#this one is going to be... long. and maybe never end

[ohimsummer]

satoru gojo is tall, charming, powerful, radiating a commanding aura to both sorcerers and non-sorcerers alike. his presence demands attention, something he never has to struggle hard for. everyone around him usually grows intimidated just from him being in the vicinity—they get sweaty, they get nervous, they get shy. but not him. he’s not familiar with such emotions. satoru gojo has never been flustered…not until you, anyway.

he’s stuttered twice: once out of nervousness and the other out of pure shock. you didn’t even react to his first blunder, and that throws gojo off just a little more. he’s the strongest. he doesn’t make mistakes, doesn’t fumble over his words. satoru is about as perfect as perfect can get. and yet, here he is, tongue tied and twisted in knots all because…you’re looking at him?

this isn’t new. it’s not like he’s never been looked at before. quite the opposite, in fact. but this isn’t like the usual irate glances or idolizing, heart-eyed stares he gets from everyone else. you’re actually looking at him like a person, and paying attention on top of that.

ever since satoru began talking, you’ve hung on to every word he’s spoke, nodding along and interjecting with relevant dialogue. complimenting him, asking related questions, brows raising in surprise or intrigue when he says something you find interesting. despite this all being the usual bells and whistles of a normal conversation, satoru can’t help but feel a foreign pounding in his chest. he’s never experienced anything like this. not for a long while, anyway.

it’s not just the thudding behind his ribcage, but this sincere action of being seen. everyone else either looks through gojo, or over him, or away from him entirely and try not to acknowledge him at all, as if suffering through his company. but you, you’re actually looking at satoru, right in his face. dare he say, straight through his blindfold and into the azure blues underneath, as if it isn’t even there.

he has his silly suspicions that maybe you are looking through his blindfold. satoru considers that maybe you have some special power or technique to look through the fabric, but quickly squashes the nonsensical idea and decides instead that he’s just overthinking. and that conclusion flusters him even more.

the realization that you are actually interacting with him and listening to him….it’s not just going into one ear and out the other, or flying over your head as you pretend to listen and instead ogle the pretty features on his face. you’re…interested? in what he has to say? it almost seems implausible, but here you are, clinging to his every word and indulging in conversation with him. no restless fidgeting as you wait for it to end, nor a poorly concealed look of impatience as you pray for him to finally shut up.

you genuinely seem content in sitting here and letting satoru talk your ears off. like you’re enjoying it. and satoru is giddy at this realization, this epiphany that someone actually, truly enjoys his company. he thinks it feels…

it feels nice.

🩵: @anthoosies @staryukis @deepenthevoid @bubblez-blop @luvvmae @risuola @bunnymacaron @gigiiiiislife @domainexpansionmypants @starlightanyaaa @satoruxsc @cinnamoneve @lxnarphase @hellkaiserinphoenix @sherb3t @jianyuu4mii @xinfvl @blindbabycadder @kisstoru @the-monster-under-the-bed @manyno @sugu-love @leilalilox @sataraxia @apatauaia @luvvforliaa @purplegemadventures @v0ctin @kissesfrombelle @babytoshiii @biscuitsngravie

[unequivocallyreid]

Why Didn’t You Tell Me?

it has been SO long... i was suffering from serious writers block but it think i'm finally out of it :)

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: Spencer Reid used to be your best friend, but things changed. How long can you pretend that you don't love him before it ruins you?

warnings: angst! (with a happy ending), smut (unprotected piv), character loss, mention of Maeve, very sad Spencer, mental health struggles, light choking, fighting, slight praise kink

wc: 8.8k 🤗

i’m very proud of this one! i hope you love it!

Every morning when you wake up, you feel a familiar and creeping sort of dread in the pit of your stomach.

Don’t get the wrong idea; you love your job. You love helping people and stopping horrible people from ruining any more lives, but the creeping feeling and desire to get out is always in the corner of your mind. Anyone working in this field would tell you that. There’s no absolute separation between you and the victims and their families. You take all of them home with you, and you just have to learn how to deal with that and not let it eat at you.

It doesn’t help that it’s an isolating job as well. The last time you were in a serious relationship was in college. Now, every date you have ends in disappointment. Not only do you lack interest in most of the men and women, but it couldn’t go anywhere even if you did. 75% of your time is spent in the office, on a jet, or hundreds of miles away from your home.

All of this contributes to the feeling, but the worst part of your job is Dr. Spencer Reid.

He’s secretive and dismissive and just about the most attractive person you’d ever seen. You honestly don’t know what is worse: his constant physical presence in your life or the fact that you can’t stop thinking about him no matter what you do. You’ve tried to get over it; you’ve buried yourself in work, lamented to your friends, and gone out on dates (all with guys that looked vaguely similar), but nothing has worked. All his worst traits grate your nerves and light you up at the same time.

The worst part of it all is that it wasn’t always like this. When you first joined the BAU nearly two years ago, you and Spencer got along well. You were friends, he talked to you about his life, he understood you, and you really severely fell for him. He became your best friend.

Everything changed around six months ago. Spencer started to develop migraines, and as those developed, he started distancing himself from you. He became snippy and closed off, he started hiding things from you, and he stopped talking to you about life outside of Quantico. It was like overnight, you became nothing to him, and you really didn’t understand. Everyone else on the team got the same old Spencer, but you went from his right-hand man to someone he only spoke to when it was necessary.

Maybe he didn’t deserve to be vilified. You know, realistically, he can and should be able to decide who he wants to be close to, but working with a man who unknowingly broke your heart was close to the hardest thing you’d ever done. So, you decided hating him was easier. The real emotions you feel toward him sit somewhere inside you, but they have been covered by manufactured distaste. Addressing the actual feeling would hurt too bad, so you pretend to hate the things you used to love.

Nothing, however, could have prepared you for the last case you worked on: helping Spencer save a girl he met about six months ago, a girl he loved. You tried to stay collected, you said nothing when Spencer assisted when he shouldn’t have, and goddamn, did you do everything in your power to find that girl. Maeve. She was perfect for Spencer, and you saw that immediately. Everyone did. The sight of him sobbing in front of her body is one that will never leave your mind.

Now, two weeks later, no one has heard from Reid. The only indication that he hasn’t abandoned his life altogether is the absence of the gift baskets on his doorstep that Pen leaves daily.

Nearly everyone has been to his apartment, but they are met with a closed door and have yet to receive a response. Everyone but you.

Penelope is the first to bring up your lack of appearance at the end of a long day of paperwork.

“Y/n, please, you just have to try. No one is getting anything from him.”

“I really don’t think my presence would do any good,” you pause for a moment, trying to collect the thoughts running through your head like a freight train. “Me and him haven’t been close in a long time, Pen.”

Before you can continue, she cuts in, “Everyone has tried, Y/n. Hell, I’ve even considered tracking down Gideon, and I really, really do not want to do that.”

She pauses for a moment before looking up at you with a pout on her face, “Please, Y/n, for me. I can’t bear the thought of him in there all alone, just wasting away in grief.”

For someone who claims not to be a profiler, Penelope knew exactly what to say to get you to agree. She’s the only person in your life who you told about how you felt, though you’re sure everyone else (aside from Spencer) knew: you’re shit at keeping secrets.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try.”

She nearly bursts with excitement, “Thank God-“

You cut her off before she can finish, “But I’m telling you, I’m not the person he wants to hear from right now. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Yes, yes. I just want him to know we all want him to be okay.”

Before you can hurry out of the office to follow Pen’s instructions, she stops you and hands you a basket full of assorted snacks and fruits.

“Make sure he eats!”

The walk up to Spencer’s apartment is a hard one to take. The smell of his building hits you as soon as you step into the lobby. From there, everything rushes back at once. Memories of nights you spent watching reruns of Doctor Who or listening to him prattle off about whatever he last read assault you with every step. As you slowly make your way up, you start to question why you agreed to do this in the first place.

