#just baffled. like. what do you want from this person.

[ariaste]

A Discussion on Book Endings

Hey, friends. Thanks for coming today. I'm sorry to break it to you, but this is an intervention. Please, don't get defensive -- everyone here loves you and cares about you. But listen... I'm gonna need book readers and reviewers to reflect on the idea that finishing a book and going "Oh, I loved it so much, but I wish it was just a few pages longer!" is not really a valid point of negative critique in the assessment of a text.

Let me explain.

When I read people's otherwise wildly positive reviews of books and they say that line, I don't interpret it in context as, "This story needed to be a few pages longer for the plot to work, structurally, and for the ending to achieve a solid resolution." Rather, they basically seem to be saying simply, "I loved it and I didn't want it to end." That's always a GREAT feeling, but then they're.... taking points off from their total rating because of that??? They seem to be penalizing the author because they weren't left with a feeling of "Ugh, thank god it's over"? It's like, "This would have been five stars if it had had just one more chapter but it made me sad that it ended, so four stars" -- Guys, do we understand that's an insane take? It's insane. A book has to end. If you shriek "NO!!!" that it's over because you were having such a great time, that's... that's a symptom of a 5-star book, babes. I'm not sure why there's such a fashion these days for penalizing authors for this particular thing in this particular way, but it's really baffling to me.

But setting aside the puzzling trend of "I'm knocking points off because it ended when it should have gone on until I personally was fully bored and exhausted of it, like the 11th season of a TV show that was only supposed to go until season 4" -- listen, I guarantee you that nine times out of ten, when you're out here longing for just one more chapter or saying "this could have used an epilogue" you... are wishing for something that would have actively ruined your enjoyment and the quality of the book.

Are you a writer yourself? Have you ever finished writing a book before? Have you done it more than once? Have you deeply studied the endings of books? They are HARD, let me tell you what. Endings are so much harder than beginnings, because you're looking for that beautiful final note, like the ending of a symphony, and you're trying to ride it for a few glorious seconds before the FLOURISH and dum-dummmmmm....! and the conductor collapses as the audience bursts into applause! Right? Yes? Except that chances are that one more chapter or epilogue would ruin the pacing and resolution of the ending and muddle up the summary of the theme and thesis statement, and all of this WOULD ACTUALLY fuck up your experience of the story as a whole. For example, please consider the last Harry Potter book as an example. We all hate JKR now for being a TERF but oh, children, how quickly we forget that back in the olden times, we used to hate her for that fucking epilogue that made everything that came before feel rancid and pointless and hollow and cheap. Y'all remember how sickening and infuriating that was? Do you remember the Hunger Games epilogue? Nine times out of ten, that's what you're inexplicably wishing for.

To see this point illustrated, let's do a quick exercise together. Go pick out a piece of classical music -- some of my best suggestions for this are Beethoven's Ode to Joy, or "Der Holle Rache" from Mozart's Magic Flute, or Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture. Listen to it all the way through. If you're struggling with scrolling addiction and your attention span has been severely damaged, fine, listen to the last two minutes ("Der Holle Rache" is the shortest, just 3 minutes). Then, after the song is done, click back to some random spot earlier in the piece, listen to another 30 seconds, and then stop. Consider: Did adding that last 30 seconds materially improve the piece, or did it undermine the overall emotional journey? Did it help the ending to stick the landing even more than it already did, or does it just feel weirdly stuck-on as an afterthought, like the "for more fun videos, check out the rest of our channel and don't forget to subscribe!!!" card at the end of youtube videos?

When you are wishing for an epilogue, my doves, you are wishing for something you do not actually want -- or which you probably would not want if you had the option to see it in practice and compare it side by side with the original. You are wishing for something that would more than likely make the story worse. You are holding the author at fault for something being wrong with the text only because you hit immersion and were having a lot of fun and didn't want to come back up for air. Like, I'm just not sure that's something that the author should be blamed for? It sounds like they were doing their job really well???

Please, just. Separate your feelings of "bittersweet disappointment that this wonderful book is over" from "frustration that the author didn't stick the landing, ugh what a flop" because they are two separate things. Before you say "I'm taking points off because I wish there was more", please take two seconds to ask yourself critical thinking questions like, "Why did the author choose to end the book here rather than in two more chapters?" because (other than a few wild outliers that should not be counted) the answer is never, "They got bored and just didn't feel like finishing the story." Chances are, they chose that specific ending for a reason. They ended it there because that's the point that underlines the thesis statement of the book, or because the emotions of that scene are the ones they want you to remember and walk away with, or because that marks the place where the story arc is genuinely over. When the author says, "And they all lived happily ever after," that means that what happily-ever-after looks like is in your hands now.

Nine times out of ten, you don't want one more chapter. Please. I promise you that you don't want one more chapter. The book is done; what you want now is either fanfiction or someone to talk about it with. Or maybe to start the book over from the beginning! Believe me, you would not want one more chapter if you had it. (Or, if you did have it and it magically didn't suck, you would just keep wanting more chapters because that's what "really enjoying the book" means. In which case, go read fanfic, that's what it is for.) I promise you, I promise you, the book would probably be worse with one more chapter and you would not like it as much. Please stop wishing for the author to be less good at their job. Please. A book has to end; so does this post. And we all live happily ever after*. The End.

----- * The post-canon coffeeshop AU sequel will be detailed exhaustively on AO3

[grimmweepers]

— ☆ 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐇𝐋𝐈𝐀

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: whenever summer comes around, especially when dahlias bloom, everything begins to remind you of your late lover

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: alhaitham x gn!reader. sfw. angst. modern!au (could be read as canon tbh), character death mention (alhaitham), hurt/slight comfort, very bittersweet, previously established relationship, unresolved grief, reminiscing, heavy summer and flower themes 0.8k wc. masterlist | byf/dni

a/n: this is my submission for the @pixelcafe-network's Challenge Friday that we do every few weeks. this time the prompt was "goodbye, my summer love". as I deal with some personal grief rn, writing this was a nice way to cope, and doing a very angsty take was kind of fun. the title of this drabble was named after the perfume 'Midnight Dahlia' by Korres but the plot is my own

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Summer days were always long and languid.

Once, they felt like a letter from a lover, but now they remain a capsule of something lost. Alhaitham always said that when being bathed by the sun, time truly slowed down; if you listened carefully, you could hear the world hum under its breath. 

Alhaitham said a lot of things, which was ironic because back then, you and everyone who knew him, had always teased him for being the quieter type. 

But the truth was you never fully understood ‘quiet’ until he was gone.

It was during the height of summer when he’d bring you dahlias. With his endless knowledge of everything that lived and breathed, you quickly learned the meanings — purple for dignity, yellow for joy, white for purity. His mixed bundles were his way of telling you that, to him, you were all of the above.

Dignified. Joyful. Filled with the purest form of love. 

They weren’t always your favourite but over time, you had grown to love them because they reminded you of him. Since the day he left you, it took you longer than you wanted to admit to stop weeping every time you saw one.

Still, you made the effort to bring some home whenever they were in season. It was akin to pretending that he was not truly gone but just somewhere else for a while.

As the last day of summer transitioned, you sat on the porch, watching the sky deepen into the hours before dawn. The dahlias in the vase beside you were wilting, petals curling as if bracing for the inevitable chill of autumn. Your chest tightened, knowing what that meant.

People used hourglasses to measure time. You had flowers.

You brushed the fragile petals with your fingertips, and for a fleeting moment, you were taken to a time when your world was whole.

It was a late evening when you and Alhaitham sat in silence, surrounded by the last blooms of the season. He had been reading, and you simply watched him, content with the quietness. Amused, he rose from his spot to pluck a single dahlia from the garden and tucked it behind your ear. You were baffled, he noticed in your face, but you relaxed when you were met with his eyes. They were honest and made your skin grow hot. They were worth a room full of gold.

It had been years since Alhaitham passed. The grief dulled but it never left, lingering like a curse that could not be broken. You tried to move forward but summer always brought him back.

Something as simple as a stroll on the beach was enough to tug at your heart because the sand bore one less set of footprints, the warmth of the sun graced one less body, and sometimes when the sea breeze came, you felt the echo of his presence behind you as if you were still walking, hand in hand. 

But it was the dahlias that hurt the most. They mostly bloomed in the heat and every summer, they seemed to grow just for you, as if Alhaitham was sending them as a reminder. 

Closing your eyes, memories came flooding in like waves, threatening to pull you under into the past. You remembered how his hand brushed against you the day he made you his and your fingers involuntarily twitched at the thought. In his bedroom, the air was thick with the scent of earth and flowers, and sunlight spilled lazy shadows onto the wooden floors through his sheer curtains. Your lips quivered because you never forgot how it made you feel when he leaned in and kissed you. You could still taste the sea salt on your lips.

Time stretched endlessly that day but time caught up with everyone, eventually.

You exhaled a shaky breath, your jaw was trembling.

Summer always ruined you.

Grief, no matter how much time passed, always weaved its way back in. Saying goodbye to him never felt final. He lingered in the corners of your heart, in warm afternoons, in the bloom of the dahlias.

When a cool breeze brought you back to the present, you felt the world shake. You opened your eyes just in time to see one of the petals lift from its stem and float away. It danced through the air, weightless and alone, waiting to disappear into the night. You watched it until it was out of sight, lost to the starless sky.

“Goodbye, Alhaitham,” you whispered. You even thought you smiled a little, too. 

For the first week of autumn, you returned to the porch, waiting for a hint of rain and watching for any sign of encroaching storm clouds. You breathed in and out. It was time for the axe to fall.

Goodbye, Alhaitham.

The dahlias will come again next summer, and with them, so would your memories of him. 

© 2024 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform.

networks: @houseofsolisoccasum @nereidsrealm

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

[daydreamofrevi]

𝗘𝗣𝗜𝗦𝗢𝗗𝗘 𝗢𝗡𝗘 - 𝗥𝗔𝗦𝗖𝗔𝗟 𝗗𝗢𝗘𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗗𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗠 𝗢𝗙 𝗔𝗕𝗡𝗢𝗥𝗠𝗔𝗟 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗔𝗖𝗧

► ACT ONE: rascal does not dream of purple hat guy

─ episode one: the famous actor "scaramouche"

previous episode, masterlist, next episode

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You, a teenager with [hair color] and [eye color], stares up at the ceiling of the small room.

"Hey, do you want a kiss?" His voice echoed beside you causing you to turn to him

'I know it wasn't a serious offer. He was clearly messing with me.'

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.

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'Wait, who is he?'

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You yawned stretching your arms as you opened the curtains of your window. When you went over to leave your bedroom, you noticed a notebook laying there open in your desk.

You look at it confused but picked it up to read the contents inside:

“What is written hereafter is truly something unbelievable, but everything is the truth, so make sure to read until the very end. You have to."

"What the hell is this?" You muttered, but reluctantly read more.

"May 6th. I met a wild hat guy, ___________ ______."

You titled your head. 'Huh? It's blank?'

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───────────────

MAY 6TH, 2014

───────────────

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You browsed through the novel section, glancing at each cover before moving onto the next ones. You knelt down and grabbed a book from the bottom of the bookshelves.

You normally didn't visit the local library, not intentionally but whenever you do see it sometimes when you are out, you take the time to check what do they have in store today.

But after getting a bunch of learning books for kids, you decided to check the usual aisles of genres you normally read.

However, as you flipped through the pages of the book you picked, you suddenly perked up at the sight of something totally strange that walked past you.

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A boy with indigo hair that seems one year older than you walk around with such exquisite yet strange clothing. It was mostly black with red, purple, and gold accessories and accents that helped make him stand out. It definitely didn't look like something an ordinary person would wear, as of today. You didn't know much but it seems like clothing back in old history.

You can't help but find him attractive but what caught your attention was his hat that was more noticeable since it was something people wouldn't usually see them wear. It reminded you of some of the hats you usually see, but you haven't really seen someone wearing it.

You were baffled when that guy with such a nonchalant and calm expression just went around looking like this especially in a library, but what confused you was that nobody seemed to take notice of him.

He seemed to be going around, waving to some at people's faces and even sitting at some working tables and yet no one seemed to see him.

"What the hell?" You muttered. You, who was still in an aisle, walked slightly towards him while rubbing your eyes to make sure you weren't imagining, and he was still there. It confused you even more and questioned how everyone but you were not seeing him.

You snapped out of your own thoughts when your eyes met. He didn't seem to react at first as he made his way towards you and waved his hand in your face.

You stared at his soft hand before looking up and finally muttering. "Uhm, hello?"

He was still calm as ever, but you caught the slight surprise in his eyes. He backed up before saying. "You can still see me?"

You nodded, confused. He stared at you before suddenly walking away without a word.

'The hell?'

Before he could take himself out of the door, you followed him, saying. "Um, you’re Raiden-senpai, aren’t you?"

As he was talking to you earlier, you finally realized who he was. He has forever been the talk in the media so you immediately recognized him and his voice gave it away. But also-

The boy looked back at you. "If you’re calling me “senpai”, it means you go to Hoyoshin High School, right?"

"I'm [Name] [Last Name], a second year."

"I'm Scaramouche Raiden, a third year."

You nodded, muttering. "I know. You’re a celebrity."

"I’ll give you one warning." He said, looking into your eyes deeply. "Forget about what you saw today. Also, I better not hear a word that you saw me in this, and we will remain as strangers."

"If you understand, then say “yes”."

You just gave him a confused stare and that somewhat agitated him, making him let out a scoff but he didn't bother as he turned away and walked out of the library.

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'Interesting.' You shrugged before going back to browse.

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───────────────

MAY 7TH, 2014

───────────────

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Ever since your encounter with the said actor, you couldn't get your mind off of it. Hell, you'd say you couldn't even sleep normally because of it. You even relive that moment by having a dream of him back in the library.

He said to forget but there was no way you could.

You stirred awake as the slight ray of sunshine beamed through your opened window. Rubbing your eyes tiredly, you glance down to notice something adorable that made you smile.

You quietly went out of the bed before grabbing your blanket to tuck your sister in more. But she seemed to awake at the action, making her groan and look up to see you.

"Good morning, Qiqi." You smiled.

"Mm... Morning, [Name]..." She sat up, mimicking your actions of rubbing her eyes.

"You came back to my room last night?"

"I couldn't sleep that well... I came here to sleep better."

You laughed, patting her head. "Well, you are welcome anytime, okay, Qiqi?"

She smiled slightly, nodding.

"Come on, let's go make breakfast together." You helped her out of your bed, carrying her in your arms and walking out of your small bedroom.

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In Hoyoshin High School, everyone walked up to the campus all together whilst talking and catching up to each other. Even though it was completely packed every time, it's always been like this.

