side, appalled by the circumstances and confused as to how you were supposed to stop him. He spread your legs wide, planting your feet upon the seat. He licked his plush lips and looked up at you, his eyes those of a ravenous beast. 

“You cannot. I only want you to understand the torture you put me through, not debase yourself in front of me. It’s not right.”  

A corner of his lips curled up slightly. He spat on his hand and rubbed it into your cunt. You arched into his palm, your cunt chasing any contact you could have with your beloved. “Tell me, who do you belong to?” 

“You.”

“Speak fully and speak my name.” 

“I belong to you, Marcus.” 

“Correct. Why do you think then, that you can tell me what I can and cannot do with you?” 

He parted your cunt lips and slid a finger inside you. “You belong to me. All of you. This cunt belongs to me. Does it not?” You nodded as he pumped his thick finger in and out of you. It had been so long since you’d been touched that even his finger felt a little much for you to take. You shuddered as you thought of his cock, promising the virility that came with such a size. 

“Speak,” he commanded, every bit the fearsome General who led men into battle. When even warriors couldn’t defy him, how could you? 

“It belongs to you, Marcus.” 

“Mmm,” he rumbled, curling his finger inside you, making you whimper. “If I want to lick this cunt then, do you have any right to stop me?” 

“N-no,” you cried, grabbing his wrist and imploring him to slow down for you couldn’t take such intoxicating pleasure. “If peo— Marcus! If someone knew—”

Then he dove into your core and licked the nub above your cunt, eliciting a squeal from you. He looked up at you from between your legs, tongue still licking you as he smirked. It was sinful, the sight and the act of a man serving a woman. You shook your head, your senses already addled from being so close to him after a long year. It was wrong. Wrong. But oh gods, he made all the wrongs feel right and who were you to deny him? 

Tears rolled down your cheeks, no longer from the agony of separation from your dearest but from the building pressure in your core. 

“Marcus…” you said, unable to say anything else. You reached your hand towards him, needing to be anchored to the Earth as he flew you to the heavens. He enveloped your hand in his and gave a small squeeze. His other hand and his lips were unrelenting, giving him new ways to torment you. 

How did anyone deem it submissive for a man to kneel and lick cunt? Your Marcus still looked as majestic as ever. The picture of victory that Rome worshiped. The Marcus Acacius who slew and killed was home and ruthless in his conquest of you. Even as he licked your core, he was the one with all the power in hand. This was but a new way for him to take you. 

You gasped inaudibly as he inserted another finger in your cunt, stretching you in preparation for his cock. You felt your unraveling come closer. He pulled you deeper into whatever spell he had you under whenever he touched your cunt. You squeezed his hand tighter, saying everything your lips couldn’t. Hold me, keep me safe, never let me go.

The waves crashed against the rocks on the shores of the beach as you came crashing down from the heavens. Marcus kept his wordless promise. You tightened your legs around his head yet he held you in place and kept you safe. 

When you came to, you found your fingers tangled in between his dark curls. You loosened your grip on him but did not let go, needing to feel him even if it was just his hair. 

“I should not have liked that.” 

He laughed and gave your cunt another lick, smirking as he watched you shudder. 

“But you did,” he said, getting up at last. “I knew you tasted divine, but having you directly from your cunt is something else, melilla.” 

“I have not washed in days because of you. I am sure I taste horrendous.” 

“Good girl, following orders well. But you are wrong. You taste and smell like a woman. Not a perfumed woman. This,” he said in a low voice as the tip of his nose traced up your neck. He inhaled your scent and moaned. “This is nothing you can find in a vial. This is your true scent,” he said, stopping at your ear and placing a kiss. 

“I would recognize it anywhere.” He reached under his pteruges and toga and retrieved his cock. Your cunt clenched at the mere sight of him. 

He was far too covered. As much as you loved to see your General in his armor, you loved more to see him bare. You needed to run your fingers over his bare chest and dig your fingernails into his shoulders as he wrung his pleasure out of you.  You found the ties that held his armor in place and began to undo them. 

“Impatient girl,” he chided as he aligned himself with your cunt. 

“Help me out then,” you snapped back as you struggled with the knots. He ignored your request and continued on his path of destroying you, plunging his length inside you much too quickly. You cried from the pain and pleasure of being stretched out by him once again. 

“Marcus!” 

He bent forward and whispered your name against your lips before claiming them. You moaned into the kiss as you rubbed yourself against him for friction. You were loath to pull away from his cock even the slightest as you ached for him too much to part from him. You wrapped your legs around him and pressed your heels down on his back, pulling him deeper inside you. 

He wrapped a hand around your throat, tightening and loosening every now and then. “Day and night, I longed for you,” he whispered, his breath mixing with yours. “Dreamt of the day I would be inside you again.” 

You echoed the sentiment, but he quickly silenced you with a hard thrust that you felt in the deepest part of your core. He wasn’t the gentle Marcus who treated you like you did your fine silks but the General who conquered every land he set foot on. He rammed in and out of you, reclaiming you as his. Your cunt opened up to take its master, molded itself around him like it did each time since your wedding night. He had taken you, his young bride, and shown you a world only he could. He’d taken and taken, made you a woman by showing you what your body could do for you. 

He licked up your neck, growling like he was tasting the finest delicacies from the emperors’ table after being starved for months. “You smell sweet, Carisimma.” 

“You lived in tents with men for a year. I’m sure a pig would smell sweet to you now,” you said, making him laugh even as he wrecked you. He reached down to your breasts and grabbed one in his hand. He pinched your nipple between his fingers and tugged, making you cry out in pain. 

“Marcus!” Drops of milk trickled from your breasts and he swiped it with him thumb before licking it. 

“I only regret that I could not see you grow bigger with my seed.” 

“You ha- you have seen it before.” 

“Yet I am not satisfied. I need more, I need to fill you up with my seed, keep you full with my children in perpetuity.” 

“Marcus! Please…” 

“What do you beg for, girl?” 