You feel a lot toward Reid. More than you should and less than you could. But all that care and feelings that are so close to love aren’t enough to make you forget why you’ve been trying to hate him for so long. He deserted you without an explanation and cut you off without a warning. You spent weeks (three months) crying over him like a love-struck teen. So, as much as you want to hold him and comfort him, you know it’ll hurt you to do so. Penelope sent you, with the whole team’s approval, you’re sure, to try to patch up a broken heart he got loving someone else. There’s a sickness in your gut, but it’s not enough to stop you from rapping your knuckles against his door.

“Spencer? It’s Y/n.”

There’s no response.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear from me right now, but I want to make sure you’re alright. Can you tell me you’re alright?”

Again, nothing.

You know he’s there. Despite your lack of communication, you know Spencer well enough to know that he would never leave his life behind entirely. That being said, your next few attempts at garnering a response are unsuccessful.

You decide to try one final time before just leaving the basket alone on his doorstep and texting Pen it was a bust.

“There’s a lot I don’t know about you now, and I won’t pretend to know what you’re feeling.”

You don’t exactly know where this is headed, but you continue on regardless.

“I know you’re in there, and I know you can hear me, and I know you’re hurting. You shouldn’t- I don’t want you to be alone right now, Spence. You can either unlock your door, or I can pick it, but I’m coming in one way or the other. You know I will.”

You wouldn’t, actually. It’s a last-ditch effort, and it’s met with the same silence you’ve heard on the other side for the past ten minutes. You’re about to turn to head back down the stairs when you hear the very faint sound of a deadbolt turning.

There’s no other sound or movement, and for a moment, you think you might’ve imagined the sound, but you try the handle anyway. It turns, and the door slides open. You take a step in.

“Spencer,” you call out to him.

You don’t see him at first in the mess of his apartment, but when you do, you feel a crack form in your heart.

Beyond the clutter of his entryway, you see his back on the couch. His frame looks smaller than you’ve ever seen it, and you can see his legs curled into his chest. You set down the gift basket by a collection of others on the entry table and walk over to him. Slowly, like you’re trying not to spook a lost dog, you creep in front of him.

His head is down, and his gaze stays trained on his knees.

You reach out your hand and lay it over his. He flinches but doesn’t pull away.

“Spence, I’m so glad you opened the door.”

You didn’t plan out what you would say, but ‘sorry’ feels redundant and useless.

You go on, “I’m here. I- I don’t know what to do or say, and I’m sorry that I don’t. I can get someone else for you. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”

You wait for him to say he wants Penelope or JJ, but it doesn’t come. Nothing comes. You start to move to get up, figuring you could clean up a bit and try to make him something to eat, then go, but he grasps your arm before you can.

He looks up at you, and his eyes hit you right in the gut. They’re bloodshot and sunken but still beautiful.

“Stay. Please. I just- I need to know I’m not dreaming. I keep thinking I’m dreaming.”

His voice is croaky from disuse and breaks at the end, but it’s so heartbreakingly earnest that you feel your breath catch. You move from your crouch and sit beside him on the couch; your hand is still in his.

You stay like that for a long time. His breathing is shakey and uneven, and every so often, his body shakes with what you can only assume are sobs. You stay pressed to his side the whole time, thumb rubbing back and forth over his hand.

Eventually, you speak again, “I’m gonna get you some food, Spence. You should eat.”

He says nothing back, but he does loosen his grip. You push yourself up from the coach with a promise you’ll be as fast as possible.

His kitchen is nearly empty, and you hope he’s been eating from the baskets. Still, you find enough to make noodles and butter, and you figure the carbs should help his energy some.

You return with the bowl. Spencer hasn’t moved, but his head follows you as you walk back over to him.

“It’s not fine dining.”

He studied you for a second, and you catch a glimpse of the old him in his eye.

“You did the same thing when I was sick on a case a year ago.”

You smile at his recollection.

“It helped you then.”

The rest of the night is spent mostly in silence. Occasionally, you tell him something to try to remind him that you’re there and that you won’t leave as long as he wants you there. Eventually, you get up from the couch again.

“Spencer, it’s too late to still be awake.”

He nods and still says nothing, but he is far more receptive than before. You reach your hand out to him to help him up from the couch, and he takes it.

He leads you to his room at a slow pace. His head stays down as you both take a seat on his bed, hands still interlocked. Being in his bedroom is odd for you. You’ve been to his apartment quite a few times before he disappeared from your life, but you never breached this space. It’s all very him. Almost surprisingly cozy, with books scattered around nearly everywhere there’s space.

You take in the moment for a beat before saying, “I’m gonna head home, Spencer, but please call me if you need anything at all. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

This makes his head snap up, and his eyes lock with yours.

“Please stay.”

That’s all he says, but every part of him is pleading with you. It’s not a good idea, and you know it. You’re the only person he’s seen in days, you aren’t close anymore, and you don’t particularly want to sleep on a couch tonight.

“Spencer, I don’t want to sleep in your living room tonight. I’ll come back.”

He pauses for a moment, “You can stay here with me. I don’t want to be alone.”

Your heart cracks again. There was a time when this was all you wanted. It’s still, deep down, all you want, just not like this. You know he doesn’t really want you there and he’s not himself. But you aren’t strong enough to say no, so you don’t.

He gets you clothes to wear, and you change in his bathroom. You come out and find him in his bed, laying with his back to you. You have no fucking idea what you’re doing, but you get into bed next to him anyways. There are a thousand thoughts racing through your head, but the prevailing one is how badly you want to touch him, to hold him, to make him forget, just for the night. You stay still, though, confined to the edge of the bed and start to count to drown out the noise.

Though, you can’t drown out his voice, saying, “Can- Could you hold me? I think that everything feels better when you touch me.”

Another crack. By the end of this, you know Spencer Reid is going to break your heart all over again.

~

When you wake up the next morning, Spencer is still asleep. You sneak out of his room and call Hotch. When he answers, you tell him Spencer has let you in, and you ask for time off to try to help. You can tell from his voice that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but he grants you it anyway.

Much of your day is spent like the night before. You stay next to Spencer, and you cook for him after leaving to pick up clothes and groceries. Then, you get him to shower and wash his hair. He sleeps with his head in your lap, and you feel like a fucking idiot at first, but as long as it’s helping him in some way, you let it happen.

That’s the thing: you don’t really know how to help him. You know he isn’t the type to talk about something until he is entirely ready, so all you can do is add something domestic and bright to his life while he grieves. It’s all you can think about in the moments of silence. Hell, you even read to him to try and get your mind off of it, but it barely helps.

The night is the same. You change in different rooms and slip into his bed at different times. You feel dirty for imagining what it would be like if the circumstances were different: if he wanted you like you have wanted him for the past two years. You hold him against you, and you pray for sign that you should be there.

The sign comes the following morning when Derek calls you.

“Y/n…”

You can hear his teasing tone over the phone.

“Hi, Derek.”

“What are you doing, mamas?”

You sigh, “What do you mean?”

You’re playing coy. You know he’s wondering why you’re at Spencer’s house, picking up the pieces, but you won’t be the one to bring it up.

“Why’d you ask Hotch for the week off, Y/n?”

Another sigh, “You know why, Derek. I just, I want to help him.”

“I know you do, Y/n, I know.”

He pauses for a moment, and you let the moment fill with silence.

“I know you care about him. We all care about him. But who is taking care of you?”

“I am. I can take care of him, and I can take care of me.”

“I know you can, but I don’t want you to get hurt, Y/n. Don’t let this be something that hurts you.”

“It won’t. I- You have to- Fuck, I’ll be fine. He’s not fine. I don’t care about me or any feelings that may get hurt right now. I’ll be fine.”

There’s another bear of silence, “Okay, Y/n. Just know you’re allowed to tap out.”