And you usually walk alongside with two of your friends since you normally see them often than most of your other friends who you later see in classes.

"Hey, Albedo?" You started as two of your friends' glance at you, especially the platinum blonde boy. "...If you were to see someone that dresses up like a prince or something magical, what would you do?"

"...Very interesting description, [Name]." He chuckled slightly, confused. "Although, I probably wouldn't do anything."

"Why not?"

"Maybe that person likes to dress up like that."

"They'd just be a psycho then."

"...How about you, Kaeya?" You said, glancing at your other friend.

The blue haired boy shrugged, grinning. "I guess I only just gawk at their outfit, y'know?"

"Hmm, yeah."

Just then, your eyes trailed over and noticed someone familiar, he was walking alone although he did receive glances and stares from the people walking beside him before they quickly went back to talking to their friends.

He was clutching his bag while keeping his head down

"...Hey, you guys see Raiden-senpai there, right?" You asked blankly.

"Mhm." Albedo nodded, glancing to who you were looking at.

"What do you guys know about him?"

Kaeya stared at the back of his head as he replied. "Well, he is a celebrity. But I heard he was on a hiatus."

"Why?"

"Dunno."

The platinum blonde boy glanced at you with a curious gaze. "Are you interested in Scaramouche, [Name]?"

The other friend smirked slightly. "I bet they moved on from y'know who, even though they have no chance."

You shrugged, nonchalantly. "I wasn't going to ask him out anyway, let alone be in love with him."

"Watch it, he might be your future boyfriend, y'know?"

"He's attractive but I doubt it."

Despite that, you look back onto his figure. Even though he's popular around the media, you barely see him with anyone, and he doesn't really interact a lot with your school so you can't tell what kind of person he is.

All you can know from him is that he dresses up fancy in libraries.

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"I heard from a senpai from my club that apparently Raiden didn’t come to school at the start of his first year." Albedo said, getting out his lunch.

You still ended up being a bit more curious than usual before and luckily you had two amazing friends to tell you more about this purple hat wearing guy and they are just here to report back to you as you three eat lunch.

You titled your head at the info. "Why?"

"Because of work. He declared that he was going on hiatus straight out of middle school, but he was locked into some prior titles, so he was apparently busy. He didn’t seriously go to school until after summer break."

"That's quite rough for him." Kaeya commented whilst eating.

"It is."

You hummed, glancing down before taking a bite out of your sandwich.

'Raiden-senpai, the celebrity who started school midway through the first year, is totally an outsider.'

'Once the class takes its shape, it doesn’t change easily. Others will talk behind your back if you stand out, calling out annoying or a show-off.'

'And once that happens, everyone knows that there’s no going back. That’s the kind of atmosphere a school has.'

'Nobody can approach Raiden-senpai to talk to him.'

'They don’t want to stand out or be isolated. That’s why Raiden-senpai is also reading the situation and pretending to act accordingly.'

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After school and saying quick goodbyes to your friends, you walk down the empty street before reaching the train station. You let out lots of yawns on the way because school was always tiring.

When you reached it to wait for the train, you then noticed him.

Scaramouche was also seemingly here for the train as well, waiting as he stood there with his eyes closed and earphones.

"That’s gotta be Scaramouche Raiden!"

"Huh?"

You glance to see two people, one already with their phone out as their friend stands beside them, their eyes looking behind the back of Scaramouche who still stayed like that calmly.

"See? That’s totally him! I’ll take a pic just in case." The one with the phone grinned while the other laughed in fascination.

They tried zooming in a bit more to get his face since they were facing behind his back. "Come on, look this way a bit more."

You acted quickly and calmly walked over to be in the phone's vision, blocking Scaramouche from it.

Their eyes widen, lowering their phone. "Oh… Huh? Wh-Who the hell are you?"

You stared at them blanky and spoke. "I’m a human. What are you, an ogling photographer?"

"Wha?! Why, you!" They were about to retaliate but their friend stopped them.

"Stop that. Let’s go." They said, tugging at their arm and the two walked away.

As soon as they left and you can barely see their figures, you silently went over beside Scaramouche.

He seems to take note of your presence as he removes his earphones, looking over at you. "Thanks."

"Huh?" Your eyes widen slightly, a bit taken back.

"What? Did you think I’d get mad and tell you to mind your own business?"

"Yes."

"I thought about it, but I’m holding it in."

"Then I wish you didn’t say that, either."

He sighed, looking up ahead. "I’m used to stuff like that."

"Even so, it wears you down inside, doesn’t it?" You mumbled, following his gaze.

"Not like I can do anything about it."

Then Scaramouche picks up his phone to see his manager calling, but he let it ring and not picking it up.

"Are you not going to answer that?" You asked curiously as the train finally arrives and stops in front of you both.

Scaramouche turned off his phone. "The train is here. Besides, I know what that woman wants."

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You'd never think you would sit next to a famous celebrity on your way to school, but you thought it was honestly fine since he was your upperclassmen. But the thought of sitting next to a celebrity did make you think in many different ways.

You slightly glance at him who had a nonchalant expression as he stared down at his phone. Even though this felt quite awkward, you'd thought his good looks made up for it.

"About that thing yesterday…" You started a topic as a conversation, but he quickly cut you off.

"I warned you to forget about it, didn’t I?"

"That outfit was too majestic to forget."

"Don't tell me you started to get erotic thoughts about me in that outfit."

"And if I was?"

He shrugged, glancing down at you. "Well, I'm totally fine with it."

You look up and meet his eyes. "Really?"

"Only if they are younger people."

"What if I was an old geezer?"

"Then die."

"Gladly."

Scaramouche scrolled something through his phone as he changed the topic. "Hey, [Last Name]."

"You remembered my name." You muttered with slight joy.

He ignored your comment as he continued. "I saw the rumors about you, something about a violent incident where you sent three classmates to the hospital."

"I’m honored that you’d take an interest in me."

"It’s really amazing, all this information about one individual being out in the open like this."

He opened and showed his phone out to you making you lean forward to read it yourself.

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1) [Name] [Last Name] - Sent 3 Classmates To The Hospital After A Violent Incident in Middle School. They moved outta Liyue - where'd they go?

2) What's this Hospitalization Incident?

3) So scary lolol

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You hummed, but didn't really react much. "I didn’t know it was written about to this extent, though."

He raised an eyebrow. "You don’t look it up yourself?"

"I don't have a smartphone." You said, leaning back on your seat.

Scaramouche stared at you, eyes widening slightly. "Really?"

You crossed your arms. "I used to, but I got frustrated and tossed it into the ocean."

He stared at you with slight bewilderment and a bit of annoyance. "At least throw trash in trash cans." He sighed, looking out of the train's window before speaking again.

"You don’t have any friends, do you?"

"I do. I have three, even."

He gazed back at you again. "Can you say “even” with just three?"

You shrugged. "They came to me first. I appreciate it, really. But if no one else wants to be my friend, then I don't mind at all."

"So, you basically don't socialize?"

"Not really. It's too much of a hassle. All I can do is really just make my friends my friends for the rest of my life."

"Well, good luck with that, I suppose." You then turned to him, your expression remaining blank but has a hint of curiousness. "So, what did you think about the hospitalization incident rumors?"

He hummed, thinking before responding. "It’s pretty clear after some thought. Someone who caused such a huge incident couldn’t attend school like nothing happened."

"I wish my class could hear that."

"If it’s wrong, then you need to tell them as such."

"A rumor is kind of like the atmosphere, isn’t it? Lately, the atmosphere is something you need to read. That “atmosphere” labels you as a bad person if you can’t read it. And the people creating that atmosphere don’t have a sense of participation, so it’s foolish to try and fight against the atmosphere."

"So you’re leaving misunderstandings be and giving up before even fighting."

You nodded and he stayed silent after that. He was seemingly trying to process your perception since he couldn't help but agree with it.

You couldn't contain yourself and asked again, glancing over.

"Your turn to talk, Senpai. What was all that about yesterday?"

"Didn't I say to forget this?"

"I want answers."

"You won't stop asking until I tell you, will you?"

"Yes."

He sighed, looking down at his lap for a bit. You feel like you'll hear a lot more about his thoughts through a long story but you were ready to listen to it.

"I made my debut when I was six years old."

"After getting the lead role for the morning drama series, I was always in the public eye with television, movies, and commercials."

"There wasn’t a day when I didn’t see Scaramouche Raiden on TV." You commented.

He nodded, continuing. "It was fun in the beginning, but it gradually became more stressful. People would notice and say “that’s Scaramouche Raiden” everywhere I went…"

He said as the train finally came up to your guys' stop, you both sat up and walked out of it but Scaramouche continued while you listened beside him.

"… and at some point, I started wishing that I could go to a world where nobody knew who I was."

"I first noticed that people weren’t able to see me at the beginning of a four-day weekend."

"On a whim, I went to the aquarium."

"Alone?" You asked.

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that bad?"

.

The boy was lucky nobody seemed to recognize him since that would've caused chaos a bit and that allowed Scaramouche to walk around the aquarium freely.

But he yelped, bumping into someone's shoulder. He looked behind to see that person talking to someone and not even sparing a glance at him.

He thought a bit rude, of course.

And when walking around a few moments later, he moved out of the way for someone when they were about to bump but they didn't seem to acknowledge him either and just continued on.

He looked around, bewildered and off-guard.

.

"I thought it was just me at first since they were focused on viewing the fish."

"But when I stopped in a cafe on my way home…"

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"Uh, excuse me?"

He entered the cafe and quickly going over to a waiter who was cleaning up a table yet he didn't see to hear him as he was still cleaning.

Scaramouche thought he didn't hear him so he spoke a bit louder. "Excuse me..."

Just then, the cafe's door opened with the bell ringing causing the waiter to turn to the door, welcoming in another customer with a smile. "Welcome."

Scaramouche was literally in between the two and it was like he wasn't there at all, making him more shock than ever.

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"Was it a shop where you did something so terrible that they banned your patronage?" You asked, standing beside Scaramouche as he opens a locker in the train station.

"Of course not." He muttered.

You glance down and noticed something interesting. "Senpai, your foot…"

"Is something wrong with my foot?" He said, slightly pressing his shoe more on your own foot.

"No, I’m ecstatic that you’re stepping me."

"How thoughtful." Scaramouche snickered, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, I quickly left the cafe and went home, but after returning to back, everyone saw me normally."

"So I went around, seeing if something similar would happen in other places." He closed the locker to pull out the bag containing the fancy purple and black outfit you saw him once yesterday in the library.

You hummed, realizing. "So that’s why you were dressed like that."

He looked back at you, smirking slightly. "Looking like this, people would stare if they saw me, right?"

"True, I did gawk at your outfit, especially your hat."

"And not my face?"

"Well, your face was the best part." You went up to follow and catch up to him. "So you’re going out as a wild hat guy again today?"

"That's a dumb name but I'll take it. And, yes I will so don't get in my way."

Scaramouche stopped by a small stall inside with you watching from behind.

"One dark chocolate bun, please." The lady running didn't respond at all, only just fixing up the money in the cash register.

He frowned, a bit frustrated, slightly raising his voice. "Excuse me. One dark chocolate bun, please."

No response which made him silent, looking down.

You stared at him before asking loudly. "Excuse me. One dark chocolate bun."

The cashier looked up, responding to you with a kind smile. "Okay. Just one?"

"Mhm." You nodded. As the cashier worked on the order, you glance at Scaramouche with slight pity. Seeing that he's slowly becoming invisible to everyone was concerning.

He met your gaze before looking away.

.

"Aren’t you at all troubled by this?" You frowned as you both walked out of the train station together.

Scaramouche held and looked down the bun you bought for him in his hand. "Yeah. Not being able to eat dark chocolate buns here is a problem."

"But do you actually believe this insane story of mine?"

"I know what stories like this are called."

You glanced at him, muttering. "It’s “Adolescence Syndrome”, right?"

He stopped momentarily before turning to you with a firm gaze.

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───────────────

ADOLESCENCE SYNDROME:

Abnormal Experiences During Adolescence Due To Sensitivity And Instability

───────────────

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"Adolescence Syndrome, huh… "

You both walked together on an almost empty street together as the sun was setting down. You'd never thought you would let a celebrity as famous as him let you walk you back home.

You recounted back at what you know. "Hearing other people’s thoughts or seeing another person’s future or swapping bodies with someone else… Rumors of that nature started being called Adolescence Syndrome, though nobody knows who coined the term."

"That’s just an urban legend." Scaramouche scoffed before looking up to where you both stopped at. "Hm? What’s this?"

"My apartment."

Seeing the slight skeptical look, he was giving you, you responded quickly. "I won’t do anything to you. There’s something I’d like to show you so you’ll believe me when I say that I believe you."

.

You opened the door and allowing him to step inside first before you closed the door behind.

He glanced around, seeing the tiny living room and the small dining table in the corner and the only separate room was the kitchen was just as cramped as everything around.

He didn't want to press and question anything so he went up and follow you to your room.

Scaramouche glanced around, crossing his arms while humming. "Hmm… You keep it rather clean."

"Senpai, you-"

He cut you off, slightly annoyed. "Stop with that “Senpai” thing. I don’t recall ever becoming your senpai."

You titled your head. "Then Raiden-san?"

"I don't really prefer the '-san' a lot. Besides, I'm not really a big fan of my last name."

"Then Scaramouche?"

"My name is a big too long."

"Then how about I shorten it? Scara?"

"Hmm, that works I guess." He looked around the room again as he said. "I'm not really liking [Last Name] so I'll just call you [Name]."

Scaramouche then looked back before gasping and blushing at you suddenly removing the top of your school uniform and you did it with a nonchalant expression like you didn't even care at all.

"Wh-Why are you stripping?! You said you weren’t going to do anything!" He blushed madly, glaring before looking away. "You're Filthy! Perverted! Exhibitionist!"

You throw away your shirt to reveal your chest having three giant claw marks across. It's a permanent scar since it was dried and not bleeding on your chest. (a/n: for females- your wearing a bra in this and for males- you aren't, okay? lol)

Scaramouche looked down in slight shocked, frowning. "Ah… That’s real, isn’t it?"

"You think there are idiots who’d wear special make-up like this?" You muttered.

He approached you warily, a bit concerned. "Can I touch it?"

"Go ahead." You shrugged.

Reluctantly, he only touched the scar a bit carefully but that touch caused you let out a noise.

"Ooh."

"Don't make any weird noises." He glared up at you.

You mumbled, staring up at the ceiling. "It’s a bit sensitive there, so please be gentle."

He hummed, trailing his finger down slightly. "Like this?"

You let out a small blush. "Ah… That feels really good."

Then that blush faded away when Scaramouche pinched your stomach caused you yelp and scream out of pain.