“Give me sons, Marcus. Let me give you heirs,” you cried, overcome by the need to become his in that primal way. It was more than just your duty as his wife. It was an innate desire. As frightening as pregnancy was, you wanted it again and again at the hands of your husband. To give him sons carry his name and daughters who would control the great General with their laughter. 

“Give me sons,” he repeated, the hand around your neck squeezing tight. This time, he did not relax, holding your air hostage as he used your cunt for his carnal desires. You gasped for breath. Your cunt squeezed around him, keeping him in so he would give you his seed and refusing to let go even for a moment. 

Every thrust after sent delicious ripples of pain. You knew that you would wake the next morning unable to walk as usual. You would hear your servant girls giggle when they thought you couldn’t hear. He would wreck you day and night, make you scream for all the house to hear. He would take you to high places in the city, an arrogant smile on his lips as he showed you off, rounded again with his child. 

As though he could read your thoughts, he spilled inside you with a cry of your name. You held him close, afraid he would part from your body and rob you of his warmth. 

He showered you with kisses, beginning as a downpour and ending with a drizzle. You melted into his arms, the tension in your muscles leaving now that you had your Marcus home. You were no longer alone, he was here and he would take care of everything. 

“Am I forgiven now?” 

You smiled, burrowing into his chest as draped your discarded silk over you and picked you up in his arms. “I will consider it if you make sure I don’t bleed this cycle.” 

You felt his chest rumble as he laughed. A kiss on the top of your head.

“As you say, melilla.”

Fic notifications blog

[nctsworld]

fever pitch

✩‌ mark x reader | pro baseball player!mark | fluff | smut | 8.4k

SUMMARY | your world is shaken up (literally) when you meet the handsome man guilty of the accidental baseball smack to your head. after a comforting meet-cute and realization that he’s the city’s ace pitcher, you two go on a date. and by the end of the night, mark thinks he’s falling for you faster than any pitch he’s thrown before.

WARNINGS | sexual content (near the end), arm riding (iykyk), breast/nipple play, oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, piv sex, some drinking // this is 80% fluff-20% smut (with lots of corny writing); there's actually not too much baseball mentioned, but i did a little research on it; however, inaccuracies may be inevitable!

RATING | mature

AUTHOR'S NOTE | i am sorry this is so late </3 i hope y'all enjoy! please also check out (and maybe send in some prompts to) @nctpromptmeme!

TAGLIST | @curieouscapt @dearlyminhyung @infnteen

Under the warm, summer sun, you beam as you walk towards your close friend, Chenle, and his dog, Daegal.

Shining back, he nods in hello to you with sunglasses pressed against his face. The teacup Bichon by his side wags its tail and pants happily at the sight of you, but is easily distracted the next second due to the park’s stimulating surroundings.

Dogs running amok, families having picnics, kids chasing each other in circles, friends playing baseball—

Specifically, a group of absolutely stunning men playing, as if a model catalogue exploded onto the field across from you.

But one in particular catches your eye.

Kind eyes shine behind wire-framed glasses, paired with a wide smile. His soft hair bounces with his light jog across the area.  

In his fitted white tee, he ends up in one spot and continuously throws the ball into his mitt. The game seems to be on hold as he speaks to a teammate. Absentmindedly, he rolls his arm sleeves up, revealing lean, yet defined muscles.

You silently gasp, struck by the beautiful sight, then gulp at the flexing of his biceps when he continues tossing the ball. His teammate must’ve told him a joke since the attractive figure throws his head back in joy.

And this is the exact moment you go into cardiac arrest because his laugh is the last straw of what you can handle from this man.  

Suddenly, the sound of your name shakes you out of your daze and reminds you to breathe.

“Okay, which one of these guys is the one who made you do a full stop in the middle of the grass?” Chenle asks, coming up beside you.

Daegal welcomes you with loving rubs against your leg. You squat to pet her, but your eyes are still honed in on the handsome stranger. The teams seems to be switching now when someone hands the bespectacled man a bat.

Your friend tracks your line of sight and nods, impressed. “Okay, he’s cute. Your distractedness will be excused this time.”

Scoffing, you shove his leg lightly and he giggles in return. After a few more moments of gawking, Chenle wonders, “Why do I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere?”

Standing up, you reply, “Probably comes here often with his friends when you walk Daegal?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I feel like I know him from somewhere else...”

Deciding you should probably drag your attention away and not be a blatant creep, you begin to walk away backwards, heading towards the ice cream cart before the line-up becomes as long as the field.

“Want your usual?”

“Yes, please!”

However, Chenle’s brightness fades instantly, jaw falling and eyes widening. You’re about to turn around to see what caused his change of expression when you hear a piercing—

“WATCH OUT!”

With a throbbing in your head, you wake up, squinting at the blinding rays. Coming into view, the cute guy from before replaces the sun’s spot, staring down at you with concern written all over his face.

“Oh, my God,” he pants. His hands shake in front of him. “I am so, so, so, so sorry.”

You roll your eyes a bit, trying to center your vision. Groaning, you ask, “What happened?”

“I, uh...” The individual’s mouth, slightly open with gritted teeth, pulls to one side as he runs a hand through his hair, “may have batted the ball and it coincidentally went straight for your head.”

Carefully, he helps lift your upper body off the ground. He asks if you’re okay, and you nod. But a grimace comes after, causing the stranger’s frown to deepen.

“Maybe we should get you to the hospital. You might have a concussion.”

All of a sudden, he inches closer and gingerly runs his thumb over the source of the throbbing. It’s likely all in your mind, but you swear the pain lessens from his touch. You tilt your head further, angling into his palm and embracing the comforting gesture.

“I’ll obviously cover all the bills—”

You cut him off with a slow lift of your hand. “No. I’m okay, I’m okay.”

You know you’ll definitely be more than okay if you can steal some more time with his magical touch.

Continuing, you say, “And that’s too much. If anything, you can buy some ice cream for me and my friend.”

Glancing around for Chenle, you find him, crouching like the stranger, but a few feet away. With a raised corner of his mouth, you deduce he’s deliberately giving space for you to interact with Mr. Handsome Baseball Hitter.

Said handsome baseball hitter chuckles. Hearing it tugs at your chest, even harder now that you can experience it up close.