You try to think of anything else to say, but nothing comes, so you say your goodbyes.

You won’t need to tap out. You can take care of him and be good to him and ignore the other feelings you have. You can be good.

The call does make you think it’s time to push, to try harder, to help him get better. So, you approach him that day before bed, before he tucks himself into your arms and falls into a fretful sleep.

“Spencer?”

He takes a moment and then responds, “Yes?”

“You have to talk about it. I think that you need to talk about it. It doesn’t have to be to me but to someone.”

He’s quiet for a long time, and your breath is caught in your throat, waiting for him to say anything.

“I- I don’t want to,” his voice cracks while he says it.

“Spence, you can’t come back if you don’t. You can’t move forward if you don’t.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.”

A ringing echos in your ears.

“You don’t mean that. She- she would want you to keep going.”

Wrong thing to say.

“You don’t know anything about what she would want.”

He’s seething now, below the surface, but smoke has started to plume from his ears. Still, you don’t stop.

“Spencer, everyone knows that. No one would want you to put your life on hold.”

He speaks his next line through his teeth, “You don’t know anything, Y/n.”

You’ve never heard him sound so angry.

“Spencer-“

“No, just stop. You don’t know her. You don’t know me half as well as you think you do. You don’t know anything. I don’t even know why you’re here. I don’t want you here. You can't be what I need.”

The ringing in your ears is louder.

“Spencer, please. Just-“

“No!” His voice is raised now, bordering on a yell, “I don’t want you here. I want you out, Y/n.”

This has to be what shell shock feels like. The ringing, the tingle in your limbs, and the heat in your face. You don’t know how you are moving, but you are.

His voice is echoing in your head, or maybe he’s still talking, but you can’t tell either way. The only thing you can focus on is how Spencer sounded like he hates you and that Morgan was right about the hurt.

~

You spend the next day trying desperately to shut down the noise in your head. It doesn’t work. The day after is the same. And the days following that. You ignore calls when they come, you ignore the texts, but you can’t stop looking at your phone for a message from the man who fills your thoughts.

Spencer doesn’t call, obviously, and you have to sit with a pit in your stomach while you beg yourself to just get the fuck over it. Two years of reckoning with the severity of your love, months of watching him live happily without you, and it’s the three days you spent trying to help him feel incrementally better that floor you.

You feel like a dumb teenage girl with so much love and nothing to do with it. On top of everything, you feel selfish. Spencer lost the love of his life forever, and you’re nursing the worst heartbreak of your life because a boy will never want you and never has. Still, you send out prayers for him over and over. You hope you’ll see him in the BAU again, even if his eyes glaze over you. Hell, even if they look at you with hate the way they did two days ago. You just want him to function. You want him to be good and eventually be happy. You try to go to bed with soothing thoughts, but you end up with a mantra of his name.

You wake to your alarm and dress for work before you realize you aren’t actually supposed to go back yet. You never set a date to return. You wanted to be open as long as Spencer needed you. You’re supposed to be with him. You’re supposed to be helping and not tapping out. But you aren’t.

You have no reason not to return to the bullpen, so you do. You walk in and feel eyes on you. You wait for Morgan to call out to you, but he doesn’t, so you follow the feeling.

Your breath catches in your throat; it’s Spencer. He’s sitting at his desk, paperwork spread out, and he doesn’t look away from your gaze; he just holds it. His face is unreadable, and yours is definitely not, so you look away first. You don’t look up again until you reach Hotch’s office. You knock and hear him call out to come in.

“I’m back if that’s okay.”

He looks up at you, and you want to cry. You know he can read you. He has always been the best at it.

“Are you okay with that, Y/l/n?”

You lock eyes with him, “Yes, sir.”

It’s no use; he knows your tells and you aren’t being honest.

“Alright, conference room in five.”

Whatever he sees in your face, he ignores and takes you at your word, but there’s a warning in his tone. He knows when to let things go and when to push. More than that, though, he knows you’d never let something like this affect your work.

~

The first case back is in Maryland, and the one after is in Austin, and the next is in Philadelphia with The Replicator. The job takes you all over the country, and the cases blend together. You don’t speak to Spencer through all of it. You’re never partnered, never work together, you sit on opposite ends of the jet. You don’t even speak at Strauss’ funeral. It’s radio silent, and everyone notices it, but no one brings it up.

In that time, you allow yourself to slip away slightly. You don’t go out with the team, you see Pen at nearly half frequency, and basically, the only time you speak is on cases. It’s stupid and melodramatic, but you call it healing. Derek tries to reason with you, JJ sticks to you a bit more than usual, and Penelope calls you virtually whenever she can, but their efforts are mostly in vain. This is your way of protecting yourself. You feel like you have to isolate in order to improve, and you know, given time, you will come back to yourself.

Penelope’s insistence that you go to her Day of the Dead celebration breaks your distance.

“Y/n, please come. I know you aren’t going out, but you have to. I know you have people to honor, and I need you there.”

You sigh, “Whose going, Pen?”

“The team, which you are a part of, so you must be there.”

“I don’t think I can do that. I promise you I will celebrate with you. I’ll help you set up, just please don’t make me go.”

Penelope pauses, but the glint in her eye keys you into the fact that she is not interested in giving up.

“We miss you, Y/n. Everyone loves you and misses you. You’ve been living this stupid, isolated life, and it’s time for you to come back. You are not this person. I refuse to believe it. You’re coming, and that’s final.”

Maybe you don’t have the energy to argue, or maybe you know she’s right, but you agree to go.

~

The thought of seeing him makes your heart race, and the clock you keep glancing at makes it worse. Just a few more hours before you're trapped in a confined space (Pen’s beautiful home) with a man you haven’t spoken to in weeks.

You busy yourself with preparing. Lights are hung, food is made, and you make a trip to the store while Pen sets up her remembrance table. When everything is said and done, you can’t help but feel this is the most beautiful thing you’ve been a part of in a long time.

The first knock comes at 7:30 exactly, and it’s Hotch and Rossi. They are followed closely by Blake, then Derek and JJ. By 7:00, the atmosphere is light and loving, and you feel a bit of your anxiety let up as the minutes go by without Reid. But, eventually, the knock comes, of course it does, and you move into a corner as Spencer walks in. You feel a shift in energy, though you doubt it’s palpable for anyone else. Rossi is the first to make his way over to you, and his presence comforts you nearly immediately.

“How you doing, kid?” His voice is soft like he’s speaking to a scared rabbit.

“I’m better,” you say, and it’s about as honest as you can get. As much as you’d like to think he knows nothing about what’s gone on, you’re smarter than that. He’s the best profiler on the team, and he’s always known when someone was off with you. Even so, you are better than you were, even if you aren’t quite good, and you know he believes you.

There’s some idle conversation between you before he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not tonight. I don’t know when, but I will. Eventually, I will.”

It’s good enough for him, and you move on easily, which surprises you.

Right before Pen gathers you all to present your photos, he says, “Sometimes we think we’ve seen the whole picture, but we miss a big part. People do things because they don’t want to be hurt, but those things hurt them more. Just, be open.”

You don’t quite understand what he means, but you hope you will.

Penelope presents the first picture, which shows her parents. JJ honors her sister, Derek, his dad, Hotch Haley, and Rossi, Hernandez; then it’s your turn. You place down a photo of your best friend. You hadn’t talked much about her, but you think of her daily. She passed a few years before you joined the BAU.

“I was lucky to have someone that hurt that much to lose.”

That’s all you say, but it’s enough for you, and it would be enough for her.

Spencer is last. He places down a picture of Tesla and a picture of Maeve. Your heart is heavy for everyone.

The night dwindles from there. Hotch and Rossi say their goodbyes, and Rossi gives you a knowing look as he leaves. You just smile. You stay for a few minutes after, but eventually, you move to leave as well.