"Gah… Ow! Let go!"

"You just seem to be enjoying this." He stared at you in annoyance before releasing. "Well? How'd you get those scars?"

You rubbed your stomach as you shrugged. "Actually, I’m not really sure."

You pulled something from your desk's drawer and showed it to Scaramouche.

He took it before his eyes widening slightly at the picture.

A small girl with purple hair sat on a chair as there were small different cuts all over her body of arms, legs, and face.

"That's is my little sister Qiqi. She wasn’t assaulted or anything, just bullied on the internet."

"I don’t get what you’re trying to say." He muttered.

"There was something about not replying to a message… A girl who was the leader of her class started hating her, and people wrote all sorts of insults in social media groups. And then, one day…"

.

"Welcome home, Qiqi." You smiled at her before going back to play your video games.

"[Name]..." She muttered weakly.

"Hm? What's wrong-" You gasped, exclaiming.

Small bloody cuts appeared suddenly formed and appeared all over her face, arms and legs making you shocked.

You were confused at how cuts formed everywhere all at once, it was something completely phenomenal.

"Qiqi!"

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You frowned, remembering that memory. "This is why I believe Adolescence Syndrome really exists."

Scaramouche look up solemnly before his eyes trailed over. "Then is your wound from back then, too?"

You nodded. "I have no idea how or why. I awoke one morning covered in blood and was hospitalized."

"Ah… Is that the truth behind the hospitalization incident?"

"Yeah, I was the one sent to the hospital."

Suddenly, your bedroom door opened, and you both turned to see Qiqi peaked over cautiously as she nervously opened the door.

"[Name]...?" She muttered before her eyes darted over to Scaramouche who was sitting on your bed. She seemingly flinched at the sight of a stranger

You smiled, reassuringly. "Don't worry, Qiqi. He's a senpai from my school."

He nodded to the little girl. "I'm Scaramouche Raiden, nice to meet you."

She stared at him in slight fascination before she muttered something under her breath.

You leaned forward, smiling. "She says her name is Qiqi [Last Name]."

Then you noticed your cat entered the doorway with Qiqi muttering also about her

You turned back to Scaramouche. "And she says this is our cat, Xue."

"Hmm, thank you for telling me." Scaramouche glanced at her.

Qiqi nodded silently before walking off back to her own room.

You chuckled slightly and turned back to the indigo-haired boy. "Sorry about that. She’s very nervous towards strangers. Nowadays, she loves the house so much, she doesn’t even go to school anymore."

"So she doesn’t know about me?" He asked.

"That’s because she doesn’t watch much TV. For Qiqi, distancing herself from the internet subsided her symptoms from Adolescence Syndrome. That’s why I threw my smartphone into the ocean."

He stared at you, looking back down on his lap before muttering. "So you’re saying my case bears similarity to this?"

"I mean, you’re reacting to the atmosphere at school perfectly. So to avoid making the situation any worse, it’s better for you to return to show business."

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow, staring at you in slight confusion. "Why’s that?"

"If you stand out a lot on TV, everyone else won’t leave you alone, even if you play the role of the atmosphere. Besides, you seem to want to return yourself."

"When did I ever say such a thing?"

"Well, that depends on you. I think you should do what you want. You have the skill and experience and even a manager who eagerly awaits your --"

"She has nothing to do with this." He scoffed, standing up. "Mind your business."

He grabbed his bag, leaving your bedroom with you trailing behind him. "I'm going home."

As he was about to walk out of the door of your apartment, you waved slightly at him with a blank look. "Bye, Scara."

The boy stared at you before giving you a slight glare which made you confused as he left.

'...I think I said something I shouldn't have said. Sorry.' You sighed, going back to your own room.

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'And ever since then, Scaramouche hasn't shown up at school.'

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"Hey, Albedo, do you know why Scaramouche Raiden said he was going on hiatus?" You turned to him who was just drinking.

"To the public, I think it was to focus on her studies." He muttered at your question.

You and Albedo worked together as waiters in the same part time job after school at a small restaurant that wasn't too far away from your high school.

Your friend worked here as to earn a little bit of extra money while you were doing the job to provide for yourself and Qiqi.

And currently, you two were on a break until the manager came in, looking for you specifically. "[Last Name], the news anchor is here again."

You looked at him in slight confusion but went out of the break room before you realized and remember who the manager was referring to.

You approached her with your notepad in hand. "Welcome."

She beamed, smiling. "Hi, [Name]! It's nice to meet you."

"You too, Charlotte. Do you want anything to order?"

"Hmm, I'll take a small chocolate cake."

"Got it." As you wrote her order down, the pink haired girl looked up before saying.

"Hey, [Name]?"

You gazed up at her. "Yes?"

"I apologize for some of the member of the Steambird's persistence in regard to your incident of your scar." She sighed. "I understand of wanting to get scoop like me but I wouldn't dare if that person isn't comfortable at all."

"Thank you, Charlotte. It's no problem at all." You smiled slightly before it turned to a frown as you look up at her. "Hey, Charlotte? Would you know the reason why Scaramouche Raiden went on a hiatus?"

Charlotte eyes widen slightly before laughing. "Well, I might know some info that isn't released to the public."

You looked up at her, curiously.

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"Hey, [Name]? I heard you've taken a interest in Raiden-senpai lately. What's up with that?" A girl with green hair spoke curiously as she mixed the cup of coffee. "I thought you wouldn't get over him."

You laughed slightly with a sigh. "Why is that Kaeya, Albedo, and you also think like that?"

Sucrose smiled, sliding over a bottle. "Here, add sugar if you would like."

"Is that safe?" You raise an eyebrow.

"It’s probably sugar inside. I mean, it’s white." She then focused back on her beaker. "So what did you want to ask me?"

You hummed. "Hmm, Sucrose… Do you think it's possible that people can suddenly stop seeing others?"

"Is something wrong with your vision? I think an optometrist is a better choice."

"That's not it. I mean not seeing someone who's right there, like an invisible person."

"What will you use it for?"

"Nothing. I'm not into scat."

Sucrose hummed, looking down as she stirs her coffee. "If you’re referring to Adolescence Syndrome, you know I'm really against that concept."

"Right? It's not logical at all." You nodded. "That's why I want a logical explanation from you. For instance, I’m sitting right in front of you, Sucrose. Is it logically possible for me to become invisible to you?"

She stared before replying. "Yes, if I were engrossed in something or just spacing out. The human brain can filter out things you don't want to see, too."

"That’s true. But if it isn’t something like that…"

"There is also the observation theory."

"Observation theory?"

Sucrose sat up straight, looking at you. "The theory that the existence of something is confirmed only when it is observed."

"Surely you’ve at least heard about the cat in the box, right?"

"Hm?" You gasped slightly. "Oh right, that was..."

She muttered. "… Schrodinger’s Cat."

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'When Scara was still available acting, he certainly did exist. And he was observed by everyone around him.'

As you exited the train after coming back from school, you stopped by and went over to the same small stall that was selling different kinds of food and treats.

You stopped in front of it. "Excuse me? One dark chocolate bun, please."

"Okay, coming up." The cashier nodded, going over to prepare for it.

As you watched her, you asked curiously. "Hey, do you know of an actor named Scaramouche Raiden?"

She looked up, confused. "Hm? Who?"

"Y'know, the child actor who got became famous in that morning drama."

"Ah, sorry, I don't know of an actor by that name."

You hid the slight disappointment as you shook your head. "Oh, it's okay." You smiled, quickly paying before swiftly leaving the train station.

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'The fact that people no longer remember him means not only that people cannot see him but also that his existence in itself…'

As you gasped at that thought, you picked up your walking pace to quickly rush back to your apartment complex.

Your mind was thinking of possibilities that you might end up...

When you went to the floor, you panted, and your eyes widen in surprise as you saw someone you didn't expect.

Scaramouche looked up, hugging his knees to his chest as he sat by the door of your apartment. He frowned, slightly glaring. "Took you long enough."

You sighed in relief before you smirked slightly, approaching him. "Did you want to see me that bad?"

He rolled his eyes. "Not at all." Then his stomach growled causing him to clutch his stomach, looking away.

"You’re starving, huh?"

"Shut up, you suck."

"I'm more or less aware. Did you not eat anything?" You slid down to the floor beside him, sitting down in the same position.

His expression turned grim as he muttered. "...I can't buy anything. Over the past two weeks, I've become invisible to more and more people. No one in the train station can see me anymore."

"Hmm, luckily, I came prepared." You smiled, handing him the bag that contained the dark chocolate bun treat. "You want this?"

Scaramouche reluctantly took it from you before glancing at you. You gave him a soft smile in which he looked away, but you can tell there was slight gratitude in his eyes as he opens the bag and opens the bun to take a bite, finally starting to fill up a bit of his hunger.

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'May 6th. I met a wild hat guy.'

'This was the beginning. This is how we met. There’s no way I can forget.'

'You must remember, even if you forget.'

I'm counting on you, future me.'

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─ episode one: the famous actor "scaramouche"

previous episode, masterlist, next episode

[eisforeidolon]

I'M PISSED OFF BY MISHA'S ATTITUDE AND LIES TOWARDS JARED!

HE'S GONE TOO FAR. SAYING THAT THING ABOUT JARED AND PLAYING THE VICTIM WHEN HE IS ACTUALLY JUST A LYING NARCISSIST. I DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW PEOPLE CAN STILL SUPPORT HIM AND BELIEVE IN WHATEVER HE SAYS.

JARED SHOULD REALLY SUE HIM AT THIS POINT FOR WHAT HE'S SAYING ABOUT HIM.

You know, I was trying to remember yesterday just how many times it's been now where Misha has surpassed himself in being a bitter, gross, ungrateful and jealous little troll to the point it astonished me. Like, did he really say that?!? Wow.

Like, it started out with the occasional sly imprecation and it seems like the more irrelevant he becomes and the more he's gotten away with? The more emboldened he's gotten to just tell more and more blatantly ridiculous and even potentially harmful lies. I kind of feel like at this point, until he openly says something so absolutely, undeniably putrid that J2 find out and cut him off, it really is going to keep escalating indefinitely.

I mean, I honestly find the fans letting him get away with it less baffling than him doing it in the first place. Because we've already seen that in their desperation to pretend getting canon D/C is the most important cause ever in LGBT+ history, they will believe anyone who tells them what they want to hear and try to throw anyone who they see as "in the way" under the bus. So, yeah, Misha could bitchslap their grandma and run over their dog and they'd still live up his ass. Talking any level of shit about Jared is a-okay with them, because they already want to believe he's evil for Sam existing at the center of SPN instead of their shitty ship. Not only that? But at the end of the day, they really have nothing to lose. Their wackadoodle online behavior isn't likely to have any impact on their IRL lives, and even in terms of online lives? For the most part, they could slink away from their batshit heller identities tomorrow and have a clean slate.

Misha though? Like, what the actual fuck are you doing, dude, you're not just burning real life personal and professional bridges, you're trying to nuke them from orbit. Sure, he's not getting any new roles because anyone in the business of hiring can see the caliber of his "acting talent" in the last several seasons of SPN. But is he really that confident he thinks no level of backstabbing is going to get his ass booted from conventions and any potential revival? Can he actually be stupid enough to have bought so far into the smoke his stans are blowing up his ass to think that he's actually as indispensable as J2? One line about how Cass is busy in heaven and boom, he's acceptably accounted for to the majority of the GA.

Even the nicest, most forgiving person in the universe is going to eventually say enough is enough. Basically accusing Jared of endangering his life to try and make his own actions of flushing Jared's phone look less shitty by comparison is ... I don't have words. How much lower can he even go? Unfortunately, I suspect we'll continue to find out.

[biggie-chcese]

ranking rain code lets plays on how much i enjoy/would recommend them

hi did you know i am incredibly autistic about this game and have watched, in full, several lets plays of it? and im still going? haha yeah im normal. anyway here goes... all lets plays ive watched from best to worst:

#1 Highest recommendation: JustOneGamr. ESPECIALLY for people who are going in blind. im so serious. it's the best way to experience as much of the game as possible without playing it yourself. They go through all of the content, side quests, gumshoe gabs, profiles, DLC, and even most of the flavor text. it's also a no commentary run, which i personally see as a massive boon because they aren't influencing your opinions of the game

#2: Pixel Partners. they've got real good vibes and they actually do the side quests. it's also fun to listen to their theories and see their reactions. they're one of the few who dont spend their time complaining and give more valid constructive criticisms than others. they also have the funniest reaction to the chapter 5 reveal

#3: JohnAwesome. his humor sometimes isn't particularly for me but boy is his lets play enjoyable. also has lots of positive vibes and is generally pretty entertaining. i dont remember if he does side quests but im pretty sure he does. he will easily make chapter 4 even more gut wrenching thanks to a very specific kind of incompetence on his part, which in hindsight is really funny

#4: NyanCave. they're pretty fun and also have great vibes! i like their chemistry a lot. they have some pretty good theories and good jokes, but they will spend a lot of time on responding to chat donations. this is fine like get that bag kings but if you're impatient like me it might get annoying after a while lol. it's especially bad in chapter 5, where the tension dies because of their waifu fight donations

#5: NicoB. I was never really a NicoB fan because he's a bit too loud and high energy for me, but his rain code lets play is still pretty good! he seems to have fun playing the game and even has a few good jokes. i think he does the side quests which is a plus but i could be misremembering. i still quote "and now back to yuma crackhead" to this day so there's that

#6: Faz Faz. This another no commentary run but for people who are in a rush. they go through the game as quickly as possible. frankly, i think these kinds of lets plays are not as good as the ones that go through the sidequests, but hey, it's there if you just want the main plot and gumshoe gabs

#7: Save Data. I don't recommend this one to people experiencing rain code for the first time because they will talk over the cutscenes and dialogue and that will get annoying. they also complain quite a bit about the same things over and over which can also get tiresome (im sorry guys i do Not care about graphics as much as you do). however, they're really funny and it's good for a second or third experience of the game. "this city..." is a highly prevalent vocal stim for me thanks to them. they will shit on on the game often though, so if you really love rain code and dont want to hear that, then avoid this one lol. but you do get to see my art at the end of their vids! that's pretty cool!

#8: Rat Attack. i straight up don't recommend this one. it's easily the worst one i've seen and that's sad because i really love their pngtuber avatars. they're not finished with the game yet and that's probably because they spend so much time ranting and yapping about everything else, or just concocting the most baffling theories known to man and spending wayyy too much time on them. you will also hear a lot of unfunny halara gender jokes sorry. sometimes they are funny in other ways but it's honestly not worth it unless you're like me and keep watching out of obsession for the game.

that's all the ones ive watched in full (so far)! here's a couple others i haven't seen in full but have seen small parts of:

Weeby Newz - she's got some fun reactions from what ive seen and is pretty funny too. i have only really watched her play chapters 4 and 5 though, so i cant give a full opinion. i dont care for yakou fathero as a concept though and she seems pretty heavy on that, but if you like that you may enjoy her let's play. i may go back and finish it soon!