“I’ll buy you a thousand ice creams to make it up to you.” He retreats his hand and you don't hold back pouting from the fleeting contact you already miss. “But seriously, if there’s any long-term side effects, please reach out to me and I’ll pay for any expenses that come your way.”

“How would I know how to reach out to you?”

He rambles the following matter-of-factly, “Well, you can find my manager’s information online, there’s the team’s Twitter account”—he looks up cutely in thought—“and I guess I’ve been kinda active on Instagram—”

You tilt your head in confusion. What is this guy going on about?

“Okay,” you interrupt, “but who are you?”

His face flips through a few emotions in the span of seconds, but they’re unreadable. Finally landing on a grin, he says, “I think what’s more important is: do you know who you are?”

“Yeah, I’m—” And you properly introduce yourself.

“Good,” he says, “so we’re not dealing with amnesia.”

Your cheeks rise at his humour. Saying your name warmly, he adds, “Nice to meet you, I’m Mark.”

He lends out a hand for you to shake and you do so. With help from his knees, he rises upward, aiding you to stand on your feet in the process.

“Mark,” you repeat his name aloud, locking eyes with him, “the baseball batter with the strength of a thousand suns.”

At the odd line, you catch yourself, thinking how the injury must’ve loosened your filter. He laughs at the lengthy label. “You should see me pitch.”

You shake your head. “Nu-uh, nope,” you playfully say. “I’m going to be safe and stay far, far away from that sexy arm.”

Both you and Mark’s eyebrows rise at the remark.

Yep, definitely a loose filter. Maybe you really do have a concussion.

While Mark breaks out into a pleased smile, you snap your eyes shut, wanting to run away. Or disappear, if at all possible. “Strong, strong. I meant strong...”

Avoiding eye contact, you hurry and make way to a now standing Chenle. Trying to leave the embarrassment behind, you grumble, “Chenle, let’s get going.”

Your friend smirks and whispers by your side, “You sure you don’t want to dig your grave even further?” You attempt to elbow him, but he’s too quick and avoids it.

“It was nice meeting you, Mark,” you call out over your shoulder as you walk away. “Thanks for looking out for... my head?”

Cringe falls over, making you pick up your pace. Time to officially stop talking.

Chenle turns away, his body shaking as he releases a snicker into his fist.

“Again, I’m really, really sorry!” Mark apologizes in a shout. You can hear the sincerity in his voice, and also recognize his voice as the one who warned you to watch out before the incident occurred. “If you need to find me, I’ll be here over the next couple of weekends!”

When you’re far away enough from the scene of the crime, you smack Chenle in the arm. In response, Daegal chirps a bark at you. “You just had to watch me make a complete fool out of myself back there.”

He lovingly places an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into him. “I mean, Daegal’s great and all, but if anyone has any entertainment value out of the three of us here, it’s going to be you.”

You groan at his harsh, yet true, words.

“Your head good though?”

You note how the throbbing is barely there anymore. Touching the spot, you wince. At most, there’s likely just a bruise. “Yeah, it’s good.”

In a hopeful tone, Chenle sing-songs, “Think you wanna come to the park again with me next weekend?”

Reflecting on what Mark said, you ponder if he really meant it about coming to find him if anything was wrong. Even though everything would likely be fine, you’d love to see him again. 

But how could you face him after the disaster of your mouth running free? You shake your head in defeat.

On Monday night, the next evening, your phone goes off right as you enter your apartment building. You drag your phone out, eyebrows furrowing at the notification that Chenle’s calling you. When was the last time he’s called you?

Actually, you’re fairly sure he’s never called you. Ever. You pick it up without hesitation. 

“Hey, everything okay?”

“Find a TV playing the baseball game,” Chenle pants. “Right now.”

Out of all the things he could call you for, this is what he’s asking you to do? He’s not even into baseball; basketball is the sport he adores to death. “What?”

“Do it,” he orders. “Now!”

“Okay, okay.”

Thankful you haven’t gone up to your apartment yet, you stride over to the little in-house gym in your building near the front entrance. You haven’t used it much since you moved in, but you recall that the TVs usually play either sports or news.

And you remember right, except at the moment, the baseball game is the only event plastered on the screens. Most people in the room are fixated on the game while they’re doing their set or on their respective cardio machine.

“Okay...” you trail in uncertainty. A pitcher from your city’s team throws the ball and the batter misses. The camera cuts to the batter from the opposing team, shaking his head in disappointment. “Why must I need to watch the baseball game so ba—”

The camera’s now on Mark’s face.

The same Mark from the neighbourhood park yesterday, sans the glasses, and in proper baseball gear.

He’s on live, national television, playing baseball in front of the crowd of tens of thousands of people.  

From a side angle, all eyes are on him as he tips his cap forward. His eyes mold into slits of concentration, his sharp jaw tightening after a lick of his lips. Sure, he’s different from yesterday’s care-free self, but you’d be lying if you said this serious side of him didn’t turn you on either.

Again, the camera cuts away, to the wide shot from behind him. Besides his great body (especially his gorgeous backside in those snug pants), you revel in the back of his white and dark green trimmed jersey, indicating his last name and his assigned number: Lee. 02.

He winds up for the pitch, raising his leg, and the ball is gone within a blink of an eye, landing directly into the catcher’s glove. The number 98 comes up near a rectangle on-screen, signifying the speed of his throw.

Mark wasn’t lying about his skills; he’s the pitcher with the strength of a thousand suns.

All the screens are filled with Player #02’s glimmer of a smirk, before he quickly stashes it away behind his cap. The camera lingers on him while the commentators in the background talk.

“A great put-out pitch for Lee,” one says. “His fastballs this season have been absolutely remarkable. Another great one from him.”

Cameras switch to another shot of Mark catching the ball, resetting once more for the next batter.

Another commentator supplements, “Aside from the slight hiccup earlier this season, he’s definitely on-track in making his mark on his debut in the league. A rookie ace indeed. It’s no wonder they’ve been calling him ‘The Tiger!’”