You make it down Garcia’s porch before you feel a hand grab your arm. You turn, and it’s Spencer’s face you see.

“Would you- Do you think you could come over? Do you think we could talk?”

~

The feeling you have walking up to Spencer's apartment is similar to what you felt the last time. You’re incredibly anxious, but at least you know you’ll be let in this time.

The drive over was silent. Spencer had taken the metro to Penelope’s, so he rode with you. It wasn’t necessarily awkward. There was just an understanding that the car wasn’t the place to begin your conversation.

Now, as Spencer unlocked his door, it’s one of those rare moments you felt starved for words, and you know it’s because you’re scared you’ll say the wrong thing and face the same reaction that you did the last time you were in his home.

He leads you to his living room and motions for you to sit, and you do. The two of you are on opposite ends of his couch while you wait for him to say something.

His first words are airy and light, “Thank you for letting me talk to you.”

You look at him but remain silent, waiting for him to go on. All you can think about is why he wants to speak to you at all. The last time you spoke, he made it incredibly clear he did not want you in his life or around him at all.

Before you can think about it more and let your anger and sadness build, he speaks again, “I feel really stupid right now. I kind of feel stupid whenever I’m around you recently.”

He pauses momentarily before going on, “I’m so, so sorry, Y/n. About the last time we spoke. I’ve been thinking about it pretty constantly for the past few weeks.”

You open your mouth, unsure of what exactly to say, but you can’t get there before he’s off again.

“I’m not sure how to talk to you anymore. I don’t think I’ve known how to for a long time. I just, I need you to know how sorry I am for speaking to you like that.”

He takes a shakey breath but keeps going, “That wasn’t me, and that isn’t how I feel. I’m just unbelievably sorry, Y/n.”

He stops there, and you work to collect your thoughts.

“I know. A part of me knows, at least, that you didn’t mean it. I just wanted to be there for you, and hearing that made me- I just- I think it made me hate myself for wanting to be there.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m unbelievably sorry.”

“You didn’t talk to me for months, Spencer. I just don’t understand. I don’t understand why you let me in in the first place. I thought you hated me.”

He’s silent for a long minute.

“I never hated you, Y/n. I just stopped knowing how to act around you, and then I met Maeve. I fell so deep into it that I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. I- And I just started to feel like you didn’t want me to speak to you, so I didn’t. But, when you came here, after everything, I guess I just felt like you were the only person who would get it. You never, no one on the team ever treated me or talked to me how you did. I just wanted that.”

Tears had begun to well in your eyes now. A part of you gets what he means, at least about letting you in, but the other part is so confused as to why he stopped being comfortable around you.

“I don’t understand, Spencer. Why did you stop knowing how to be around me?”

There’s desperation in your voice that makes you sound like a stranger to yourself. Maybe you’re a stranger to everyone right now.

“I uh, I don’t really know.”

“That's not fair, Spence.”

You’re crying now. Just a little bit, but you can feel the wetness on your cheeks. You can see that you are by the look on his face. He looks broken, and you know it's a reflection of your own image.

You wipe your face, “Thank you for apologizing, Spencer. I just, there are parts of this all that I don’t understand, and if you can't explain them to me, I don’t think I ever will.”

“Y/n-,” he calls out your name like a prayer.

“It’s okay, Spence. You don’t have to say anything more. We talked, and things will go back to how they were eventually.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

You smile sadly as you get up to leave.

“I am, too, for what it's worth. For whatever I did to make things change in the first place.”

You leave it at that, and it takes everything in you not to look back as you leave his apartment.

~

Things do get easier after that. Not completely. You still love him, and it hurts, but it helps to know he doesn’t hate you. He talks to you some, cordial things, and you do the same. You're sure your teammates still sense something is off, but this works for you. Right now, it works. Getting over him, not loving him anymore, is going to take work, but eventually, you know that you won’t hurt anymore.

Shortly after you and him talked, you started going back out with your friends. Spencer joined periodically, but that was normal. Bars were never really his scene.

Tonight, everyone gathers at your local pub. Your last case was particularly grueling, and you all need a way to blow off some steam. It's fun, and you feel good, even with Spencer sitting across from you. You feel proud of yourself for getting to this point.

JJ and Penelope feed you drinks to try and get you to dance, and you let them. Tonight feels as good of a night as any to ‘get back out there’ as Pen says. So, you do. You dance with them, and you ward off the other cops and agents around you who try to pull you away from your group. You aren’t interested in that. Right now, you're just having an appropriate amount of fun for a woman 15 feet from her boss.

Time goes by quickly, and by the time you get back to the table, you, Derek, Penelope, and JJ remain. He tells you that Hotch, Rossi, Reid, and Alex left a few minutes before. The conversation between you flows for a while, up until the drinks loosen Penelope up enough to bring up what you were pretty sure the team designated a no-no topic.

“Y/n, you have to talk about it.”

You’re still laughing as something Derek said when you reply, “What?”

“You know what. You and Boy-Genius. What on Earth happened? You went from ice-cold to semi-friendly. None of us saw it coming.”

“Babygirl-,” Derek tries to stop her, but you cut him off.

“No, it’s okay. I have to talk about it at some point, and I think right now is the only time I’ll be tipsy enough to let you get it out of me.”

You're still laughing slightly, but the pit that's lived in your stomach for the past few months starts to rear its head.

“After your Day of the Dead party, he asked to talk to me. I went to his place, and he apologized. I don’t really understand what he said or what he meant, but I can’t be sad about him forever.”

Pen perks up a bit at that, “I knew that party would bring good things!”

You giggle a bit at her outburst, but then JJ asks, “What did he say?”

The faces around you all tune in at that. You know they don’t see this as gossip. They care about you both too much to trivialize it like that.

“He just said that he stopped knowing how to act around me, and he didn’t know why, but then he met Maeve, and I guess it didn’t matter so much after that. He was my best friend, and then he was nothing.”

JJ shares a glance with Derek and then speaks, “Oh, Y/n.”

“What?”

After a beat, Derek says, “He didn’t just not know how to act around you.”

Now you're confused, “What do you mean? I talked to him, that's what he said. He didn’t know why. I mean, he knows everything and didn’t know why he didn’t want to be around me anymore. How fucking stupid is that.”

You laugh again, but it does come off as genuine in the slightest.

“Y/n, he probably doesn’t really know why. At least not fully. For someone as smart as he is, the kid can be really stupid.”

“Stop being cryptic.”

Derek sighs but goes on, “Pretty girl, pretty boy was in love with you. Probably still is. He just didn’t think you’d ever feel the same.”

“No. That's not true.”

You look at the others around you, but their faces are serious.

“He loved Maeve. He loves Maeve. That, that doesn’t make any sense.”

It's JJ’s turn to talk now.

“He definitely did love Maeve, no one is denying that, but we all saw how he was around you. His whole relationship with her was safe. He couldn’t be hurt by her rejection every day because he had no way of seeing her. With you, he could.”

Your mind is moving a mile a minute, “Did he tell you guys this?”

Penelope puts her hand over yours and says, “He didn’t have to, love. We all say the way he looked at you and acted around you. The way he talked about you. That boy was head over heels.”

“Guys, I appreciate whatever you’re trying to do, but this isn’t real. Spencer doesn’t- this is not real.”

“Y/n, pause. Think about the way he acted around you, the things he said. Think about how Reid is.”

You hear what Derek said, but it all sounds faint like someone stuffed your ears with cotton while you weren't paying attention. All you can focus on are the different scenes running through your head, the scenes of your life with Spencer in it. How he memorized your coffee order and brought it for you every day, how he never shied away from your touch despite his aversion to contact, how he consistently went out of his way to protect you on the field. At his house after everything, the way he clung to you and wanted to be held. How he said in his own words, “You can't be what I need”; not “you aren’t,” but “you can’t.”

Your whole world is crashing down in this bar, and you can’t do anything to stop it.