CurtStreamy - genuinely very funny from what ive seen though in chapter 5 his whole crew has a pretty fundamental misunderstanding of makoto's character, which can be a little irritating. either way, most of it is great but his live chat sucks. i still need to watch the rest in full to form a full opinion

CrystAAHHL - ohhh she did Not like this game lmao. she is a based makoto enjoyer though. i only watched the highlight reel though i think watching her full streams would just make me tired. i personally dont like watching lets plays if the person playing isnt having any fun

JazzyGuns - unfinished but she is really funny and has good vibes. if you can cope with her probably never finishing the game then go for it

khee chu - im still in the process of watching this one in full but it's fun so far. i will say CHECK OUT KHEE'S MERCH AND SHINIGAMI X JUNKO ART!!! THE ART IS RLY CUTE!!!!

and that's everything! there's other lesser known ones out there but im just one guy i cant watch em all despite how determined i am to do so </3 above all else i want people to get the game but like, yknow, some folks dont got $60 to spend on a game lol. anyway have fun and happy watching!

[torchickentacos]

This week on 'incredibly minor things that don't warrant a post but I'm here anyways': I'm researching a thing for a thing, unimportant. Anyways, someone on reddit (kindly and openly and curiously) asked ballet dancers what their day-to-day experience was like so they could accurately write about it. One highly upvoted response stood out to me, in a negative way: "There's nothing we can tell you that can match doing actual research"/ (brief sentence about how they're a dancer) /"Please don't use us on the cheap like this".

Like...? Is OP not researching? How is asking people of a profession about details they'd want a writer to know 'using them on the cheap'? They're seeking out first-person accounts of the real experience, and if that isn't a form of research, then what is? Asking people their firsthand accounts and experiences is a form of compassion and responsible writing.

And it's not like they were asking someone unprompted on the street and bothering them. No. It's on reddit. People have the option to ignore and scroll past, only answering if they want to. I don't know why this bothered me so much, but it's really getting on my nerves, honestly!

I think of it like this. From a disabled standpoint, using something I know all too well, you can write a disabled character based on Ncbi.nlm.nih.gov studies and medical journals and lists of symptoms and real medical research, and it's going to fall flat because that does not capture the disabled experience. You can write about a character getting dizzy when they stand up from POTS, but without talking to people who experience it, you'll miss the ways it actually affects our life. You can read about the symptoms I experience, but only through talking to me will you hear about how I can never carry everything I need to because my cane leaves me with only one functional hand, for example. It's a third leg and minus-one hand. Regular research won't get you accounts of that life experience. I'd say the same principle applies here for hobbies and sports and professions- there's things that regular research does not encompass, and asking for firsthand, real-life experiences is a STELLAR step to be taking. I'm disheartened that someone would assume that was 'using them on the cheap'.

[dmclemblems]

“Claude in Hopes is exactly the same way he is in Houses! He’s always been like that and has the same feelings/morals!”

Claude in GW/Hopes:

Claude, literally, in Houses:

Let that speak for the fact that Claude was written with a 180 characterization in Hopes.

Claude wants peace and to bring everyone together; not to tear them further apart. That is his character.

[alexcabotgf]

not to be true crime posting on main but i think i'm falling down the wm3 rabbit hole again

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

If there is at least one thing I can credit FE for doing better than Tales in localization, it's not trying to actively go out of their way for an entire game to avoid subtext or direct text between two men that is romantic or implied romantic. Funny when it's so present that the attempt doesn't even work; infuriating that it was attempted to begin with.

So as much as I often have issues with some of FE's localizations, at least they have a leg up on loc Tales for that.

[suckinitup]

gets up on my little stage with my secret little four followers blog and turns off reblogs. i think that a lot of current mcyt/mcyt fandom rn would be defending anne rice literally suing fanfic writers who shipped her characters. creators do not have a say in fan works or fan spaces for a REASON. they dont get to say what we make just like we dont get to say what they make. if we dont like their work we can avoid it just like if they dont like ours they can avoid it- UNLESS. someone else. decides to shove it in their face. can you fucking imagine. youve got this one story trope that you absolutely hate or that makes you really uncomfortable and this one jackass keeps showing it off to you. and that is somehow the norm for some of these fandoms??? i have seen elder fans cringe away in HORROR at the concept of how involved mcyt creators are in their fanbases. i grew up writing fics plastered with "I DONT OWN THIS" disclaimers on a website that, straight up, Did Not Allow You to post about certain works by certain authors. if an author didn't want you to create any fanwork, you Were Not Allowed. Doesn't that sound familiar. stories are built on top of other stories on top of other stories on top of other stories. it doesn't matter if someone creates something that grosses you out- all those authors who were disgusted by the queer shipping of their characters were ABSOLUTELY grossed out. the point isn't protecting the creators from others' creations the point is to take inspiration from something you love and to MAKE !!

[whoreiaki-kakyoin]

Some people have aggressively stupid takes on censorship, fictional content, kink…. But then also in irl sex and relationships, too, and it’s exhausting. If you are a grown adult wringing your hands about how you could never date anyone two years younger than you or getting your panties in a twist over regular safe consenting sex practices/acting like safe and consensual k.ink is inherently abusive…. Then your brain has been so thoroughly rotted by online puritan discourse and you need to get off of twitter and experience the real world. Genuinely. Hope this helps.

[starlit-mansion]

i am overall glad that i left comedy nerd spaces (esp since i got out while the getting was still good and i didn't have to hear other people make their bad jokes about the various creeps ousted from their thrones with credible accusations of sexual misconduct), but i do sort of mourn that an entire swath of my foundational nerd knowledge is rendered useless by exclusively staying in a space that thought john mulaney was a wholesome friendly good guy for three years until he eventually displeased them

[plantpest]

@ the anons in my ask telling me i'm a bully: have you ever wondered what the world could be like if you gained some basic reading comprehension?

[starswallowingsea]

Every single one of those posts that tells people they should at least reblog some of the stuff they like has the replies FILLED with people saying that you can't tell anyone what to do and like. yeah i guess there's always been lurkers on here but like. you realize the people saying this are doing it because they love the culture on this site and don't want to see it taken over by people who refuse to engage with content in a meaningful way.

you don't have to reblog every single thing you like (and hell since reblogs are now something that can be turned off, sometimes you cant) but like. you should reblog some things. whether its memes or fanart or fanfic or informational posts or whatever. you could also try to start a gimmick blog that posts a specific type of content and you can utilize the tags to get out there since plenty of people do check general tags on this site. you can also have side blogs if you want! which can be themed around specific things! this is also a super common thing!

you're new here so you're still feeling things out and trying to get your foot in the door so just start reblogging content and following people. i know some of you are looking to gain a big following really quickly but tbh growth on this site is incredibly slow so you have to be patient and you have to put in the effort to get real people interested in following you, and your reblogs can say a lot about you

[hedgehog-moss]

I went to a restaurant with a friend yesterday and upon entering we saw these splendid blueberry tarts under bell jars on the counter and we made jokey small talk with the waitress like oh, people will fight over these if there's not enough for everyone, it'll tear families apart, are you making more later? and she said no, I'm afraid that's our entire stock for today, but there are 18 slices, it should be plenty! It was a small village restaurant with only one menu du jour so there weren't any other dessert options but they don't usually get that many customers—but then a couple of large groups arrived and most people noticed the tarts like we did, and went ohh blueberry tart, it's been a while, I can't wait, and it became clear that when we'd get to the end of our meal there would be winners and losers in the blueberry tart rush

But later as we were about to order dessert I wasn't hungry anymore and I was like well that's too bad but someone else will be glad to get 'my' slice of tart—and my friend said yeah, me :) You should order it anyway, I'll eat both! At first I thought she was joking, but no. I said, there's not enough for everyone, you can't take two, and she said, we were going to order two slices, what difference does it make? and I was baffled that she couldn't see the ethical difference between two people eating one slice of tart each vs. one person eating two, when there's a limited quantity of tart. I felt like we were in a simplistic social justice metaphor it was so obvious, but there was no changing her mind. When I said "it's just... not nice" she said "okay" with a shrug, and what can you say to that. She added, you don't know any of these people and I was like, why are we reverting to tribal dynamics in a non-apocalyptic setting, how would you feel if we'd arrived a bit later and seen others ordering two desserts knowing you'd get zero? And she said, I would think that's their right, and I felt kind of amazed.

I pointed out that if she didn't think it was a wee bit wrong, she wouldn't ask me to order her second piece as if it was for me, and she said yeah maybe we don't need to do that, there's no law preventing me from ordering two desserts. What about Kant's categorical imperative Okay I guess you're not breaking any laws by taking more than your fair share of a thing other people also want, just failing a kindergarten-level morality test. I felt embarrassed for sounding like an annoying preachy rigid person so I dropped the issue, and as she ate her two slices she'd smile at me every time we overheard someone order coffee without dessert—like "See? There'll be enough, no one will be deprived of tart because of me!" as if that cancelled the fact that she didn't care in the first place. I guess it was one of these tiny issues that can still significantly alter the way you perceive a person. I tried to tell myself not to be so bothered about this small thing but I was! so bothered. And I felt like writing a letter to some agony aunt like "should I end a friendship over irreconcilable blueberry tart ethics"

[incognit0slut]

Crawling back to you

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Simmons!Reader Summary: You never planned on having a casual fling with your brother's friend five years ago, nor did you expect him to fall in love with you, which forced you to end things abruptly. But now he's unexpectedly back in your life—older, wiser, and fully intent on winning your heart. Content: (18+) >12k words, reader has commitment issues, he’s the softest softdom i’ve ever written, female oral, fingering, unprotected p in v, a little squirting? teeth rotting fluff and a chaotic ending because who am i without my crack humor A/n: This is for @imagining-in-the-margins FWB writing challenge and somewhat a celebration post for 7k milestone. Idk how that happened but tysm :( I hope you like this as much as I did writing it because matt simmons is so underrated??? I’m also freaking nervous with this i haven’t posted a new fic in a while so please please please be nice i feel like throwing up

Surprise has a way of stopping time. Although you're not sure you can call it that. What you’re experiencing is more than just surprise, it’s the kind of feeling that makes you freeze in place. It’s not just a jolt to the system—it’s a full-body takeover. Your breath catches, your heart skips, and your thoughts scatter like leaves caught in the wind. How could they not, when the last person you expected to see is standing right in front of you, clad in the most questionable clothes?

You almost laugh at how absurd he looks. He’s wearing an oversized hoodie with a tacky “Washington D.C.” print sprawled across the front. It’s baffling why he’s draped in that shapeless thing over his freakishly tall frame, but it’s too hard to focus on something so trivial when you’re still grasping with the reality of seeing him again. You really can’t believe it. Spencer Reid is here. The Spencer Reid.

The guy whose heart you broke five years ago.

You should have seen this coming. In fact, you kind of did, when your brother’s friends came rushing into the hospital room, their voices a chorus of “oohs” and “aahs” as they crowded around the newborn cradled in Kristy’s arms. You exchanged polite greetings when they noticed you—Penelope even pulled you into a tight hug, gushing about how amazing you looked—and thankfully, there was no sign of him.

But you’d almost allowed yourself to believe he wouldn’t show up. When the small space became overly crowded, you stepped out into the waiting room to catch your breath… only to find him standing a few feet away with JJ.

And just like that, all the air seems to vanish from your lungs.

You had a plan, of course. In the back of your mind, you always knew a chance meeting was inevitable, whether you liked it or not. And that plan was simple. You’d offer him a polite smile. Exchange a few words, nothing too personal. You’d be friendly but distant, always make sure to keep the kind of composure that says you’ve moved on, and that the past is just that: the past.

But those well-laid plans seem fragile now, almost naive as you suddenly caught his smile. Now how do you stick to a script when your heart is starting to rewrite all the lines? Or blur the lines specifically, when the past and present merge so seamlessly that you’re reminded of the first time that same smile had charmed you.

You’re suddenly thrown back to that day five years ago, when your brother had thrown a barbecue cookout to celebrate some joint investigation his team had wrapped up. You didn’t know the details—didn’t really care to, if you were honest—but Matt had called you and insisted that you join him.

You hadn't thought much of it at the time. It sounded like another family gathering with a few new faces. But that was the day you met Spencer, and what began as a simple introduction quickly spiraled into something much more complicated. Really complicated. Because as charmed as you were by his smile, he had wanted something more from you when all you could offer him was your body.

So you ran away.

Although not very far, because apparently, he’s standing a few steps away from you, five years later. And the worst part? He’s now very much aware that you’re here. You watch as his jaw slacks open as he takes a double-take. You’re rooted in place. JJ, on the other hand, tugs his sleeve as she notices his demeanor slowly shutting down. She turns around to see what’s caught his attention, and when she spots you, a huge smile spreads across her face.

"Hey! You're here!” You force yourself to look away from him as she moves forward. You reciprocate the hug she throws at you. "How are you?”

You’re not entirely sure how to answer. How do you even explain that your heart just did a triple backflip and landed somewhere near your stomach? Or that you’re seconds away from having an internal existential crisis because, of course, the universe would choose this moment to throw Spencer Reid back into your life?

There's really no good way to sum that up. So instead, you plaster on a smile that probably looks more like a grimace and reply, "Good. I’m good.”

JJ doesn’t seem to notice the strained edges in your voice. “It’s so nice to see you again! How long has it been?”

There’s a moment of silence as you try to gather your thoughts. But before you can respond, Spencer’s voice suddenly cuts through the quiet. It’s soft, almost hesitant, as if he’s been holding onto this detail for far too long, but every syllable rings in your ears.

"Five years," he says. "Five years, three months, and seventeen days."

Your stomach does another flip. JJ raises her brows, her eyes darting between you and him. You carefully meet her gaze. "Actually, you and I met up last year.”

“Oh, right!” She exclaims, her face lighting up as the memory clicks into place. “You were in town for a conference, right? I totally forgot about that.”

“You were in town last year and you didn’t tell me?”

God, he’s making it terribly hard for you to keep your composure. You throw him a sidelong glance. “I didn’t know you wanted to see me.”

His expression shifts slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. He looks at you as if your words sounds ludicrous to him.

“I always want to see you.”

You can't decide what surprises you more, the fact that he still wants to see you after all these years, or how easily he says it. The words roll off his tongue so casually, so effortlessly, as if the weight of your shared past doesn’t cling to them. And to make matters worse, he's saying this right in front of JJ, who is now staring at him, clearly scrutinizing the significance behind his words.