Understanding dawns upon you as to why he stated how easy it would be to contact him (and to be able to pay for any potential hospital bills). The city’s new star pitcher—how could you not know him?

“I knew he looked familiar!” Chenle pipes up from the other end, just as Mark’s nice figure takes up the screen once more. Awe and shock consume your voice, and you’re unable to create a coherent reply.

But you don’t need to, not when you have Chenle to talk your ear off about the game, but mostly Mark, for the rest of the night.

The week passes by, with you casually going through Mark’s Instagram (which, as he mentioned, he only occasionally posts on) and watching a few more of Mark’s games with Chenle in tow. 

You fawn together over his plays (and his ass) and, despite not knowing much about the game, he must be having a great week from the commentators’ constant praises and the team’s overall wins.

Once Sunday finally arrives though, a wave of nervous anticipation rolls over you.

Because for you, it’s game time.

Sure, you may not have initially wanted to, but now that you know who Mark is, what is there to lose if you step up to the plate and see him again?

The scene of the park is quite similar to last week’s, except for the large presence of people staring at the men, many you recognize from the city’s team from all the games you’ve watched this week, playing baseball on the field. You wonder if you were too caught up with Mark last week because you didn’t notice how everyone else was this enraptured too.

As you stroll closer to the grassy area with Chenle and Daegal hovering behind, the players coincidentally take a breather. Some parents quickly take advantage of the break to bring their children up to receive autographs.

This is perfect timing for you too.

However, you stop in place, debating if this was a good idea to return. You’re surely going to make a fool out of yourself again (this time with no injury to blame) and Chenle, despite his promise of not interfering, will totally budge in and—

And it’s too late to backpedal, because Mark, although distracted by the little cluster of people surrounding him, lifts his head momentarily and his gaze lands directly on you.

Air seizes in your lungs when he flashes you a grin that could compete with the sun. He gives a small nod and wave. Like a star struck fangirl, you glance around to ensure he’s not gifting that nod and wave to anyone else. 

But no, you’re not mistaken—his eyes are only on you.

Saying his thanks to his assumed fans, he jogs his way over to you, attired today in a fitted grey-mixed tee, ripped denim jeans, and thicker framed glasses compared to last time.

“Hey,” Mark says, still grinning beautifully. “How’s your head feeling?”

His smile is incredibly infectious. It’s a challenge not to do the same when you’re in the presence of this man. “Better. Had some bruising, but it’s all gone now.”

He nods in response, mumbling a “Good, good” under his breath. With his face turned away, he swipes some hair behind his ear and seems to be preparing himself to say something. But, you will yourself to address the elephant in the room first.

“So, why didn’t you tell me that you were in the major leagues?”

At the unexpected question, Mark darts his head up and draws it back in surprise, his lips pouting adorably. Your heart bursts.

Contrasting his cuteness, you notice the hint of stubble around his mouth. First the pout, now this. You’re captivated by it more than you should be.

He chuckles and lifts a shoulder. “Well, you didn’t ask.”

“I did,” you laugh. “I asked who you were!”

After looking up in thought for a moment, he concedes. “Okay, maybe you did.”

You two laugh in unison, and even when the moment is over, both of you stare into each other's eyes. Time’s filled with comfortable silence and equally comfortable smiles. 

Mark breaks the silence, asking, “Are you still wanting to stay safe and far away from my sexy arm?”

“Oh, my God...” you groan, hating to hear the same words that left your mouth from last week.

“No,” he says through another burst of laughter, “it’s a genuine question.”

“I meant to say strong!” you argue petulantly. “I was just a little out of it from the hit, no thanks to you.”

“I know, I know,” he giggles. “I’m genuinely wondering though, cause...” Mark pauses and begins to fidget, this time rubbing the nape of his neck. 

You tilt your head, intrigued. “Cause what?”

“Cause, I was, uh, wondering,” he says, eyes averting yours. “Since I owe you for your head injury—”

“You don’t owe me anything—”

“And I know it’s a long shot cause you’re absolutely gorgeous and you’re probably taken—”

This time, you draw your head back in surprise over the compliment and the grand assumption that you’re off the market. 

“—but did you wanna go out with me sometime?” His hand moves through his hair before he shyly looks at you again. “Maybe?”

Before you can even process what's happening you hear a "Yes!" behind you, causing you to jolt upright. “Yes, she will absolutely go on a date with you!”

“Chenle!” you gasp, appalled but not surprised, in the direction of your close friend as he nears your side. You face Mark again and gesture in the direction of the incoming intruder. “Don’t mind him.”

As per his charming self, your friend holds out a hand. “Hi, I’m Chenle. Your newest number one fan. Great plays this week, by the way.”

“Mark.” He takes the hand to shake, giving him a small smile. “And thanks.”

Mark’s eyes wander down and notices the dog wagging its tail excitedly. His face lights up. “Aw, who’s this cute little guy?”

“Daegal,” Chenle answers. “She’s my little handful, besides this one.” he says, jerking his head in your direction. Mark's too focused on Daegal to see you slapping her owner in the arm. 

Squatting down, he pets the lively dog. You follow suit and crouch down too, watching Daegal gift Mark tons of licks and enthusiastically rubs herself against his hands and arms. She’s never this delighted with strangers usually. 

“What do you think, Daegal?” Mark asks, holding eye contact with her as if she could reply, then he glances over at you. “Do you think your friend should go out with me?”

Immediately, she barks happily, causing all three of you to laugh. 

“Good girl,” Chenle whispers from above.

Although you pucker your lips playfully at Daegal’s betrayal, you reach out to pet her fondly along with Mark. 

“But how will you guarantee my safety from your strong arm?” Your stare lingers on them. Not that he has to know, but you had to make a conscious effort to not say sexy once more.

“I promise I won’t be tossing any more of my balls in your direction,” Mark casually says.

After a pause, your eyebrows raise and his eyes widen.

“Wait, I mean—shit...” he hisses, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Your lips twitch, suppressing a laugh and finding him adorable.

“I know what you mean,” you quickly say, relieving him of his embarrassment.