“Y/n?”

JJ’s voice snaps you out of your spiral.

“Just go talk to him.”

You nod mutely, and you get up.

~

Everything in the last ten months of your life has led you to the exact spot you were when everything blew up in the first place: Spencer’s door.

This time, you aren't too worried about him not letting you in. If anything, it's the opposite. Him opening this door could open a hundred others, and you don’t quite know if you are ready for any of them. You sit there and sit there and sit there, trying to work up the courage to knock, though you aren’t sure it's there to begin with. Right as you're about to walk away and decide you’ll come back another day, his door swings open.

“Y/n?”

His face is lit up with shock, and you notice his hand that is not on the door is holding his pistol.

“What are you doing here?”

You don’t answer, “Why did you open the door?”

He sets his piece down on the entry table before responding, “I heard footsteps in the hall and saw they stopped here. I was anxious. 50.3% of home invasions happen between 8:00 pm and 7:00 am.” He cuts himself off there, “Y/n, why are you here?”

You didn’t pay attention to anything he said. All you could think about was the way his lips were moving and the way his eyes locked onto yours as he talked.

“Do you love me?”

That is not what you wanted to say.

His lips fall open as he takes in a sharp breath, “What?”

“Or I guess did you love me? Before everything? Because Derek and JJ and Pen, they all said that you loved me, and now I can’t think about anything else, Spencer.”

He doesn’t speak, but you don't really give him a chance to.

“I just, I know I sound crazy right now, but I feel fucking crazy. I keep going over everything in my head, and I have been, for the past year I have been, but now it’s all different. It's all different because they said that you loved me, but you didn’t think I’d feel the same way.”

Here, you do pause, but he still doesn’t say anything, so you go on before you can stop yourself.

“Because if that's true, Spencer, it's just- I did. I do. And if it's not, then please just tell me so I can stop feeling this way.”

He sounds resigned when he says, “Y/n,” and you feel like you know what that means.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I'm doing this. You don’t have to say anything. Actually, please don’t say anything. I don't think I can hear it. Just pretend I never-”

He cuts off your ramble, “Y/n, stop.”

You draw your eyes from the floor, look up at him, and find something in his gaze you have never seen before. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you, and it takes everything you have not to look away. His hand raises to cup your jaw, and your skin lights on fire. Before you can process what he’s doing, you feel his lips press against yours, and something clicks. At first, his touch is light, like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. But, when he grasps that you won’t, he presses himself to you harder, and all you can think about is how nothing has ever felt so right.

His lips move against yours, and you don’t know how you're managing to reciprocate because it feels like everything in your body has gone fuzzy. The kiss is by no means long, but it feels like it lasts forever, and by the time he pulls away, you’re breathless.

His forehead stays connected to yours, and he whispers, “I do, Y/n, love you. I have.”

You don’t feel the tears on your cheeks until he’s wiping them away.

“Oh, Y/n.”

“Did you know? That you did? Is that why…”

You trail off, hoping he’ll pick up on what you're asking, and he does.

“I didn’t at first, or I didn’t realize I was falling in love with you until it happened. I got scared, so I ran. I just never thought that you could feel the same or that I was hurting you. I didn’t realize that. I just thought I was doing what was best for us. I felt guilty for being in love with my best friend.”

“And Maeve?”

“I loved Maeve. I’ll always have love for her. I was trying to move on, and I thought I could eventually be with her and be around you without it hurting. I wish I would have told you this before.”

“You’re telling me now. That's enough.”

This time, it's you who pushes your lips to meet his. Your arms snake around his neck, and his fall to your waist. You follow when he pulls you into his apartment and closes the door. There is still pain on both sides, but you can feel it dissipating as you cling to each other. You’re just two broken people who have finally found a way to each other.

This kiss is different, hungrier. Neither of you pulls away for longer than a few seconds as you navigate your way from his entryway to his couch. Every touch is desperate like you're searching for something you never knew existed until now. His hands pull you closer and closer until he's pulling you on top of him, and each of your legs rests on opposite sides of his hips.

Your lips break from his for a moment, “What do you want, Spence?”

His reply is instant, “You.”

From there, things move faster. Your hands unbutton his shirt and push it from his shoulders while he undoes your pants. There are moments of awkwardness that come with exploring another for the first time, but it feels good. His hands trace over your hips and push further until you're left on top of him in only your underwear and bra. He takes you in like you are something to be marveled at, and you know your eyes reflect the same adoration.

You raise yourself off of him and work to get him in the same state of undress as you, and when you position yourself on top of him, you feel his length press against your center. The two thin layers of fabric do little to hinder the intensity as you rock into him. He lets out quiet moans at the action as his lips trace down your neck and over your collarbone.

His breath ghosts over you and makes you shiver when he asks, “Can I touch you?”

“Please.”

His hand moves between the two of you, and his fingers find your clit easily, rubbing circles over the fabric of your panties. You pant his name against his lips at the action. You feel like your whole body is lit up, and under any other circumstance, you'd feel embarrassed at how worked up you are, but you can’t seem to care.

After a few moments, he lifts you up and carries you to his bedroom. From there, he positions you below him on the bed, removing your remaining clothes in the same motion. The new setup lets you grip him, and he feels big in your hand. His fingers resume their previous assault before dipping down into you. You cry out at the feeling of him inside you, slowly pushing in and out, finding a spot that makes your legs start to shake. He’s relentless in his pursuit and all you can muster up the energy to say is his name.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n.”

It's somewhere between a whimper and a whisper, but the sound of his voice causes you to clench around his fingers.

He picks up on this, of course he does, and quickens his pace as he coos at you.

“So pretty like this. I’m so lucky.”

You’re embarrassingly close already, so when he moves his thumb over your clit to rub circles as he fucks into you with his fingers, you come undone almost instantly with a warning and cry of his name. He works you through your orgasm, all while whispering praise in your ear. Once you come down from your high, you start to push his boxers down his legs, but he stops you before you can fully.

“We don’t have to do anything more, Y/n. I liked just making you feel good.”

“I want more. I want to feel you if you want that too.”

“Of course I do. I just don’t want you to regret anything.”

“I couldn’t regret this, Spencer. I love you. I want all of you.”

It's the first time you’ve actually said those three words to him, and it feels so fucking good to say.

“I love you, too. God, so much.”

With that, he positions himself back on top of you, running his fingers over your slit gently before gripping himself.

“Do you have a condom?”

“I might somewhere, but I have an IUD, and I’m clean. I can try to find one if you’re more comfortable with that?”

“IUDs have a failure rate of around .05% and are largely considered the most effective form of birth control, so uh, as long as you're okay with it, I am.”

You smile to yourself at his statistic but nod, “I want to feel you, Spencer.”

He returns your smile before rubbing his length over your entrance a few times and slowly pushing himself into you just slightly. He teases you, or maybe himself, for a moment before fully entering you. You push your hips up to meet his, and feeling him in his entirety makes your jaw fall open. He’s big, and you feel unbelievably full.

He waits a moment for you to adjust before he starts to develop a rhythm. His hands are everywhere, but his eyes are focused solely on your face like he doesn’t want to miss a moment of your reaction to him inside of you. To be fair, you are probably putting on a good show. Every movement he makes hits you in exactly the right spot, and you don’t think you could be louder if you tried. You can feel the leg he’s not holding up against his shoulder shake against the bed. Your first orgasm has made way for your second to be incredibly close.

“Spencer, please.”

You’re crying out, desperate for a little more to push you over the edge.

“What do you need, baby?” His voice is tight like he’s not far himself, and it sounds better than anything you’ve ever heard.

“Harder. Please, harder.”

He takes your direction immediately, rubbing circles on your clit with one hand while he thrusts into you with a bruising force. He’s fucking you like he wants you to remember the feeling long after he stops, and you know that you will. Everything about it is overwhelming: his smell, his pace, his eyes. You are covered in him, and he is covered in you.