You quickly shift your attention to her, forcing another smile. "So, are you going to head inside?"

JJ blinks at you. “Oh, yeah, I probably should.” She turns to Spencer and gives him a quick but knowing glance. "See you on Monday, Spence."

You glance at him. “You're not going to see the baby?"

"Spencer’s got something he needs to take care of,” JJ chimes in. There’s a slight edge to her voice, like she knows exactly what that ‘something’ is, but she doesn’t elaborate. She gives him one last look before heading inside.

You catch yourself looking up at him again. “You’re leaving?”

Spencer pauses, studying you carefully, his brow furrowing just slightly like he’s trying to read between the lines of your question.

“I was,” he says softly.

There’s a sudden tightness in your chest. “Right.”

“But now I don’t want to.”

There it goes again, the butterflies in your stomach. This is exactly why you didn’t want to see him. You knew that once you looked into his eyes, heard his voice, it would stir up everything you’ve spent five years trying to bury. You’d told yourself it was better to pretend that whatever happened between you was nothing more than a stupid choice. But now, standing here with him so close, you can feel all those walls you built crumbling down with just a few words.

You finally look at him, like really look at him. It’s impossible not to notice how he’s changed over the past five years. There are faint lines around his eyes now, signs of age that wasn't there before. His hair is longer, a little messier. It curls around his ears in a way that makes him look almost boyish, yet undeniably charming which suits him more than you'd like to admit.

But even with all the changes, his smile—gentle and just a little shy—remains the same. That smile reminds you of a time when things were simpler, where it was enough to convince you that you didn't have to keep your guard up all the time. But then you remember the reason you walked away, and his smile becomes a little harder to look at.

Because while he's changed, grown, matured, so have you, and you're not sure if there's room for the person you are now in the space that once belonged to both of you.

His eyes scan you in the same way you’re assessing him. “You look good.”

Your mouth twitches at his words. You didn’t expect him to be so straightforward. “Thank you.”

“You’re even prettier than I remember.”

The sigh you let out is long and weary. He really knows how to push your buttons.

“Spencer. Don’t.”

“What?”

“You can’t just say things like that after—” You hesitate, crossing your arms. "After everything. What happened to 'Hi, how are you?’. Or maybe something simple like ‘What have you been up to? Anything new?’”

He blinks, clearly taken aback by your abruptness. “Okay. Hi, how are you?”

You cast him a wary glance. “Good.”

"What have you been up to?"

"Work."

"Anything new?"

"No."

He pauses again, his eyes searching yours before he asks, "No new boyfriend?"

You frown. “Huh?”

“Girlfriend?”

"Spencer."

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"Spencer."

He smiles sheepishly, his shoulders sagging slightly. "You're right, that was inappropriate. I didn't think I would see you again, it’s throwing me off a bit."

“You didn’t think I would be here for my newborn niece?”

His smile turns into a grimace. "I guess I wasn't thinking clearly." He shifts on his feet, fidgeting with his fingers—a small, familiar tic that you hadn’t seen in years. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

“It’s fine,” you reply, though there’s no real bite to your words. His nervous energy is making it hard to stay annoyed. Your eyes narrow on his oversized hoodie again, the casual, almost careless choice that seems slightly out of character for the Spencer you remember.

He seems to notice you staring so blatantly. “What?”

“You look funny.”

A hint of surprise flashes across his face. “You think I’m funny?”

“Different,” you correct. “Did you raid someone’s closet on your way here or something?”

"Oh… I had to change my clothes. I got wet at the park earlier.”

You glance towards the window with a frown. "It's not even raining."

"I ran through the sprinklers."

The cease on your forehead deepens. Even that sounds so unlike him. Spencer Reid doing something that carefree in public?

“You ran through the sprinklers? Alone?"

You notice his expression shift as the question leaves your lips, something very subtle, but you’ve known him long enough to catch it. The way his eyes flicker, the slight hesitation before he answers, makes it obvious. There’s a hint of something unspoken in the way he looks at you, and suddenly, it all clicks into place.

He wasn’t alone.

You look away. It's ridiculous, you think. To feel this somewhat… jealous when it should be the last thing on your mind because, really, what right do you have? What you had with him wasn’t even a relationship to begin with. But despite all the logic in the world, you can’t help the pang in your chest, the twist of something bitter and familiar curling in your gut.

"It's not what you think," he slowly says.

You force a small, awkward laugh, trying to brush it off. "I wasn’t assuming anything. It’s none of my business, anyway."

"No, really, it's nothing like that." he insists, scrunching his nose in the way he does when he's trying to think. "I mean, I did meet someone at the park, but it’s not like… what you might be thinking. We were just talking, and… and then there were these sprinklers and it wasn’t really planned or anything, then she—well, technically, we weren’t even alone the whole time because there were other people around, and it’s not like we—”

“Spencer, you don’t have to explain—” you begin, but then something dawns on you. “Wait, is this what JJ was referring to? Did you… Did you have plans?”

You notice his Adam’s apple dip as he swallows. "Kind of," he admits. “But it wasn't anything serious. It was just, you know, a casual thing.”

You can't help the way your stomach knots. Casual could mean anything. Maybe a simple coffee between two friends, or even a lighthearted conversation over lunch. But in your experience, at least in the book you and Spencer had written together in the past, casual had always meant sex. And now, hearing him say it about someone else feels like a punch to the gut you hadn't expected.

You suddenly feel foolish for letting your mind go there, for assuming that whatever he meant by casual was the same thing it had meant for the two of you back then. It's been five years, and so much has changed. Maybe casual means something entirely different for him now, and you're the one stuck in the past, reading into things that no longer hold the same weight.

He must have noticed the slight falter in your expression, the way your eyes momentarily cloud over with something you can’t quite hide. He takes a step forward. "It’s really nothing.”

You take a step back. “Even if it is, it’s really not my business.”

“But it’s not,” he urges. He’s suddenly so persistent, and you can’t help but feel the embarrassment gnawing you at how easily he can read your mind. It's one thing to wrestle with these feelings privately, but having them so clearly acknowledged makes it all the more humiliating. You can’t believe you let yourself get so worked up over something that shouldn’t matter this much.

You eye the exit door. “I need to go.”

"Right now?” His brows knit together in confusion. “But your family’s here."

You’ve only spent a few minutes with him and you’re already running away.

"I just remembered I have to take care of… something."

The excuse sounds weak even to your own ears, but you don’t wait for his response. You quickly turn on your heel, and when he calls out your name with concern, you force yourself to keep moving, scurrying off down the hallway.

Me: I'm heading back first Big bro: You okay? Me: Bad headache Big Bro: You didn't eat anything, did you?

You scoff. What is it about your brother always zeroing in on eating whenever you complain about feeling off?

Me: You know I did. Just not much Big Bro: That’s what I thought. There’s some leftover dinner in the fridge. And check the second drawer in the kitchen, there should be some ibuprofen Me: Yes, Dad Big Bro: Don’t get smart with me Me: 🫡 Big Bro: Drink lots of water Me: Yes, sir. Anything else on your mind while you’re giving out parental advice? Big Bro: I’m just trying to keep myself from dragging you out of my house if you collapse Me: 🙄 Big Bro: The kids are staying with Kristy’s parents, I’ll drop by tomorrow morning Me: Okay Big Bro: Call me if you need anything

You toss your phone down on the bed, then let out the most exasperated sigh. Spending your Saturday night in your brother’s guest room is the last thing you expect to be doing, let alone faking a headache just to avoid confronting a situationship from the past. You honestly thought you’d outgrown this kind of avoidance, but here you are, slipping back into old habits as if no time has passed at all.

Ironically, your mind stumbles into the past, and you remember a conversation you once had with Spencer. It was during one of those nights when you both were tangled in each other’s arms. You could faintly remember the conversation started with him talking about his work.

He never actually told you the details of his cases, but he liked to share his thoughts on the different complexities of the human mind. And on that particular night, he was rambling about the psychological concept of avoidance, which he claimed to have detected the first time he spotted the bad guy. He went on at how people often retreat into familiar behaviors to protect themselves from discomfort.

At the time, you had brushed it off with a joke, teasing him about overanalyzing everything when the situation had already played out. But now the irony isn’t lost on you. You’re doing exactly what he once explained. It’s almost laughable if it didn’t sting so much to realize how right he was.

A sharp ding from your phone pulls you out of your thoughts, and one glance at it tells you exactly who’s messaging. The name on the screen makes your chest tighten, but you don’t even give yourself a moment to consider responding. You quickly turn the phone to silent, push yourself off the bed, and head straight for the kitchen. True to your brother’s words, there’s leftover pizza in the fridge, but the idea of reheating it doesn’t seem appealing to you.

You reach for the bottle of wine instead.

The red liquor tastes like butter, or something close to it. It’s similar in the way the liquid melts over your tongue, spreading warmth through your chest and settling comfortably in your belly. By the time you're sipping the second glass, you feel more relaxed, but then the sharp sound of the doorbell ringing cuts through the calm.

You glance at the door from the position of the couch. You have a strong feeling about who it is. But as much as you're sure of the who, what really gnaws at you is the why.

You hesitantly make your way toward the door, and sure enough, when you pull it open, Spencer is standing at your brother’s doorstep. The corner of his lips turns upward in an awkward, almost apologetic half-smile as if he’s unsure of how to begin or whether he should even be there in the first place.

You lean against the doorframe. “Did Matt tell you I was here?”

He gives you a pointed look, his eyebrows raising slightly. “No, but it wasn’t hard to figure out.” You throw him the same questioning look, and he explains, “This is the only place you’d stay in town because not only do you hate staying alone at a hotel, but Matt wouldn’t let you even if you tried.”

You can’t believe he still remembers your offhand comment about sterile hotel rooms. It’s one of the reasons you used to prefer staying at his apartment whenever you were in town.

“Why are you here anyway?” You ask. “I thought you had plans.”

He pauses for moment as if deciding how much to say. Finally, he clears his throat. “Can I come in? I’d rather explain it inside.”

"I don't think you owe me any explanations about what you do with your time," you reply, crossing your arms.

"Maybe I don't owe it, but I want to give it.”

“Which isn’t necessary.”

“But appreciated, I hope.”

You find yourself caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. You tell yourself not to read too much into it, but there's a part of you that can't help but soften at his words. Maybe it's the way his eyes reminds you of melted chocolate as he stares at you that makes you want to let him in, despite your better judgment.

You pull the door open. “Fine, but take your shoes off. Kristy’s very serious about hygiene.”

He does as he’s told and tucks away his shoes on the rack by the door.

“Do you want anything to drink?”

He shakes his head slightly, offering a small smile. "I'm good, thanks."

You nod and gesture toward the living room. He follows you, and as you both approach the couch, he instinctively moves to the far end, settling down cautiously as if not wanting to invade your space. You take a seat on the opposite end.

“So, what do you want to talk about?”

He leans back slightly, resting his hands on his knees. You can tell he's trying to gauge your mood, figure out how much to push and when to hold back. "Do you remember when we went on that date at the street fair?"

You frown, remembering how you had missed your bus home in one of your trips here and ended up wandering at the fair with him. “That wasn’t a date.”

"Fine. Do you remember when we went to the street fair together not on a date?"

“I remember."

His shoulders relax a bit at your response. “You spent ages deciding what to eat and you ended up choosing that little Korean stall in the corner. We had to walk a bit further to get there even when your shoes were hurting you.”

You think back, internally scolding yourself for wearing those damn boots that day. “You thought I was being ridiculous.”

"I didn't think it was ridiculous. I just didn't get it at first. Your feet were practically covered in blisters."

"I really wanted kimchi."

"I could tell, and it took me a while to understand why you went through all that trouble. Now I do.”

You glance at him, sensing there's more behind his words. “Why are you bringing this up?"

He meets your gaze. His brown eyes looking a little more golden underneath the dim light. "I guess this is me choosing.”

“That you’re craving for Korean?”

He gives a soft, genuine laugh, the kind that starts in his chest and reaches his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. “Not exactly,” he says and leans a little closer. “What I’m trying to say is, that’s how I feel right now. I'm here because I want to be, not because it's convenient, but because it’s you.”

There’s a subtle flutter in your chest, and your skin prickles with a familiar warmth as he speaks. Your heart beats a little faster, not enough to be alarming, but just enough to remind you that you’re not as unaffected as you pretend to be. You can feel your palms start to sweat, and there’s that almost imperceptible hitch in your breathing that you hope he doesn’t notice.

“Spencer…” You don’t even know how to start. “It’s been five years."

He nods slowly. “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do. A lot of has changed since the last time we saw each another, and you’re here acting like we both separated on good terms? Don't you hate me?”

His brow furrows slightly. “Why would I hate you?”

“Because I broke your heart. I—" Your voice falters as you struggle to find the right words. "The moment you told me you were falling in love with me, I... I ran. I couldn’t handle it. I pushed you away like a coward.”

“You weren't a coward, you were scared. And maybe I didn’t understand that back then, but I do now.”

You shake your head. “But I hurt you.”

The sigh he lets out is heavy, yet there's something deceptively calm about it, almost as if he’s already made peace with the past. “You did what you thought you had to do, and sure, it hurt. But I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I realized that I don’t blame you for needing space. It wasn’t about me not being enough, it was about you needing to protect yourself.”

His words start to chip away at the wall you’ve built around your heart. “I thought you’d hate me,” you admit quietly.

“I could never hate you."

You lower your gaze, your fingers fiddling nervously with the edge of the cushion. “Alright, let’s say you choose me. Now what? What is it that you want?”

He pauses for a moment, his fingers curled into his palms. He looks away briefly, taking a deep breath as if gathering his thoughts, then returns his gaze to you. “I want another chance.”

If you were surprised to see him at the hospital earlier, this is something entirely different. There’s something akin to panic fluttering in your chest. It’s amusing, really, how the human body reacts before the mind fully comprehends as if your heart knows what’s coming before you do. You can feel it in the way your breath catches, in the way your stomach knots with a nervous energy you can’t quite shake. Because how do you even react to that?

You finally turn to face him, leaning your head against the back of the couch. This moment feels like some sort of déjà vu, and just like the last time, your mind is already bracing itself, preparing to give him the same answer you did back then.

“You know it’s never going to work.”

He mirrors you, but instead of the frustration or sadness you half-expected, there’s a gentle smile on his lips. “You sound so sure.”

“That’s because I am,” you reply. “I know what you’re asking for right now, and we don’t function like that. Not in the past, at least.”

“How did we function?”

“Based on sex.”

“And what do you think I’m asking for now?”

“More than sex, which isn’t going to work."

“Why not?”