He shyly glances up at you and you share a comforting look. Suddenly, someone from the field hollers his name. With a small frown, he begins to walk in reverse away from you.

“I probably should get back, but now that you know how to get in touch, message me on Instagram and we can figure out a time that works for our date?”

“Yes, definitely!”

Incredulously, you look up at Chenle for answering on your behalf.

“For sure, Mark,” you say. “Have a great game.” With the way he plays, you know he will.

Chenle and you wave your good-byes to him and watch him retreat to his friends.

“You do know that I'm the one he asked out, right?” you ask as the three of you begin to walk towards to the park's popular ice cream cart, except you're more vigilant this time.

Your friend grabs out cash, ready to pay for your order. Or at least you hope so, for all the trouble he caused.

“Yes, and that's why I will live vicariously through you!”

After messaging him over the last week (with Chenle hovering over your shoulder and backseat driving many of the messages), Thursday really couldn't come fast enough for your date with Mark.

As you step out of your apartment complex, your jaw drops and an impressed smile fills your face.

In a green bomber, black tee, and skinny jeans, Mark coolly pulls up on a red Ducati motorbike. You recall seeing a post or two on his Instagram with it, but it takes you by surprise to see it in-person.

He takes off his helmet and runs fingers through his hair, attempting to ruffle out the messiness. You're a little envious of how good he looks, even with messy hair.

Your date takes in your outfit—an off-the-shoulder floral dress that teeters the lines of being cute and sexy simultaneously—and beams.

“Wow,” he says, mouth agape. “You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” you say, then make an over-the-top attempt to check him out. “You don't look so bad yourself.”

After a moment of shared smiles, he tilts his head towards his mode of transportation. “Hope this isn't too daunting.”

You shake your head. “Not at all.”

As Mark helps you with your helmet, now that you're up-close, you notice he's clean-shaven, unlike the other times you've seen him, and you presume he opted for contacts for tonight.

You also can't help but relish in the proximity of his hands near your face, flashing previously to the first time you met only a couple of weeks ago.

Once he's done, you ready yourself for the ride by wrapping your arms around his waist from behind, holding onto him snugly.

He twists around with his visor open.

“Ready?”

You respond with a squeeze around his waist and a nod, so he closes his visor and you're off through the nightscape of the city.

Everything passes by in a blur, but when there are the occasional moments when he slows down or stops at the red lights, you drink in how beautiful your city is.

On the other hand, you're dying to know what Mark planned for tonight. He gave you a vague idea—dinner, a small post-dinner activity (no balls involved, Mark promised), and dessert—but that's all.

In a nicer part of the city, he stops and parks in front of a bumbling Italian restaurant.

Once inside, Mark gives his name to the greeter, stating how he has a reservation, and a sweet host immediately leads you to your table. As you walk through the restaurant, you admire its warm atmosphere with dim lights and candles spread everywhere, along with the many other couples eating their dinner.

The host stops in front of a secluded semi-circular plush booth. You shimmy in, and Mark follows. Both of you sit comfortably close near the middle of the booth.

Despite how much you have been talking through DMs over the last week, as first dates often go, conversation is awkward at first.

However, as dinner progresses and the extravagant wine (Mark insisted, “Only the best for my date, please.”) makes its way through your systems, it gets easier.

You learn more about his family, his team, and his love for reading. For him, he learns about your friends, your job vs. dreams constant conflict, and your love for music.

The easiness also goes beyond words. Underneath the table, your legs brush up against one another's. You throw your head back in laughter, and you bravely touch his forearm in response. Mark even leans in close to your body, sometimes the edge of your shoulders gently pressing into the other.

By the end of dinner, being the gentleman he is, Mark doesn't even let you glance at the check and pays it all without hesitation. Then, you're outside and on his motorbike again, off to the mysterious post-dinner activity.

When he reaches a particular end of town where there isn't much around except one place, you have an inkling where you're about to go.

Once you're there and parked, your hunch is answered correctly, but you realize something.

“Isn't the aquarium closed at this hour?”

He shrugs nonchalantly and begins to usher you forward with a hand lingering at your lower back. Whispering into your ear, he says, “I may have booked it privately for tonight.”

As you walk through, Mark and you stick to each other's side, shoulder to shoulder, and switch between revealing more about yourselves while reading and conversing about the informational signs on the aquatic creatures.

Both of you stop in front of the main showcase of the aquarium: the large tank that houses two beluga whales.

Mark leans in a bit closer to the tank, catches sight of one of them in a corner, and points it out to you. As he straightens, you feel the back of your hand brush up against his.

“You’re quite the romantic,” you state while glancing at the tank, almost as low as a whisper. Even with nobody around, there's something so serene about the aquarium that makes you want to be respectfully quiet. "Does everyone get this first-date, first-class experience from you?”

“Only the girls who get hit on the head by me,” he teases in a whisper, making you softly chuckle.

After a moment passes as you watch the tank, hoping and waiting for the beluga whales to move to where you're standing, Mark asks, “Would it be surprising to say I don’t go on dates as often as you think?”

Your eyes dart toward him, but you quickly keep your gaze fixated back on the tank. You nod. “A little.”

He hums, followed by a lengthy sigh. You can sense a shift in him. You hear how it's laced with sadness, maybe even a little regret.

“I’ve been working so hard to get to this point and of course being drafted’s been so worth it, but it also meant that I had to sacrifice some things along the way. But now that I’m finally here”—you feel his gaze now directed on you—“I definitely can rearrange my time for other things.”

Your breathing slows as you turn to face him.

Courageously, Mark intertwines his hand with yours and his free one raises, caressing the bare skin of your upper arm. The contact makes you gasp and hold your breath.

He drags himself forward, as do you, and his hand is about to cup your face...

Until the two belugas are now your front-row audience, glancing at you as if they were smiling.

You both chuckle softly and give them a wave, not wanting to lose this rare chance of seeing them this close.

And although the special moment has passed, you two finish off the marine life tour with your hand in his.

Once outside, Mark leads you somewhere nearby. After about ten minutes of walking, you're standing on a large cliff with a scenic view of the city. You've never seen the city from this height before, and all its twinkling lights and the starry sky beckon you.