After a moment, the hand he had on your stomach trails up to grasp lightly at your throat, and you fall into feeling. You can’t warn him that you're about to come before you do. The feeling is white hot. Bigger than your first, and the fact that you're coming on him sends you into overdrive. You can feel his hips falter for a moment, but you're lost in a daze, crying out his name.

He pumps into you a few more times before he follows suit. He pulls out, and you feel stripes of his come paint your cunt and lower stomach as he finishes with a moan of your name.

He falls next to you on the bed, and it takes you both a few moments to collect yourselves and catch your breath.

Once you do, the only thing you can think to say is, “I love you.”

It feels like those are the only words circling around in your head at the moment. Some mixture of his name and that declaration. While you know you each said it before, that your profession was the exigence of the sex you just had, it feels uniquely vulnerable to say now. It’s like the moment you just had together could have changed things or made him realize that he doesn’t actually love you after all.

That shoe doesn’t drop, though. Instead, you hear the three words echoed back to you by a man who, 6 hours ago, you thought would never, ever say them.

You turn to face him, and the love on his face feels like it could knock you out. He’s looking at you and smiling in a way you haven't seen in a long time.

“Will you let me clean you up?”

You know that part of the reason he’s asking has something to do with the likelihood of bacteria growth or something like that, but you think it's mainly that he wants to take care of you. Him wetting a rag and running it over you feels intimate in a different way, in an excruciatingly gentle way. Personal in a way that makes you feel like nothing between you could ever be wrong again, and maybe that's naive to think, but you feel hopeful regardless.

Once he finishes, he takes his space back next to you in the bed. This time, he pulls you into his arms, and it's different than it was all those months ago. This time, you know that he won’t push you away and that you won't hurt yourself by being next to him. This time, you just tuck yourself into him, and you let him whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you begin to drift off. This time, it feels like peace.

~

The following day, you wake up to Spencer still next to you, looking incredibly soft in the early morning light. You search for a moment to find your phone in the piles of clothes and are greeted with a text from Pen.

How did it go????

You smile before turning your phone off and climbing back into bed next to the man you love. It couldn’t have gone better.

-

all done! yay!!!

i hope you guys love it!! i’m not 100% happy with the ending but i’ve been writing this for so long and just needed to be done.

this is my first time writing angst on here and my longest fic, so PLEASE tell me what you think! all (nice) feedback is welcome and i love to hear from you guys!! :)

[be4chywritez]

sweet like honey | max verstappen

max verstappen x fem!reader

"you're to sweet for me."

Max doesn't like how nice you are towards him.

beachy’s masterlist🐚

Max isn't sure why he doesn’t like you. You’ve never wronged him, never talked bad about him, or been rude in any way. But for some odd reason, Max hates you.

Maybe it’s the Verstappen genes kicking in, that innate tendency to be an asshole. Or maybe it’s bred into him to keep sweet things like you at a distance. So, you can imagine his shock and horror when he sees you perched on the couch, flipping through a book in his friend’s Italian villa.

Your eyes meet his, and a smile graces your lips. You place the book in your lap, and he watches as your eyes brighten at the sight of him, the same way they might light up at the sight of a pretty flower.

Your small yellow sundress barely covers your upper thighs, and Max can’t help but stare before quickly looking down at his phone, not wanting to be too obvious about his boyish gawking.

“Max,” you say softly, your voice warm and rich like honey, drawing his attention whether he wants it or not.

He hears you, of course, but pretends to focus on his phone. His thumb moves slowly over the screen, though nothing he sees holds his interest. It’s the way you say his name that sticks in his mind, making it impossible to ignore.

“It’s nice to see you,” you continue, your tone sincere as if you mean it more than you should. You settle back into the cushions, your dress slipping a little higher on your thighs, and he catches himself glancing before looking away again.

Max lets out a quiet huff, his eyes still fixed on his phone, but his attention is all on you now. “Didn’t know you’d be here,” he murmurs, his voice lower than usual, almost guarded.

You shift, crossing your legs under you, the air feeling warmer, closer. “A surprise, I guess,” you reply, a faint smile tugging at your lips, the kind that lingers, soft and effortless.

Max clenches his jaw, forcing himself to look back at his phone. Still, he’s hyper-aware of your presence, of the subtle scent of your perfume lingering in the room. He swallows hard, trying to steady himself, even as his chest tightens.

“Yeah,” he mutters, almost under his breath, like he’s afraid to say anything else, and you let the moment settle, content with the quiet between you.

Just then, his best friend Jamie stumbles in, holding a glass of chardonnay. “Maxie,” he coos, squishing Max’s cheeks together, making his lips pucker. Close behind comes your best friend, Mila—Jamie’s girlfriend.

A few others join the group, a mix of Jamie and Mila’s friends, and Max’s brow furrows as he realizes that they’re all couples. He internally groans, watching your eyes flit around like a lost puppy.

“Alright, everyone,” Mila announces with a clap of her hands, “time to head up. We’ve got a long day ahead tomorrow.”

One by one, the group starts dispersing, grabbing their things and heading upstairs. Max lingers, scrolling aimlessly through his phone, but he’s acutely aware of you standing up from the couch, smoothing down the hem of your dress.

You move with an easy grace, slipping past him with a soft, “Goodnight, Max.” There’s no sarcasm, no bite—just genuine kindness that he doesn’t understand. You flash him a small smile before heading toward the stairs.

Max’s jaw tightens as he watches you go. You’re far too calm, far too kind for his liking. It makes him uncomfortable, like you’re holding a mirror up to the way he behaves, forcing him to see the stark contrast between you.

He takes a deep breath, tucking his phone into his pocket, and follows behind the group. The villa is beautiful, the soft glow of the lights casting long shadows across the walls as everyone makes their way to their respective rooms. His room is at the far end of the hall, and as he reaches it, he notices you standing just outside the door next to his.

“Looks like we’re neighbors,” you say lightly, your voice warm and soft. You hold your toothbrush and a towel, your yellow sundress replaced by pale pink silky pajamas, and there’s something almost disarming about how comfortable you seem.

Max nods, his expression neutral. “Yeah.”

You don’t push the conversation, only smile again as you step into your room. “Sleep well, Max,” you say over your shoulder, as if you mean it.

He huffs quietly, more out of habit than frustration, and slips into his own room. The door closes with a soft click, and he leans back against it, rubbing a hand over his face.

For a moment, he stands there, in the silence of the room, staring at nothing in particular. He doesn’t know why your kindness unsettles him so much. It’s not like you’ve done anything wrong, but that’s exactly the problem. You’re too nice. Too understanding. And for some reason, it gets under his skin.

Max changes into a T-shirt and shorts, moving about the room on autopilot. He keeps hearing your voice, soft and sweet, lingering in his thoughts.

Finally, he pulls back the covers and slides into bed, trying to shut everything out. But it’s quiet now—too quiet. And even though you’re just on the other side of the wall, he can’t stop thinking about you.

In the middle of the night, he’s still awake, tossing and turning, when there’s a soft knock on his door. Max sits up, frowning slightly, wondering who it could be at this hour.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and pads across the room, opening the door just a crack. It’s you, standing there, a little sheepish, your arms crossed lightly over your chest.

“Sorry,” you whisper, barely audible, “I didn’t mean to bother you. It’s just… my room's really hot. I think the AC is broken.”

Max blinks, unsure of what to say at first. Part of him wants to tell you to deal with it yourself, but another part of him can’t ignore it.

His eyes linger on you more than he’d admit—your hair sticking to your neck from sweat, your cheeks flushed, and you nibble your lip nervously. Your tank top has ridden up, a sliver of your hip exposed, and Max does everything in his power to push those thoughts away.