“Because—” you start, but the words catch in your throat. You’re not even sure how to explain. The fears, the doubts, the past... all of it feels too big, too overwhelming to articulate in a way that makes sense.

“Because the idea still terrifies you?”

You frown, caught off guard by the directness of his question. “No.”

The smile stretches even more across his face. “Then give me one good reason why you think so.”

"Oh I can name a few."

He studies you, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s trying to read every thought racing through your mind. “Let’s make a deal then. You give me those reasons why we can’t work, and I’ll give you reasons why we can.”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering his offer. It’s bold, almost reckless, and yet... there’s something in his eyes that makes you want to accept the challenge.

"And if your reasons aren’t good enough?"

“Then we’ll deal with that when we come to it,” he replies softly. “But I’m willing to bet we won’t have to.”

"You really think you can convince me?"

"I can try." He leans a little closer, just enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from his body. "So, what’s your first reason?"

That’s too easy, too obvious. “You’re one of my brother’s closest friends,” you point out. “What happens if this doesn’t work out? I don’t want to put him, or us, in that position.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “That didn’t stop us in the past.”

You scoff. “Spencer, we were sneaking around behind his back. It’s not exactly the same thing. This… whatever this is, it would be out in the open, and that’s a whole different level of complicated.”

“It would be different, yes. But that doesn’t mean it has to be a problem. If anything, it shows how serious we were then, and how serious we could be now.” You scrunch your nose at his response. “Now what’s next on your list?”

"Uhh.. the distance! You’re in D.C., and I’m not. It’s not like I can just drop everything and move closer.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re a three-hour drive away, maybe two if I take the expressway. And honestly, with how much we both travel for work, I don’t see how that’s an issue.”

His reasoning is so undeniably logical you feel a flicker of annoyance, not at him, but at how easily he’s dismantling your arguments.

“You didn’t even want to visit me back then.”

"You were the one who didn't want me to. You kept saying it was easier for you to come here.”

His words hit harder than you expect. You remember all the times you insisted on making the trips yourself. You'd convinced yourself it was about convenience, but with him calling you out on it, you realize it wasn't about convenience at all. It was about keeping things on your terms, maintaining a safe distance even when that distance wasn't physical.

"Well, I had more flexible hours," you claim. The excuse is flimsy, and the way Spencer looks at you—patient, but not fooled—makes it clear that he sees right through it.

You try to think of your next reason, although the words seem to get stuck before they even form. You know you can easily rattle off more excuses, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes it harder than it should be.

“That’s it? You’ve only thought of two? I was expecting a bit more of a challenge.”

You scowl at him. "I didn’t say I was done."

"Take your time," he comments, leaning back slightly, still wearing that infuriatingly patient smile.

You huff softly, trying to regain your footing. "Okay, how about this? Sex."

There's a beat of silence. "What about sex?"

You feel the words forming, but they sound ridiculous even in your own mind. Still, you force them out of your mouth. Your subconscious is urging you to come up with more excuses to keep him at arm’s length. "That was all that we had. What if… what if we just fall back into the same patterns?"

“Don't you think that's a reason why we can work? If we were only ever about sex and we're still here, doesn't that show there's something more between us?"

“Or it just means we had a strong physical connection. That doesn’t necessarily mean there’s something more.”

“You really believe that? That all we had was just physical?”

“Yes,” you retort, though the confidence in your voice wavers slightly. Your eyes flicker away for a split second before you meet his gaze again. “That’s all it ever was and I don’t know if it can turn into something you’re trying to imply.”

He lets out a low, amused sound, as the corners of his mouth twitches upward. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m being realistic,” you shoot back. “What if we try, and it doesn’t work? What if everything falls apart because we weren’t good at anything but the sex?”

His eyes light up, and suddenly he’s wearing the most boyish grin you’ve ever seen on him. “So you're admitting the sex was good?"

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“You know what I mean. What we had was...” Wild? Passionate? Crazy-hot-mind-blowing sex? “…intense. But intensity isn't enough for a relationship. What if the rest of it doesn't hold up?"

He leans in closer, his hand hovering near yours on the couch.

“But what if it does?”

All you can do is stare at him.

“You’re giving me all these reasons to push me away again,” he continues. “But I’m here because I’m not afraid of those doubts. I’ve always wanted to give you more than what we had because you deserve something real. I want us to be real this time, and I think you do too, even if you’re scared to admit it.”

His words are affecting you more than you like to admit. You can slowly feel it in the tension building between you, it’s surprisingly not the uncomfortable kind, but the sort that pulls you in, that makes you want to move closer even though every instinct tells you to stay put.

And then it happens. You feel a slight tremor in your leg, an involuntary movement that causes it to brush against his. The contact is so light it's almost like it didn't happen at all, but it did. He notices—Of course he does—and now there’s a certain gentleness in his gaze like he knows exactly what's going on inside your head. He doesn't push, doesn't rush, just watches you with those impossibly kind eyes.

And in the softest, most careful voice, he asks, “Can I move closer?"

Your heart is pounding now, the rhythm echoing in your ears, in your chest, in the pulse at your throat. The sensation travels downward, a slow, steady beat that moves through your body, inching its way down your spine, tightening in your stomach before it settles low in your abdomen. It’s a heat that spreads outward until it reaches your core, leaving you acutely aware of every inch of space between you and him—and how much you want to close that distance.

You find yourself nodding. He shifts closer. “Can I touch you?”

You really want to say something witty, something that might deflect from the weight of the situation, but the words won’t come out. You can only manage another nod. He moves slowly, carefully, giving you every opportunity to pull back. But you don’t. You can’t. You’re rooted in place as his hand reaches for you.

His palm gently rests on your jaw. Your eyes flutter closed against your consciousness, and the tension that’s been coiling in your chest slowly unwinds, replaced by a sense of calm. When his thumb slides across your cheek, he speaks again. His voice is so close it's as if the words themselves are brushing over your lips.

"Can I kiss you?"

You inhale sharply. The word "Yes" hovers on the tip of your tongue, but you don't need to say it out loud. He can already see the answer in the way you’re leaning into him, and his mouth is on yours in an instant.

The reality is, you’ve kissed Spencer before. Plenty of times, actually. You know the feel of his lips, the way they can be both gentle and demanding, the way he tastes faintly of coffee or something sweet when he’s had a treat. You also think back to those hurried kisses in the past when time was short and the world was pressing down on you. Or the playful pecks that came with laughter. Even the desperate, heated moments when the need to feel something, anything, was too overwhelming to resist.

This kiss, however, isn’t like any of those. This one is slow, and achingly tender. His movements are unhurried. The way his lips glide over yours carries a deep sense of care, like he’s trying to memorize every soft curve. Just as you begin to melt in his arms, he pulls away slightly, not very far, but enough to hover close that you can still feel the heat of his breath on your lips.

There’s a tense silence as the tip of his nose brushes gently against your cheek. You can tell he’s giving you the space to decide what happens next, and there are a lot of scenarios running in your head. You could push him away, repeating history all over again. You could be in denial and pretend all of this never even happened. But something inside you snaps.

Maybe it’s the way he’s holding back, so gentle, so careful, too afraid of pushing too far. Or maybe it’s the realization that you don’t want him to hold back, that you need more, that you’re tired of resisting what you’ve both been dancing around for so long. Before you can second guess yourself, you’re clutching onto the fabric of his hoodie, tugging him closer.

He tenses for a moment, but the hesitation is gone almost as soon as it appears. His mouth finds yours again, and he lets out a deep, relieved sigh. You feel the soft, insistent push of his tongue against the seam of your lips. You hold onto him, parting your mouth eagerly before he slips his tongue with a desperation that catches you off guard.

Then his hands seem to be everywhere all at once, tracing the curve of your spine, sliding down to the small of your back, and brushing along the edge of your jaw. His fingers then tangle in your hair, tugging gently while his other hand skims over your waist. But when his hand slips inside your shirt, calloused fingers brushing your soft skin, you slowly pull away. “W-Wait.”

His eyes widen slightly, and you can feel the shift in his body. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” you say quickly, tugging him closer again. “I just… I think we should continue this conversation somewhere more… private?”

He pauses for a moment. “Really?”

“If you want to.”

A subtle smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Are you trying to seduce me for sex?”

You’re oscillating between being incredibly turned on and equally mortified. In a sense, yes, that’s what you’re asking. But you didn’t expect him to be so blunt about it. You don’t think he’s ever been this direct in the past, and now you’re wondering if you missed something before, or if he’s just tapped into a level of confidence you’re struggling to keep up with.

“Would it be inappropriate if I said that I am?” you ask hesitantly, and you can’t help but wince a little as the words leave your mouth.

“Since when have you been worried about being inappropriate with me?”

“Well, Spencer, if you haven’t noticed, there’s a five-year gap since the last time we slept together.”

His hand on your waist tightens slightly. “Five years too long, if you ask me.” Then he pulls you closer until there’s barely any space left between you. “You do realize this is you giving me a second chance, right?"

In a way, you do. You've spent so much time convincing yourself that you were better off keeping your distance. Walking away in the past was easy, but now… now it feels different. The years have stretched on, and the excuses you’ve made have started to wear thin. Especially when just being near him is starting to stir memories you thought you’d buried—some good, some less so—but all intense, all Spencer.

Maybe he's right. Maybe five years is too long to pretend that whatever was between you didn't matter.

You slowly meet his gaze. “I realize.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

You hesitate, not out of doubt, but because of the sheer gravity of what you're about to say.

"Maybe."

His sigh is audible when he hears your answer, and without missing a beat, he brushes the barest, lightest, most gentle of kisses on your lips. “Maybe is good.” Kiss. “I can take—” Kiss. Kiss. “—maybe.”

You think you should say something more, but all coherent thoughts scatter the instant his lips meet yours again. You return his kisses, hesitant at first, but quickly falling into a rhythm that feels achingly familiar. It doesn’t take long until his lips move into something more urgent. There’s a hunger there, a pent-up longing that he can no longer hold back. His tongue flicks against yours, teasing, coaxing, and you know you need to stop him before he starts to undress you right there on the couch.

You reluctantly pull back. “Bedroom. Now.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls you to your feet, and you’re practically dragging him to the guest bedroom. When the door closes behind you, he’s quick to guide you toward the bed, his hands firm on your hips as he steers you backward. The moment your legs hit the edge of the bed, he pauses, his hands lingering on your waist, and for a moment, he just looks at you.

“Having second thoughts?” You tease. The sarcasm drips sweetly in your voice, knowing full well he’s been trying to win your heart the entire evening.

“No,” he mutters. “I’m trying to see if you are.”

You draw back from his arms just enough to climb onto the bed and lay down in the middle. “Does it look like I am?”

He shakes his head with that cute, bashful smile. Although there’s nothing bashful about the way he pulls off his hoodie and tosses it carelessly onto the floor. The shirt underneath is crumpled, and his hair is even messier, sticking up in ways that make you want to run your hands through it.

“Come here,” you motion for him. Without hesitation, he crawls between your legs and leans in for another kiss. His hair feels like the smoothest silk when you finally reach for it. There’s a slight dampness from the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, the way it curls just slightly at the ends, brushing against your forehead as he dips his head to capture your mouth.

You don’t think you can ever get tired of kissing him. There’s a familiarity in the way he moves. His lips mold perfectly to yours, soft yet demanding, as if he knows exactly how to draw out the deepest parts of your desire. And you feel it everywhere. In your pulse, in your veins, all the way down to the spot between your legs.

It intensifies even more when his lips begin to trail down your neck. You feel the first warm rush of arousal pooling in your panties when he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your throat, the fluttering veins below your jaw with so much intensity as if he's taking every one of your heartbeats for himself. Your grip tightens in his hair as he marks another spot near your collarbone.

“I’ve missed this so much,” he murmurs as he slowly nips down your neck. “I’ve missed you.”

You can only hum a reply, your voice catching in your throat as your head starts to spin from the way his hands are now trailing down your side. He reaches the hem of your shirt and pauses, fingers lightly tugging at the fabric.

“Can I take this off?” He asks, pulling back slightly just enough to look down at you. With his messy hair falling into his glossy brown eyes and swollen wet lips, how can you possibly say no to him?

Without a second thought, you nod, your fingers already moving to help him with the fabric. His eyes never leave yours as he slowly lifts your shirt. It slides up over your skin, and you raise your arms to let him pull it off completely, tossing it aside without a care. Your bra comes off next, and when that follows to the floor, his eyes sweep over your body.

There’s a certain look in his gaze. Devotion would be too strong of a word, but it’s something close—something softer, yet just as intense. You’ve seen desire before, felt it in fleeting touches and heated glances, but this is different. This feels different. It’s as if his gaze is reaching into the spaces between your thoughts, gently pulling at the threads that hold you together to unravel you in the most tender of ways.

He kisses the spot between your breasts.

“You’re always so pretty.”

He gives a soft peck just above your heart.

“So incredibly beautiful.”

Then his tongue flicks along the delicate curve of your chest, making a slow, teasing trail upward until he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. He sucks gently, rolling it around with his tongue, and you’re mesmerized by the lewd scene of him drawing your flesh between his lips. Your fingers instinctively find their way back into his hair, tugging on the soft strands as he continues to lap at your sensitive skin.

He then shifts slightly, his mouth releasing your nipple with a soft, wet sound before moving to give the same attention to the other. While he suckles and nibbles on one hardened peak, he rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger, sending a rush of pleasure straight to your core. If you thought you were wet before, you’re certain you’re drenched by now. Your panties cling uncomfortably and the growing desire makes you ache to peel them off.

He must sense your growing need because his kisses trail lower, down to your stomach, while his fingers toy with the waistband of your leggings. His touch is teasing, slipping just under the elastic, and you instinctively lift your hips, silently begging for more. He takes his time as he slides the fabric down your legs, his knuckles brushing against your skin before discarding them somewhere in the room.

Your attention is on him as his palm dances along your inner thigh, and the closer he gets to where you ache him the most, the more your breath hitches in your throat. When his thumb brushes over the wet patch on your panties, your hips buck against him. “Spencer…”

He glances over at you and lets out the most appreciative sigh. You really are beautiful. Eyes full of lust, skin flushed with his marks. You’re a vision of longing, and every part of him is consumed by the sight of you. “Yes?”

You squirm under his gaze. “Aren’t you… going to take them off?”

A slow, teasing smile spreads across his face. “What, these?” He gives a playful tug at the edge of your panties, his fingers just barely slipping beneath the fabric before pulling away. “Are you sure you want them off?”

You try to hold back your groan when his thumb finds your clit. “Yes. I-I’m sure.”

He grins, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you, but instead of giving in immediately, he begins to circle your clit slowly with his thumb, watching your reaction closely. “On a scale from one to ten, how sure are you?”