An ice cream truck is also coincidentally there, and you assume Mark booked it for your date tonight.

You two grab your waffle cone orders and sit down on a wooden bench that overlooks the view.

“So,” you say, licking the cone on its side to avoid the ice cream from dripping down your hand, “does this go towards the debt of you hitting my head?”

“Of course,” he nods with his signature smile, doing the same as you and trying to avoid his sweet treat from melting. “It'll be one ice cream out of the many future thousands.”

The implication that there’ll be more than just this date hangs in the night air, almost as if it's a promise, and you really hope it'll be true.

At the very least, it feels true as you peer over your city, leaning your head onto Mark's shoulder while he casually drapes an arm around you.

Getting off the motorcycle, Mark walks you to the front door of your place and you don't even think twice about asking if he wants to come in. He says yes a little too enthusiastically, making you giggle, but it confirms that neither of you want the night to come to an end just yet.

Mark hangs his jacket as you grab beers from the fridge. Both of you make talk for some time on your couch, but the energy in the room is buzzing, especially since the almost-kiss.

The second you gravitate towards Mark, he rushes to wrap an arm around your waist and his free hand cups your face, dragging you in for the first kiss that's been itching to happen.

His lips are dangerously soft, addictive really. You swear he tastes like cherry (could be from the food earlier or maybe a lip balm flavour, you wonder).

It's a slow, yet deep, start. In the beginning, the kissing is with intent, wanting to know what each other tastes like. Naturally, the curiosity evolves into exploration, with Mark cautiously dipping his tongue into your mouth. You react with zeal, swiping your tongue against his and even experiment sucking on it. He shudders at the sensation.

Mark holds you close throughout, but your bodies move into a new position, letting you sink comfortably into your couch beneath him.

Here, passion rises. He grips your waist, whilst his body presses into yours, and he begins to trail down your neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses. Although it's already off your shoulders, he drags a sleeve of your dress further down, hungry to kiss as much of your bare skin as he possibly can.

Your fingers tangle in his hair and you arch into him, embracing his clear desire against you. You're falling and falling and falling, becoming more drunk with every touch and kiss from Mark. Ever since the first day you met, you couldn't help but yearn for his touch. Now, having a taste of him like this, you're desperate to experience more.

Although you're underneath him, you decide to take hold of the kissing. When he takes a breather for an instant, you steal the chance and fervently kiss along his jaw and rugged neck. Mark moans, gripping your waist harder, and grinds into you, his hardness dying to be free.

Shockingly, he suddenly tears away, sitting up and panting. Confused, you mirror him.

“Should we stop?” he asks. “Like, I know I might be being presumptuous, but I don’t wanna ruin our potential next date if we rush too soon?”

It melts your heart that he retracted because he's concerned over your potential future. You delicately rearrange some of his loose hair stuck to his forehead. “If you want to stop, we can.”

He pouts, reminding you of him previously at the park, followed by a cute whimper.

“But I don’t want to stop...” he laugh-smiles, leaning into you, about to drive his mouth into yours again.

“Neither do I.”

And with that, Mark makes the split-second decision to continue this good thing and not look back. Once again, he's leaving love upon your shoulders, at a measured pace currently, and he carefully lowers your dress. Drooping off your shoulders, you let it drop and bunch around your stomach.

Surprise is written on his face, as you didn't wear a bra underneath your dress, but the surprise quickly dissipates into enthrallment over the beautiful sight.

He lowers himself, mouth traversing across your chest while his free hand gently massages one of your breasts. You succumb to the rising pleasure, curving into him again.

When he arrives at one tip of yours, he looks up and asks, his voice low and gravelly, “Can I...?”

You whimper-nod, already on the verge of begging him to take the next step.

It kills you that he teases first, merely pecking the surrounding area and your tip; his mouth leaving goosebumps in its wake. Your patience grows thin.

“Mark, please, just—”

Air is depleted as his tongue swipes against your nipple in a broad stroke. He then wraps his mouth around it, sucking firmly. The other hand that was kneading your other breast turns to focus on your nipple, pinching it between his index finger and thumb.

The more he sucks, the more you hear the wet puckering of his lips, the more it makes you clench tighter. Bliss begins to boil in your abdomen when he flicks his tongue and mimics the same on your other tit with the pad of his thumb.

Your breathing grows heavier, and you sense you're close, but Mark abruptly stops. You're about to speak up, believing he'd be the type to finish you off if you ask, until you realize he's kneeling on the floor in front of you and stripping off his t-shirt.

With your help, Mark eases your dress to the floor and places it safely on the coffee table. Focusing on you, his gaze is dripping of lust—so carnal, so different than his regular self.

As Mark advances to your heat, your palms graze over his defined shoulders and back. He parts your legs further with his hands wrapped around your inner thigh.

“Wearing panties?” he inquires, his finger pulling the fabric a bit to the side.

“Huh?”

“No bra, but panties?” he smirks, making you realize the joke.

You roll your eyes and relax momentarily, leaning your head back. “Are you into that? No panties underneath?”

“Could be hot,” he shrugs, tugging your underwear to your calves and tossing them off to the side.

“Maybe one date I can do th-ah—”

Without warning, he dives in, one his hands now grasping you by your lower back, and you lurch forward to get a good view of his head between your legs. You've got a grip on his shoulder, the other tugging at his hair.

His tongue laps at your folds with agility, figures out what you like or don't like. There isn't much you don't like, Mark deduces. Languid licks. Penetrating patterns. Fast flicks.

You respond eagerly to them all with harsh tugs to his hair, notably when he spreads your folds to devour you entirely. The hair pulling hurts a bit, but he doesn't mention anything; he likes it a little rough.

Despite the positive reactions, he can tell you've been at a simmer with his moves, not quite reaching close to a high. He withdraws his mouth, and, through your hazy vision, you catch sight of his honeyed lips.

But your eyes blow wide open and an acute moan dispels as your lover of the night fills you with his fingers, alongside his licking of your clit.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

Following a few more minutes of scissoring and a few sucks to your bundle of nerves, he asks, breathing into your inner thigh, “Does this feel good, gorgeous?”