“Uh… you could just crack open a window,” he suggests, his voice a bit rough from sleep. He knows the words sound hollow even to him. He doesn’t want you in his space, yet part of him doesn’t want you sweating alone either.

You fidget slightly, your gaze dropping to the floor. “I tried, but it didn’t help. I just thought… maybe I could crash in here?” The words hang in the air, hopeful yet tentative.

Max’s heart races at the idea. The prospect of sharing the bed makes his palms sweat. It’s one thing to be in the same room, but sharing a bed? He hesitates, biting the inside of his cheek as he weighs his options.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asks, trying to sound casual, but there’s a hint of something deeper in his tone. The image of you curled up beside him—too close for comfort—sends a shiver down his spine.

“Yeah, no, you’re right,” you offer a nervous smile, clearly not wanting to invade his space, so you back away, ducking into your room. He watches you until the door is shut behind you.

Max stands in the doorway, his heart racing as he processes the moment. He’s not sure why he feels such a strong urge to call you back, to insist that it’s okay, but the words remain stuck in his throat. He runs a hand through his hair, feeling a mix of irritation and something else—something he’s not ready to name.

As he paces back to his bed, he tries to shake off the lingering image of you standing there, your flushed cheeks and nervous smile. He lies down again, staring at the ceiling, trying to focus on anything but the fact that you’re just a wall away.

A few moments pass before he hears a soft, muffled noise from your room—a sniffle, maybe? It makes his chest tighten at the thought of you crying because you're uncomfortable.

“Damn it,” he mutters to himself, tossing an arm over his eyes. He’s not going to sleep if he keeps thinking about you like this.

After what feels like an eternity of tossing and turning, he finally sits up, his decision made. He stands up, his heart pounding in his chest, and makes his way to your door. He raises his hand to knock but hesitates, uncertainty flooding in.

“Why the hell am I doing this?” he mutters, his self-doubt creeping back in. But the thought of you feeling uncomfortable alone is enough to push him through. He knocks softly, the sound barely more than a tap.

“Hey,” you call from inside, and he can hear the surprise in your voice. “Is everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” he replies, his voice worse than he intended. “I… just thought maybe you could come back. It’s probably not that hot here.”

There’s a brief silence, and he can imagine the look on your face—surprised and perhaps a little hopeful. “Really?” you ask, and he can’t help the slight smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

The door swings open, revealing you still in your silk-clad pajamas. He rips his gaze away, feeling a tightness in his throat. He doesn't utter a word, just turns around, walking to his room. He can hear your feet padding behind him, and you close the door behind the both of you.

Max keeps his back to you as you quietly follow him into the room, closing the door behind you with a soft click. The air feels heavier now, thick with unspoken tension as you stand there in the dim light, waiting for him to say something. But Max doesn’t. Instead, he heads straight for the bed, pulling back the covers on one side, his movements stiff and a little too deliberate.

“You can take the right side,” he mutters, not looking at you, as he slides under the covers on the left. His heart is pounding, though he tries to act like everything is fine.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure whether to thank him or just keep quiet. Deciding not to push it, you simply nod, even though he isn’t looking at you. You cross the room and slip into the bed beside him, careful not to make any sudden movements.

The mattress dips slightly under your weight, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he can feel the same tension thrumming between you that you do. The bed feels impossibly small now, the space between you a thin sliver of air that crackles with awkwardness.

You lie still, facing away from him, but you can feel his presence—so close and yet so distant. The sound of his steady breathing fills the room, and you wonder if he’s doing the same as you, staring at the ceiling, trying to will himself to sleep.

Minutes stretch on, and the silence between you is deafening. Every creak of the bed, every shift in the sheets seems louder in the stillness of the night. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice so soft it barely breaks the silence. You don’t expect a reply, and for a few moments, there’s nothing but the sound of your own breathing.

Then, finally, Max shifts slightly beside you. “Yeah, whatever,” he grumbles, his voice low and rough, but there’s something different in it now. Something that isn’t as cold as before.

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. Maybe he isn’t as indifferent as he wants you to think. You curl up a little more, trying to make yourself comfortable, even as the tension lingers in the air between you.

As the night drags on, you begin to drift in and out of sleep. The heat from the earlier part of the night is gone now, replaced by a cooler breeze that drifts in through the open window. The sheets are soft, and for the first time since you entered Max’s room, you start to relax.

Just as you’re on the edge of sleep, you feel something shift again. Max turns slightly, the mattress dipping as he moves closer—just barely, but enough for you to notice. His arm brushes against yours, and the warmth of his skin sends a small jolt through you.

You stay perfectly still, wondering if he did it on purpose or if he’s just restless. Either way, you don’t move, afraid to disturb the delicate balance between you.

Your mind races—what if you roll over onto him in your sleep? What if you start snoring?—and the nerves bubble up, spilling out before you can stop yourself.

“So… I haven’t slept in a guy’s bed in ages,” you blurt out, staring at the ceiling. Max barely reacts, his only acknowledgment a low, noncommittal “Mhm,” but it doesn’t stop you from talking.

“Yeah, it’s been, like… a long time. I’m more of a 'sleep with a thousand pillows' kind of person, you know? Gotta have the right setup.” You laugh a little, mostly to yourself, feeling the need to fill the quiet. Max doesn’t respond, but you keep going, too nervous to stop. “Oh, and I’m really bad with directions, like, I get lost in grocery stores. Once, I ended up in the freezer aisle for thirty minutes just trying to find the cereal.”

“Mhm.”

His replies are half-hearted at best, but you don’t mind. If anything, the sound of his quiet indifference weirdly helps soothe your nerves.

“Oh! And I can’t swim,” you say with a laugh, thinking it’s just another random fact to throw out there. But this time, Max’s head snaps toward you.

“You came to the amalfi coast, and you can’t swim?” he asks, his voice sharper than before, with a hint of amusement. His eyes narrow slightly, and you can’t help but grin.

“Yeah,” you reply, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “Figured I’d just, you know… stay on the shore.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “That’s stupid.”

“Maybe,” you say, laughing softly, your nerves easing a bit. “But I’m good at other things. Like… did you know I can recite the entire script of Finding Nemo? Well, mostly.”

Max rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Great skill.”

You keep talking, the words flowing easier now. Your voice fills the room, soft and rhythmic, and even though Max doesn’t say much, you can feel the tension in the air start to shift. His body relaxes slightly, the space between you feeling a little less awkward.

“And another thing, I’m a terrible cook. Burnt spaghetti once. Didn’t even think that was possible. It’s water and noodles, right?” You laugh again, and this time Max lets out a quiet huff—almost like a chuckle, though he’d never admit it.

Your voice is like a steady hum, lulling the room into a gentle calm. You talk about everything and nothing, the words spilling out in a quiet stream. Max listens, his responses becoming softer, almost inaudible, but it doesn’t matter. His breathing slows, his eyes fluttering shut as your voice washes over him.

You don’t notice when he finally drifts off, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. But somehow, you feel it—the way the energy in the room has shifted, his earlier sharpness melted away into something softer, more relaxed.

The next morning, sunlight spills through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. You stir first, the warmth of the bed enveloping you, your body reluctant to wake. For a moment, you forget where you are, and then it hits you—Max’s bed, Max’s room. You blink your eyes open slowly, turning your head slightly to see him still there, asleep.

He’s lying on his back now, the sheets tangled around his waist, his chest rising and falling with each slow breath. His face is serene, the harsh lines you’ve come to associate with him softened by sleep. His hair is slightly tousled, giving him an almost boyish look, something so different from the hard-edged man who usually glares at you.

You feel a strange flutter in your chest as you look at him, this version of Max—unguarded, vulnerable. It’s a side of him you never thought you’d see, and it’s almost too intimate, too close. You shift a little, trying not to make any noise, but the bed creaks softly under your weight.