Now he’s starting to get on your nerves. You can’t hold back the small huff falling from your lips. He simply laughs then slowly takes off the last piece of your clothing. The cool air instantly hits your skin as he grabs your knees, spreading your legs apart. He skims along your naked body and when you notice where his gaze settles, you swallow hard, suddenly feeling very shy.

It's kind of ironic, you think, how you've gotten this far, and now, of all times, you're suddenly blushing like a damn teenager. It's as if your brain is catching up to everything your body already knows—that this is real, and it's happening. You can't help but laugh at yourself a little. Here you are, all tangled up in each other, practically begging him to get you naked and yet you're acting shy now?

He seems to notice the shift in your mood, his hands pausing on your thighs as he looks up at you with concern. He tilts his head slightly, his brow furrowing. “Did I do something wrong?”

You quickly shake your head. “I’m suddenly feeling very self-conscious.”

He studies your face for a moment. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” you blurt out, more forcefully than you intended, your hand instinctively reaching out to grab his wrist. “I… I guess I’m not used to feeling this exposed in front of you.”

He shifts slightly, moving closer so he’s eye-level with you, his hands still resting gently on your thighs. “We’ve done this countless times before.”

“I know, but that was years ago. Things feel different now… like there’s more at stake, maybe?” You let out a sigh. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not silly,” he reassures you. He soothes the skin behind your thighs. “But you don’t need to feel self-conscious with me. You’re beautiful, and I just want you to feel as good as you make me feel.”

If he keeps talking to you like that, there’s no doubt you’ll end up giving him your heart on a silver platter by the end of this. He shifts lower down your body. “We can go as slow as you want,” he continues, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another. “Just tell me what you need.”

You take a deep breath as his soft stubble grazes your skin. “I need you.”

“Then you’ll have me.”

You watch with heavy lids as he drags his lips along your skin until he presses the most tender kiss on your cunt. He really wasn’t lying when he said he could go as slow as you want because every kiss is achingly gentle, barely more than a feather-light touch. It’s the kind of softness that makes you writhe beneath him, and before you know it, your fingers are tangling in his curls while your hips buck against his face.

There’s a slight vibration on your skin—it could be his laughter, or maybe just a hum of contentment—but you don’t bother deciphering it. You’re too lost in the sensation as his tongue breaches your folds. You peer down and watch as he trails the tip of his tongue through your wetness, slowly tracing up and down your slit until he flicks it against your clit.

You’re honestly gone after that. You’re not surprised, though. If there’s one thing Spencer Reid is good at, it’s knowing exactly how to use his mouth. Sure, he’s a bona fide genius who spouts off random facts and quotes obscure literature, but his mouth? His mouth is a whole different level of expertise. It’s almost unfair how good he is. It’s like he’s studied you, memorized every little thing that makes you go crazy, and now he’s putting all that knowledge to devastatingly good use.

And it’s not like he’s doing it just for your pleasure. It brings him the same deep satisfaction. His eyes are closed, and he seems to lose himself in the act, savoring every taste, every reaction, every subtle shift of your body beneath him. It’s as though he’s completely immersed in finding an almost insatiable need to drink in everything about you. His tongue delves deeper, swirling around your entrance before sucking gently on your folds, pulling the soft skin into his mouth.

You find yourself pressing his head closer to your heat. His eyes flickers up to you. “You’re back.” Your response is simply another push of his head. “Oh. Needy, are we now?”

"Mhm," you manage to squeak out, feeling a rush of wetness seeping out of you. He leans in, his tongue catching a bead of moisture before it drips further, dragging it between your slick folds.

Your grip in his hair tightens.

“Spencer…”

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, his lips curling into a smile before his mouth descends again, this time focusing on your clit. His tongue flicks over the sensitive nub before he gently sucks, pulling it into his mouth with a slow rhythm that has you gasping. Each motion is perfectly timed and you feel yourself growing even wetter under his attention. His tongue swirls, then flattens before he sucks a little harder.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel that familiar coil in your stomach. The pleasure builds steadily, the tension winding tighter and tighter until it slowly overwhelms you. Spencer seems to sense it too, his hands gripping the back of your thighs a little tighter, pushing them further apart as he continues with unwavering focus. He’s not rushing, though, he’s savoring it, but his slow motion is enough to make you snap.

Your hips jerk against his mouth, and he doesn’t miss a beat, holding you steady as he continues his ministrations. He’s relentless in his gentleness, coaxing every ounce of pleasure from you, even as you’re left gasping for air. When you finally come down from the high, Spencer finally lifts his head and places a final, soft kiss on your inner thigh.

“Do you still feel self-conscious now?”

It takes you a moment before you can answer. You smile lazily at him. “Not after that.”

He grins and pulls you up into a sitting position. “Do you think you can give me another one?”

“Spencer,” you breathe out. “Even if you gave me thousands of orgasms, I’d probably ask for more.”

The laugh he lets out is warm and infectious, the sound vibrating through you in a way that makes you smile even wider. “Well,” he starts, slipping his hand down your thigh. “The human body is capable of experiencing multiple orgasms in a relatively short period of time, especially for women. So technically, you could keep asking for more, and I could keep giving them.”

“Even up to a thousand?”

“Maybe not to that extent.” He pulls you close, and you lean your weight against him. “Hold on to me.”

You do as you’re told and somehow you find yourself in a new position. When he spreads your legs apart, your senses go on high alert again. “Spence?”

He kisses your cheek, your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. “Try to relax.”

A gasp escapes your lips as his fingers dive between your thighs. Try to relax? Try to relax? Men and their audacity to tell you what to do, especially when they're the reason you're so wound up in the first place. Because how are you supposed to relax when his fingertips are brushing ever so gently over your clit? How are you supposed to calm your breathing when he’s spreading your arousal up and down your folds?

And how are you supposed to keep your composure when he suddenly fills you with, not one, but two of his fingers?

You feel yourself slipping and he tightens his other arm around your waist. “Told you to hold on.”

He’s starting to annoy you, but you listen to him and bury your face in the crook of his neck. You take a deep breath as he starts to move his fingers. Soap, you decide. It must be his soap, because he smells clean and crisp, almost like fresh linen and a hint of something peppery. It’s almost distracting if it weren’t for the way his fingers are curling inside of you.

Then you feel that sensation again, the kind that ripples through every nerve of your body. At first, it’s manageable, an intensity you think you can handle. But when he suddenly changes his technique, everything shifts. His entire hand moves in a fast, up-and-down motion that catches you completely off guard, and before you know it, you’re whining, your grip tightening on him as your head falls on his shoulder.

The rapid pace makes your head spin. It feels like he’s pulling the control right out of your hands, leaving you questioning your own limits. You’ve seen yourself getting wet, you’ve felt yourself become drenched before, but you’ve never experienced anything like this. You never realized your body could produce this much liquid. It’s not an overwhelming amount, but more than you’ve ever seen from yourself, and it splatters against his hand, dripping down your thighs.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even flinch when your nails claw into his shirt. He keeps going, and going, and going, until the only thing you hear is your rapid breathing against his neck and the slick, wet sounds he’s coaxing out of you. You’re overwhelmed (in the best way, of course) but you can’t stop yourself from cursing as the sensation intensifies, multiplies even.

It's not until your body starts to go limp that he finally takes pity on you. He slows down, his fingers pumping lazily inside you. “Good?”

“How did you—when did you—” you exhale a long breath. “I can’t feel my legs.”

He slowly withdraws his fingers out, only to rub your essence over your puffy clit, and your hips jerk once more before he finally stops. You're a trembling mess once you sink into the mattress.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you do that before.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that in my life.” Your eyes suddenly feel incredibly heavy that you can't resist letting them flutter close.

He kisses the tip of your nose. “Still up for another one?”

You peer through one eye, and when you catch him starting to undress himself, your other eye shoots open. The nod you give him is eager. His smile widens as he shrugs off his shirt, and you can’t help but let your gaze drop to the line of hair trailing down his stomach. You wonder what it would feel like under your tongue.

"Wait."

Your eyes snap back up to meet his. "What?"

His face twists into a grimace. “I don’t have a condom.”

Shit. Neither did you.

You roll onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow and resting your head in your hand. “And you’re realizing this just now?”

“I was too focused with you."

And by that, he means giving you the most intense orgasm of your life. You watch as his fingers hover over his belt. “You really didn’t think of bringing one when you decided to come over?”

“My intention coming here wasn’t exactly for this.”

“Well, it would be great if you at least considered the possibility." You study his face and blurt out the first thing on your mind, “I don’t want to stop.”

He shifts his weight on the bed. “Me neither.”

“I mean… we could have sex without using one. We’ve done it before. Once.”

He recalls what you're referring to and lets out an amused laugh. “Are you sure? Didn’t you freak out when you realized your period was late?”

“That was a coincidence! I was stressed out at that time, but I’m safe now—I think.” You pause, brows furrowing as you start calculating your cycle in your head. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m not ovulating.”

“Pretty sure?”

You give him a look. “No, I’m actually sure. I know my body, and I’ve done the math. See?” You gesture vaguely, as if the numbers and facts are floating in front of you. “No ovulation in sight.”

The corners of his mouth twitches into a smile. “Alright then,” he murmurs, and leans down to plant a soft kiss on your lips. “No ovulation in sight.”

“None,” you confirm before tugging his belt. “Can you please take off your pants now?”

He complies—with incredible speed—and when he’s finally as naked as you, your mouth waters at the sight of him. His cock is painfully hard, thick, with a bead of arousal glistening at the tip. You try to reach for him, but he has other plans. He crawls over your body and slips between your legs. He then grips the back of your thigh with one hand, pulling it up slightly to open you to him, while the other holds himself from the base.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The moan you let out is lewd. “Fuck, Spencer.”

An airy laugh slips out from him as he rubs the head of his cock around your clit. “So needy.”

You wiggle your hips. “Hurry up.”

He only hums in response, before easing his hips back just enough to drag his swollen tip through your slick outer lips. The underside of his cock splits your folds open with each stroke, and your head is spinning. It’s almost sweet how he’s taking this slow, but at this point, you’re so close to just shoving him inside you. You let out a frustrated whine when he pulls back, only to thrust forward just enough for the head of his cock to nudge at your entrance.

Your walls squeeze around him.

“O-Oh…” His mouth falls open slightly as he stares down at where your bodies meet. “I… I don’t remember you being this tight.”

You follow his gaze, watching the way your outer lips swallow him inch by inch. “I-It’s been a while.”

He pushes further, and your nails dig into his shoulders as he stretches you in a way that feels almost too much, and you can't help but tense when he thrusts further. He wraps your leg around his waist before leaning down, propping his weight on his elbows.

“Need you to relax,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over the pulse fluttering wildly in your neck. You do as he says. Breathe in, breathe out. Clench, unclench. And then you feel him easing inside you, oh-so-deliciously slow, until you squeak out a gasp when he finally fills you completely.

Because fuck, he stretches you—wrenches you open, and you’re consumed by his heat, the pressure, the sheer size of him. It overwhelms your senses, and all you can do is sing out a filthy moan. He follows your tune with a melody of his own, though his voice trembles, sounding more like he’s in pain as if he’s trying to hold himself back.

“You’re so warm,” he groans, his breath hot against your skin. “You okay?”

You nod and wrap an arm around his shoulders. “More than okay.”

“Do you think I can move?”

“Please.”

There’s no hesitation in the way he pulls back, only to sink into you again. His hips roll against yours in a way that feels both achingly slow and unhurried, like he’s savoring every second to memorize the way you feel around him. It’s like he can’t quite believe this is happening, that you’re giving him the chance to be tangled up with you in this position again.

And truthfully, neither can you.

But here you are, two bodies moving in perfect harmony, intertwined in the most primal, human way. Flesh against flesh, breath against breath. Even your heartbeats sync in the same rhythm. The world beyond seems to dissolve, leaving nothing but the pull of desire that draws you deeper into the moment, into him, until the boundaries of where you end and he begins blur into something undefinable.

It’s nonexistent. You’re glued to him, fused in a way that feels as if this is exactly where you belong.

No more running away, you decide.

“Kiss me.”

He’s in no position to decline, and within a heartbeat, he captures your lips in the sweetest kiss—well, as sweet as it can go. Because even though he tastes like honeyed warmth, his hips continue to pound into you, hitting that deep, tender spot inside. You whine against his lips. A needy, breathless sound that has him faltering for just a second, his hips stuttering against yours.

“You feel so—” he chokes on his words. “God, you’re so perfect.”

You’re perfect, you want to say, but you stop yourself, biting down on the words before they escape. It’s not that you don’t believe it. You just can’t bring yourself to admit it out loud. Not yet. Instead, your need wins out, pushing past everything else.

“More,” you gasp between shallow breaths.

He rests his forehead against yours. “Yeah? You want me to go faster?”

You whine in approval.

The instant he pulls back, his tip barely teasing your entrance before slamming into you again, a sharp gasp escapes your lips. He repeats the motion. Once. Twice. By the third time, he doesn’t hold back, driving his hips hard and fast, the wet sound of your bodies slapping together echoing off the walls.

You turn into a putty mess. You can barely think, let alone form words, your mind clouded with nothing but the feeling of him—inside you, around you. Your whole world narrows down to this moment, to the way he fills you so perfectly. His forehead stays pressed against yours the whole time, his lips hovering above yours he murmurs, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

But it’s not. It’s everything. Maybe even not enough. “I…” you gasp when a certain angle from him hits a deep spot inside you. “Oh, Spencer… harder, p-please.”

He’s more than happy to oblige.

He shifts slightly, then snaps his hips forward with a sudden, forceful thrust. He repeats the motion. Over and over again. His pace is relentless now, and he starts to pant, his breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts, every exhale brushing against your lips. There’s a tension in his body, a taut strain in muscles, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. And you can’t help but moan softly into his mouth, swallowing each of his gasps as his control starts to slip away.

“Where do you want—” His voice falters. “Can I—inside—”

You nod frantically. “Yes. Yes.”

It’s enough to push you both over the edge.

The sensation starts as a gentle warmth in your fingertips, slowly winding its way through your body. It weaves through your limbs, spirals up your spine, before gathering intensely at your core. You’re shaking, trembling, and you instinctively reach out for something to ground yourself. One hand threads into his curls, the other clutches his jaw.

Then it happens. His cock moves in a frantic rhythm, sending you spiraling deeper into intense pleasure for the third time tonight. Your inner walls tighten around him as your orgasm crashes through you, gripping him so tightly that it pulls a raw, breathless groan from his lips. He slams into you with uneven thrusts as he presses your body flat onto the bed, until he stops and shudders, spilling hot, white liquid deep inside you.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt something this intense before—not even with him in the past. Every inch of your body is buzzing as his warmth spreads through you, reaching places you didn’t even know existed. You cling to him, your nails softly grazing his back as he finally lets out a satisfied hum, his lips moving to pepper kisses along your face.