Your lip is drawn between your teeth, digging so hard from the pleasure you wonder if it'll bleed soon. “Mm-hmm.”

“Good,” he says, kissing your thigh tenderly, “'cause I'm gonna need you to remember how good tonight is so you'll keep coming back for more.”

Not gonna be a problem, you think, but all you could muster is senseless panting.

“You close?”

You can barely release a whimper out to respond, and Mark orders you to tell him when you're near.

It doesn't take long to get there. The warmth in your abdomen encapsulates your body and your hips rut upward frantically, desiring your climax to take authority.

“Mark, Mark, Mark. Fuck, I'm close, I'm—”

Immediately, he stands up, fingers still inside you and somehow impaling you further and faster while his thumb lazily strokes at your clit when possible, and his ardent kiss is the needed catalyst to take you over the brink. Simultaneously, the kiss swallows your bountiful whines.

When you finally come down from your high, you kiss him deeply and feel him through his jeans against you.

“Let's take this to the bedroom, I need to grab—”

“Should I run to the pharmacy to—?”

In tandem, you chuckle over how in sync you are, and tip your perspired foreheads against the other.

Holding his hand, you lead him to your bedroom. You turn on your bedside lamp and gesture to the tissues, so he can clean his hands. You then bound to your bedroom bathroom and fumble around to find your condom packs somewhere in a drawer.

Upon your return, you're graced with the sight of Mark sitting naked on the edge of your bed, stroking himself. You almost salivate.

God, he's bigger than you expected, and that's only one part of his magnificent body. You didn't have the opportunity before to admire his muscular abs, but you take every chance to do so now. The way his arm flexes with each stroke. And those thighs...

“Sorry,” he murmurs and shyly shrinks a bit, in contrast to his lewd action, “hope it's okay that I took my pants off already.”

He really is quite endearing. Maybe even a little perfect.

“There is absolutely nothing to apologize for, Mark.”

You place the condoms onto your bedside table, but are so absorbed with Mark's cock and existence. Entranced, it's your turn to drop to your knees.

Fingers wrap around his cock, and Mark's groans rise. You delve in your enthrallment for a bit, squeezing and stroking to your heart's content until you finally decide to ease him into your mouth.

Your tongue works wonders, tasting the underside of his length with every bob of your head. Meanwhile, his hands lazily thread through your hair and he watches attentively.

More saliva develops and drips, especially when you relax your mouth to let him hit the back of your throat. Obscene slurps accompany his delicate moans, both of which permeate the room in melodious unity.

As his threading develops into tight pulls of your hair, you detract yourself to avoid the night ending right then and there.

Since he's still sitting on the side of the bed, you sit onto his lap with a plan to abate and elongate the tension. You're back to kissing him, allowing both parties' hands to roam each other.

“I love your arms,” you mumble into his mouth as you reach for them.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “I know you love my sexy arms.” You punch him teasingly.

But an idea flickers in your head. You halt your actions.

“This might be weird to ask, but could I...” you trail off, picking at your hands, realizing maybe you shouldn't finish your question.

“Hey,” he whispers, holding your chin in his hand. “You can ask me anything, beautiful.”

You hesitate with closed eyes.

“Could I... ride your arm?”

Peeking a nervous eye open, an evidently puzzled Mark stares back at you.

“I—What? Sure?” His voice raises in octaves.

Embarrassed, you try to wave it off. “Never mind that I asked.”

“No, hey,” he says, his palm caressing the side of your face and angling it towards him. “I'm flattered and obviously, nobody has ever asked to ride my arm before. But if you want to give it a go, by all means, I'm open to it.”

“Yeah?”

Mark gives you the sweetest smile and a reassuring nod. “Yeah.”

Since you suggested it, you lead him to lay on the bed, more in the centre so there'd be enough room for you to sit. He watches you gingerly lift his hand near head-level, as if he's almost flexing to show-off or about to lay his head on his palm.

Carefully, you sit onto his left arm, facing the direction of his body. At the contact, you shudder. “Is this okay?”

He agrees, enticed by your ass near his face and the general exquisiteness of your being. “You can put more weight on it, it's okay.”

You comply, relishing in the pressure of his arm against you. After becoming more comfortable and placing most of your weight to an arm on the bed, you slowly rub yourself upon his arm.

Mark's fascinated by this foreign act, eyes watching your every move. With his free hand, he touches himself.

His favourite part about you riding his arm? The look on your face—fluttering eyes paired with your lip biting—and the fact that you find him this attractive, that using him this way can simply get you off.

“This okay still?” you breathe.

“Fuck yeah.” He squeezes himself harder. He knows the answer to the next question, but he wants to hear it from you directly. “Does it feel good for you?”

You assent with a sharp moan. Without notice, you lick your palm with the intent of reaching over to grab his cock. At first, he's confused when he notices your hand, but he happily lets you handle him.

“Oh, God,” Mark pants.

You fasten your pace on his arm, grinding greedily against him. As you do so, your arm attempts to match the pace for his desire.

“Fuck,” Mark twists his head to look at your hips, tries to focus on how wet you are amidst his own pleasure, “you really do love my arms...”

It's a sweet dream for you—no, sweeter than any dream or fantasy could ever be. This is real, this spectacular sensation spreading all over and it's all thanks to his arm. Your body winds up, tighter and tighter, and you eventually break, chasing your second orgasm of the night.

Cleaning your mess up, you wipe his arm fast, keen on what's about to happen next. You then draw him into your mouth a bit to get him up again before rolling the condom onto him.

Once the rubber is on, you tease him from above, sliding the tip of his cock against your pulsing centre.

Mark may be a gentleman, but a gentleman can only be patient for so long. He seizes his possession and you gasp as he holds you by your hip, forcing you to sit down onto him.

The feeling is heavenly, stretching you sweetly. You bounce on his cock, and the sounds from you two are louder than from before. There's a small voice inside your head, worried about a noise complaint from your neighbours, but future you could deal with that.