He starts with your left cheek. Two gentle kisses. He moves to your right, giving a light peck that lingers just a moment longer, almost as if he’s blowing a warm breath against your skin. You giggle as the air tickles you. Then finally, he settles on your lips with a sigh that merges into a kiss. It’s soft, sweet, and tenderly slow.

You let out another laugh when he finally pulls away.

“What?”

His curls fall messily on his forehead and you reach up, brushing it back. “You’re starting to grow on me.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I grow on you?” You simply nod. “Like fungus?”

Your fingers pause in his hair. “Like what?”

"You know, fungus. It grows on things. Like mold or mushrooms,” he explains and gives you a smile. "Am I growing on you like that?"

You’ve been apart for so long that you almost forgot how his brain works. His unexpected comparison sparks your amusement, so you decide to humor him. “Depends on what kind of mushroom you are.”

He looks thoughtful for a while. “There's this mushroom called mycorrhiza. It forms a symbiotic relationship with trees and helps them grow by improving water and nutrient absorption."

“And that makes you what, exactly?”

“Essentially indispensable.”

“So you’re claiming you’re good for me?”

A slow, confident grin spreads across his lips. “I’m saying I’m exactly what you need.”

You burst out laughing. Your cheeks might actually ache from smiling this much. “That was pretty smooth.”

He looks incredibly pleased with himself. Then after a quiet moment, he buries his face in the curve of your neck. You close your eyes, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against yours, and a sigh escapes your lips. It’s like all the time you spent apart melts away in that single breath, and something inside you relaxes, as if he’s managed to sneak back into the parts of you you’d forgotten existed.

Maybe he is right. Maybe, after all this time, he’s exactly what you need.

You wake up to the sound of clatter. It’s loud, jarring, and it echoes around the house. You stir in bed, stretching your limbs before tensing when you feel something poking your back. Your hazy mind immediately snaps into alert, and you open your eyes fully, glancing toward the window. Sunlight is already pouring into the room, far too bright for how early you thought it was.

You quickly turn over to the other side.

“Spencer. Spencer!” you hiss, shaking his shoulders urgently. “Wake up! We overslept!”

He groans softly but doesn’t move. Another loud clatter bounces off the walls, and your heart pounds wildly in your chest.

“Spencer,” you whisper sharply, eyes widening. “I think Matt is home.”

That finally gets his attention. He blinks his eyes open. “Wha—?”

You’re already halfway out of bed, rushing to the window to peek through the curtains. Sure enough, you spot your brother’s car parked in the driveway. “Yep, he’s here,” you mutter under your breath, the panic rising as you turn back to Spencer. “And now he’s going to kill us.”

“He’s not going to kill us,” he mumbles, but even by his voice, you can tell he’s not entirely convinced. You watch as he finally slips out of bed, scrambling to pick up his clothes scattered across the floor. “We talked about this last night. It’s not going to be as bad as you think.”

You shoot him a look before quickly pulling on your own clothes.

“There’s a big difference between telling him, and him finding out that his sister is sleeping with his friend while he was away taking care of his wife and baby.” You yank your shirt over your head. “In his freaking house.”

When you put it that way, Spencer’s heart sinks a little. Although Matt isn’t a violent person, he has twice the muscle he does, and it’s not hard to imagine him being a lot less forgiving in a situation like this. He can’t help but picture the worst-case scenario even though Matt’s always been the reasonable type.

Until now, maybe.

“Do you think I should climb out the window?”

You stare at him in disbelief. "Spencer, you’re not sixteen.”

“Actually, I’ve never been in a situation like this,” he admits, pulling up his pants. “My biggest concern when I was sixteen was getting my first PhD.”

You forgot how ridiculously smart he is. Smarter than most people, definitely smarter than you. “Well now you’re getting firsthand experience.” You start pacing around the room. “Let’s just try to stay calm.”

“That’s kind of hard to do when your brother could walk in while I’m half-naked.”

You look at him in horror. “Then put your damn shirt on!"

Before he can reply, there's a noise from outside the room—a quick shuffle of steps, light and rapid, as if someone’s rushing down the hall. You barely have time to react before the door is wrenched open.

But it's not your brother.

It's far worse.

You feel your stomach drop when your eyes lands on the small figure of your nephew, standing there with wide eyes. His gaze shifts back and forth—from you, disheveled and clearly flustered, to Spencer, whose bare back is facing the door, still fumbling with his pants. From little Jake's point of view, it must look like the most confusing sight, because he quickly retreats, bolting down the hallway.

“Dad! Help! There’s a strange man in Auntie’s room!”

You don’t know whether to laugh or panic. The fact that Jake didn’t recognize Spencer without his usual suit is almost comical. You glance at him, noticing how his body has tensed, his back straightening in alarm.

“Who was that?” he whispers, turning to you with wide eyes.

"Jake.” You blow a strand of hair that falls across your face. “Who apparently thinks you're an intruder."

The blood seems to drain from his face. “He didn’t recognize me?”

Your eyes flick over his appearance—his wild, tangled hair sticking out in all directions, bare chest still slightly flushed from sleep, and pants barely zipped. “Not when you look like this, no.”

But before he can respond, you hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway, heavier this time.

Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Shit.”

“I should have climbed out the window.”

The idea of him dangling from the window is even more absurd. You glance toward the door. "Okay, wait here. Let me talk to Matt first." Your eyes flicker to his bare chest again, and you let out the most exasperated sigh. "And please, for the love of God, put on your shirt."

You don’t have time to wait for his response as you rush out of the room, quickly closing the door behind you. You take a second to catch your breath, trying to compose yourself, when a noise down the hallway draws your attention. Only then do you notice Matt cautiously advancing towards your way, his back against the wall.

That’s when you spot the gun in his hand.

“Seriously?” you hiss, staring at him in disbelief. “What the hell, Matthew!”

He looks at you, equally surprised. “Jake said there was a strange man in your room!” he replies defensively, tightening his grip on the weapon. “What was I supposed to think?“​

Your eyes shift toward your nephew, who’s peeking around the corner, his little head barely visible as he watches the scene unfold. This is definitely not how you expected your morning to go. A simple, awkward conversation was one thing, but having to disarm your brother while explaining this mess was an entirely different level.

“There’s no intruder, Matt. Put the gun down.”

He looks past you, his eyes zeroing in on the closed bedroom door. “Then who’s in there?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. There’s no easy way to explain this. How do you even start? That Spencer is standing half-naked in the guest room, trying to gather his dignity after being mistaken for an intruder by a six-year-old? You never thought you'd have to introduce Spencer to your brother this way, in his own house, under these chaotic circumstances.

You can feel Matt's eyes boring into you, waiting for an answer. All you can think is how ridiculous this all must look, and how there's no good way to smooth over the fact that, yes, Spencer Reid, his friend slash teammate, is behind the door. And the most absurd part? A part of you is more worried about the look on Matt's face than the fact that he's holding a gun.

“Please don’t be mad.”

You hold your breath as you slowly reach for the doorknob. You push the door open and let out a small, relieved sound when you see Spencer fully dressed, looking almost presentable, except for the wild hair that refuses to settle. He gives you a small nod before stepping out of the room.

“Uncle Spencer?” Jake’s small voice cuts through the tension. Matt’s gaze darts between you two, his jaw tightening as he puts the pieces together. You can see the moment realization hits him full force.

“Reid?” Matt’s voice is incredulous, bordering on betrayed. “What the hell is going on?”

“I can explain,” you say cautiously. “It’s not exactly how it looks.”

“Not exactly how it looks?” Matt echoes, his eyes narrowing at you, then shifting back to Spencer. “You’re in my guest room looking like you just rolled out of bed—”

“Fully clothed now,” Spencer cuts in quickly, which only earns him a frown from Matt.

“Not helping,” you mutter under your breath, shooting Spencer a look before turning back to your brother. “Fine, it’s exactly how it looks like. So… uh, surprise?”

You watch so many emotions flashing in his eyes. Matt’s always been a good brother. Sometimes annoying, but always reliable. He doesn’t usually get angry at you—quite the opposite, actually. He’s calm, level-headed, and more prone to offering advice than raising his voice. But now? The frustration is clear in his eyes.

He’s not mad exactly, but he’s definitely not happy either.

“Surprise?” Matt repeats, his voice flat. His gaze flick back to Spencer, who’s now shifting his weight awkwardly beside you. “This is how you decided to tell me?”

“Okay, it’s not how we planned it, obviously.”

“Clearly,” he deadpans. You put on the best innocent face you can muster.

You put on the best, innocent-looking face you can muster.

“Maaatttt,” you try again, deciding to use a different approach by being cute this time. “Don’t be so harsh.”

To your relief, it actually works on him, like it usually does whenever you try to charm your way out of trouble. His tough exterior falters because, no matter what, you’re still his baby sister. His face softens for a moment, shoulders dropping as he lets out a sigh.

“I’m not mad, okay? But I am your brother. And you,” he adds, pointing at Spencer. “You’re supposed to be my friend. I feel like I should’ve known about this before… well, before finding you like this.” Your shoulders slumps at his words. “How long has this been going?”

Now that is a tricky question. Explaining that you and Spencer occasionally had sex five years ago definitely isn’t something your brother needs to hear right now—or ever, really. You can almost feel Spencer tense beside you, probably having the same thought.

You clear your throat. “Last night.”

"Last night?" Matt looks at you as if you’re crazy. It might be the most disapproving look he’s ever given to you. "You're telling me this just started last night?"

"But—" you quickly add, holding up a hand to stop his train of thought. "We’ve been talking for a while, it’s not like it happened out of nowhere. Last night was just the first time we decided to actually do something about it."

“Right under my roof?” Matt’s brows pinches upward. “You lied about having a headache, didn’t you?”

“Wait, you had a headache? Why didn’t you tell me?”

You’re not sure you can handle two men pestering you at the same time. You focus on your brother instead.

“Look, we didn’t plan anything yesterday. Things just… happened,” you say, trying to explain without making it sound worse than it already does. “But it’s not only about last night. For what it’s worth, we were planning to tell to you. Just not like this.”

Your brother cocks an eyebrow. “So this isn’t a one-time thing?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “God, no,” he says. You feel an arm snake around your waist. “I care about her. A lot.”

Matt stares at Spencer for a long moment, his face a mixture of frustration, concern, and something else. Acceptance, maybe. He looks back at you. “Is this what you want?”

You feel Spencer’s grip tighten on your waist. He’s also waiting for your answer.

“It’s what I want.”

Spencer’s thumb brushes over you as Matt lets out a long breath, his grip on the gun finally relaxing. “This feels weird.”

“In a good way?”

“In a bizarre kind of way.” Matt’s falls falls on Spencer again. “I’m still trying to process this, but if you hurt her—”

“I won’t,” Spencer promises. “I swear.”

“Good, because you know I can put you back to prison if you do.”

Oh, he knows. Spencer understands exactly what he means, after all, Matt was one of the few people who helped clear his name during one of the most horrific moments of his life. Even if there’s a slight jab in his words, Spencer can tell he’s being dead serious. Especially with that gun still attached to his grip.

You, on the other hand, are hearing this for the first time. “Wait, what?” you blurt out. “Prison? You went to prison?”

Spencer merely shrug. Matt finally lowers his weapon, shaking his head as if he can’t quite believe this is happening. “I need coffee,” he mutters, turning toward the kitchen.

“Wait…” Jake finally peeks out from behind the wall. You blink your eyes, forgetting he’s even there. “Does this mean Uncle Spencer is your boyfriend now?”

You feel three pair of eyes on you. Matt’s gaze is sharp. Spencer’s expression is cautious. And then there’s Jake, looking up at you with the straightforward curiosity only a child can have. To him, things are simple. Either you are, or you aren’t, and in hindsight, it really is a straightforward question. But nothing about this situation has been straightforward.

You look at Spencer for a fraction of a second. You can see the nervous hope reflected in his eyes. Maybe Jake’s question isn’t just his… maybe it’s Spencer’s too.

And sure, maybe it doesn’t have to be so complicated. Maybe it really is as simple as saying—

“Yes.” You can feel your heartbeat in your ears. “I suppose he is.”

If you’ve ever seen Spencer being happy, it pales in comparison to this. His eyes light up, and he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world. A genuine, almost boyish smile spreads across his face as you feel his warmth seep into your skin. There’s so much affection in his gaze it makes your chest tighten. He’s not just happy. He’s beaming.

Matt clears his throat awkwardly. “Come on, kiddo, let’s grab what your mom needs and get back to the hospital.” He glances back at you. “You guys coming?”

You nod absentmindedly. “Sure.”

He throws you both a look. Not hateful, but definitely not warm either. You see him grip his gun from the corner of your eye, more out of habit than necessity, before steering his son away with a firm hand on his shoulders.

“That went better than expected,” Spencer mutters the moment your brother is out of earshot.

“‘It’s not going to be as bad as you think’,” you mock, reciting the words he said to you half an hour ago.

“It wasn’t.”

“Spencer, he held a gun.”

“He thought I was an intruder. I would’ve done the same thing,” he points out, his tone surprisingly calm as he holds you by your waist. “Relax, okay? He’ll come around us. Eventually.”

“You’re awfully optimistic about this.”

“He likes me.”

He does have a point. Matt has always had a soft spot for Spencer, but you’re not sure how far that can go after what just happened. “I think you might have lost a few brownie points today.”

He considers the truth in your words. “Maybe,” he admits with a shrug. “But at least I earned a few with you.”

“Because of the boyfriend thing?” He’s grinning so wide that his eyes practically disappear into crescent moons. You poke the slightest dimple on his cheek. “Don’t act so smug. I’m still trying to process the fact that I’m dating an ex-felon.”

“I was framed,” he explains, and the way he says it so nonchalantly only deepens your confusion. He tries to smooth your frown with a kiss. “I’ll tell you everything on our first date.”

“Who said I’ll go on a date with you?”

“You will,” he simply says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“And what makes you so sure?”

Because he’s always been sure. The man who doubts everything, who overanalyzes every situation, looks at you with a certainty that makes your heart swell. You’ve seen that look before—the one that says he’s considered every possible outcome and decided this is the one that matters most. There’s something magnetic about it, the way he seems to know exactly what he wants, and right now, it’s you.

“Because I’m your mushroom.”

He’s so silly, yet there’s something so perfectly Spencer about it that makes the idea of not going on a date with him feel impossible. You shake your head, unable to suppress your smile.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, but the warmth in your chest tells you he’s already won your heart.

And you don’t mind him keeping it.