Right now, it's all about Mark. He plays with your breasts with every move you make, while you fondle his abs and arms. Both of you try your best to look at one another through the pleasure, but it's difficult when you're floating higher and higher.

He then clasps your lower back and skillfully rises upward with the help of his strong abs. This position provides an angle for him to do all the work to thrust into you, as well as continuing to rub your breasts and even suck on them again.

At this point, you're in absolute state of frenzy, drowning in all the stimulation. Mark's underwater, right there with you too.

He pulls away in the midst of licking your nipple, his eyes going round. Nevertheless, you lean into him, your breasts pressed into his face and your mouth hangs.

Together, you cry each other's names and swear in endless spirals and the bliss finally reaches its peak for the evening.

As Mark lays next to you in your bed, observing your peaceful sleeping state, he's obviously amazed by tonight's events, but he’s also unsure what’s in-store for either of you.

There are so many factors at play with his career, you're both essentially still strangers, the future is unknown...

And yet, despite these worries, the feeling blooming in his chest is more than a blossoming liking. It’s akin to the moment he steps up to plate, either ready to bat or pitch. Nervousness, determination, and...

It’s too early to call it, but when he’s around you, he swears it feels a lot like his love for the game.

He shakes his head, not wanting to jump into the deep end this fast. He doesn't want to ruin this good thing prematurely.

Nevertheless, he places one last kiss atop your forehead before he sleeps, praying you'll be a new constant in his life, at least in the near future.

EPILOGUE — FOUR MONTHS LATER

Today is game four of the World Series and your city has won the previous three. If they continue their streak, tonight will be the night where Mark and his teammates take home the championship.

Hours prior to the big game, the teams are having batting practice beforehand to warm-up.

With your chin perched in your palm, you watch Mark closely—of course, safely from a distance and from behind him—and nod with every ball he hits well at the mound. You're seated in the lower area of the stadium among many of the other team members' families and friends, including a gleeful Chenle.

“Stop checking out your boyfriend's ass,” he orders, nudging you with his shoulder as he tosses a piece of popcorn into his mouth.

“You stop checking out my boyfriend's ass,” you retort, nudging him back.

The two of you continue your little nudging contest until he says, “So when you guys get married—”

“Oh, my God, Chenle...”

“I'm just saying, we all know you two are going to have beautiful little baseball player babies! Anyway, as I was saying, when you guys get married, can Daegal be the ringbearer somehow? She's pretty much the reason why you guys got together in the first place.”

You shake your head, eyes still on your love. “Chenle, we'll have that conversation when and if we get there.”

“When we'll get there,” he states confidently, and you laugh, dismissing him.

Sure, it may have been a fresh relationship only four months in, but you couldn't deny that maybe the idea of marriage wiggled its way through your mind here and there. Despite your thoughts, it wasn't at the forefront; you were happy in love with Mark now, here in the present.

Player #02 hands his bat over to another player and jogs towards you. It makes you wonder why he hasn't done an advertisement with slo-mo running and wind blowing through his hair yet.

“How’d I do?” Mark asks, leaning onto the railing next to you. Chenle gives him two thumbs up with a large grin.

“Awesome," you agree. "Did you think about hitting my head with each ball?”

Mark chuckles and juts his tongue to a side of his mouth. “You’re never going to let me live that down, huh?”

“Never,” you quip, scrunching your nose. You reach out for him and hold the tips of his fingers in yours. “You nervous?”

“Yeah,” he exhales, closing his eyes. “More than usual.”

Your fingers progress forward and your thumbs rub the back of his hands lovingly. “You’ll do amazing, like always.”

“You’re too sweet, babe. But this might be the game and I might—”

You cut him off by cupping his cheek in your palms.

“And you are the Mark ‘The Tiger’ Lee”—you tenderly swipe some of his hair away from his face—“top contender for both the Rookie of the Year and CY Young Award. So no matter what happens, you will come out on top.”

In awe and in a little disbelief with how well-put that was, he stares at you with starry, doe-like eyes. He's so grateful to have met you, to have someone so supportive of him in his life.

After a few moments, he concedes. “I had a pretty great run this season, haven’t I?”

You admire how humble your boyfriend always is. It's one of his greatest traits.

“And you have me,” you add jokingly.

He tilts his head side to side. “I guess there’s that too...”

The two of you share a kiss, innocent at first, until he deepens it and you wrap your arms around his neck, which generates some of his teammates to holler and whistle. Likewise, you hear Chenle screech, "Save it for after the win!" and you swear you feel some popcorn being thrown at your back.

Finally, until you're content, you peel away and press your forehead against his.

“Go get ‘em, Tiger,” you whisper.

Mark nods, a little more confident than before. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“So much,” he punctuates it with a loving squeeze to your shoulder.

You don't think you'll see him before the game starts, so you grant him one last good luck kiss.

You wouldn't know it that night, but by the end of the season, Mark would indeed take home the Rookie of the Year and the CY Young Award, being the youngest recipient of both awards.

That evening though, your city's team works in unbelievable harmony (or maybe the opposing team is having its worst day) because the game is a perfect one. Mark shuts out the other team, not allowing them to have any runs whatsoever...

Thus, sealing his first title of being a World Series champion.

But certainly not without his beloved running out into the field to give him a congratulatory hug and kiss among the sea of people.

And at the end of that night in the confines of your bedroom (after earth-shattering celebratory sex), you would find out that Chenle was right (and later, that he was in on it) when Mark, merely in his boxers, gets on one knee with a little opened box in front of you.

He's visibly shaking, and not because he's half-naked. You've never seen him so unnerved. Your love spills the following in almost one breath:

“I know we just started dating, and we can be engaged for, like, ten years or whatever. I just know that, deep down, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I may have felt this way since our first date. I really, really, really hope you feel the same, even if just a little bit."

Mark takes a deep breath, trying to regain composure for the important question he exhales.

Tears rise in your eyes as an ocean of feelings hit you, but within that ocean, no doubts rise to the surface whatsoever.

All you think about is how you will be forever grateful for the baseball that hit your head on that life-changing day.

You immediately say yes.