Max stirs, his brows furrowing slightly as he slowly wakes up. His eyes open halfway, still hazy with sleep, and for a brief moment, he looks at you without the usual edge in his gaze. It’s like he’s forgotten for a second who you are, where he is.

Then, reality seems to settle back in, and his eyes narrow ever so slightly, though there’s no real malice there. Just a kind of gruff annoyance.

“Mornin’,” he mutters, his voice rough and low, thick with sleep.

“Good morning,” you reply softly, offering a tentative smile.

He shifts, pushing himself up on his elbows, the sheet falling further down his waist, revealing more of his toned torso. You can’t help but glance, quickly averting your eyes when you realize you’re staring.

Max runs a hand through his messy hair, yawning as he glances at you. “You talk a lot in your sleep too, or is that just when you’re awake?” he asks, a hint of that familiar sarcasm creeping back into his tone, though there’s no real bite behind it.

You chuckle lightly, relaxing a little. “Only when I’m awake, I promise.”

He grunts, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting up. For a moment, neither of you says anything, the silence between you less awkward than you would’ve expected. It’s almost… comfortable.

Max stretches, his muscles flexing slightly as he does, and you try not to let your eyes linger too long. You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, and you’re grateful when he doesn’t seem to notice.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “how’d you sleep?”

He glances back at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he shrugs. “Fine, I guess.” There’s a pause, and then he adds, almost begrudgingly, “Didn’t mind all the talking.”

Your heart skips a beat at that, the small admission catching you off guard. You smile, warmth spreading through you. “Glad to know I didn’t annoy you too much.”

Max doesn’t respond, just grabs his phone from the nightstand and checks the time. But you catch the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips before he turns away.

He stands, pulling on a shirt and running a hand through his hair again before heading toward the door. “We’re leaving for breakfast soon,” he mutters. “Don’t take too long.”

He steps out before poking his head back in his face serious, “Don’t tell anyone about this,” he says gesturing a finger around towards you and him, right asshole Max is alive and well.

“Right.” you deflate, but none the less walk to your room. You notice the AC now works. 

The warmth of the Italian sun is already starting to filter in through your window as you slip into your pale yellow babydoll dress. The soft fabric feels light against your skin, perfect for the warm weather and the laid-back vibes of the villa.

When you finally make your way downstairs, the smell of fresh coffee and pastries fills the air, and you can hear the familiar hum of laughter and chatter. The villa’s terrace is bathed in sunlight, with everyone seated around the large outdoor table, enjoying breakfast. 

Max is already seated, of course, his usual stoic expression in place. He’s leaning back in his chair, sunglasses on, making it impossible to tell if he’s even noticed you. 

An array of colorful fruits and pastries litters the table, couples chatting and laughing as you offer everyone a warm smile while taking a seat next to Mila, who returns the gesture. “How was the room, darling?” she asks, taking a sip of her tea. You can feel a pair of laser beams on your face, as if Max is staring into your soul.

“Oh, it was truly nice,” you reply, feeling the tips of your ears heat up with nerves. Mila seems to buy it and turns to address the entire group.

“So, guys, today we’re going to take the yacht around,” she announces, eliciting a few excited hoots from your friends. Your stomach tightens at the thought of being stuck on a yacht, but you brush the anxiety aside.

As the chatter around the breakfast table grows, the knot in your stomach tightens at the mention of the yacht. You toy with the edge of your napkin, trying to suppress the wave of nerves that accompanies the idea of being out on the water, especially since you can’t swim.

Max, still leaning back in his chair, tilts his head slightly in your direction, as if he senses the unease radiating off you. His sunglasses shield his eyes, but you swear you can feel his gaze tracing over you. A small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, and you can almost hear his voice echoing in your mind: “You came to the Amalfi Coast, and you can’t swim?”

You swallow hard, forcing a smile as you join in on the group's excitement, even though the thought of being surrounded by water sends a shiver down your spine. Mila stands, gathering everyone’s attention, and starts guiding the group toward the dock.

The villa’s outdoor space spills into a sprawling garden, leading to a private path that takes you to where the yacht is docked. The sunlight glints off the water, almost blinding in its brightness, as you walk with the others toward the sleek, luxurious yacht. Everyone seems thrilled—laughing and talking about the views they’ll see—while you stay quieter than usual, taking deep breaths to calm your nerves.

You tug at the sleeves of your oversized polo, the fabric bunching slightly in your grip as you focus on steadying your breath. The path to the dock feels longer than it actually is, the sounds of the group’s lively chatter fading into the background. You glance at the shimmering blue water ahead and bite the inside of your cheek.

Max lingers just a few steps behind, and you can feel the weight of his presence even without looking. His footsteps are slow and deliberate, as if he’s watching you closely, waiting for any sign of weakness. You try not to dwell on it, though the image of him smirking at your fear lingers in the back of your mind.

As the group finally boards the yacht, you become hyper-aware of the water surrounding you. The boat rocks gently as everyone gets settled, and you grip the railing tightly, trying to hide your discomfort. Max watches you for a moment before walking past you, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours.

“Relax,” he mutters under his breath, not even looking at you, but there’s something almost reassuring in his tone. You exhale slowly, forcing yourself to take a seat with the others, letting the warmth of the sun and the sound of conversation distract you from the vast ocean around you.

As the yacht pulls away from the dock, you try to focus on the scenery. The Amalfi Coast is breathtaking—cliffs draped in greenery, colorful villas dotting the shoreline, and the ocean sparkling beneath the golden sunlight. Everyone around you laughs and soaks up the beauty of the day, but your hands remain clenched in your lap, your mind preoccupied with the endless expanse of water.

Despite your nervousness, you find yourself stealing glances at Max. He’s sitting at the back of the yacht, one arm draped casually over the side, sunglasses shielding his eyes as he stares out at the water. He looks so at ease, completely unaffected by the swaying of the boat or the openness of the sea.

The breeze picks up, ruffling your hair, and as you turn your attention back to the group, you feel the yacht slow down. Mila claps her hands, announcing that they’ve anchored near a beautiful cove, perfect for swimming.

Your stomach drops.

Everyone begins shedding layers, excitement buzzing through the group as they prepare to jump into the water. You stay seated, gripping the edge of your chair as they leap overboard, laughter echoing around you.

Max stands, pulling off his shirt and revealing the defined muscles of his back and shoulders. Your eyes linger for a moment longer than you intend. He catches your gaze just before he moves toward the edge of the yacht, that same smirk playing on his lips.

“You coming in?” he asks, his voice low, almost challenging.

You shake your head quickly, offering a small laugh. “No, I think I’ll just… stay here and enjoy the sun.”

Max arches an eyebrow, clearly not buying your excuse, but he doesn’t push it. He gives you one last look, his smirk still in place, before diving effortlessly into the water.

You watch as your friends giggle and enjoy themselves. Mila waves up at you, and you give her a fake salute. She giggles and goes back to swimming. A few minutes later, several members of the group come up to take a break, Max among them. You hate to admit it, but you watch the water droplets roll off him, his cheeks flushed from the sun, and a tight feeling blooms in your core as you force yourself to look away.

The group is lively, and at one point, Jamie, always the instigator, starts playfully shoving friends toward the edge of the boat, teasing and laughing. You stand at the back, watching, hoping to stay out of the chaos.

But in a moment of playful exuberance, Jamie swings his arm and accidentally nudges you forward. Time seems to slow as you lose your balance, and before you can even process what’s happening, you tumble over the side of the yacht. The water crashes around you, and as you hit the surface, the cold rush envelops you, sending panic gripping your chest. Instinctively, you kick your legs, but the water pulls you under, and you flail in confusion. The world above disappears, and the muffled sounds of laughter and splashing fade into silence.

Just as you start to lose hope, a strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back to the surface. You gasp for air, blinking the water from your eyes, and find yourself face-to-face with Max. His expression is intense, irritation etched on his features.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he snaps, though his grip is steady and reassuring as he keeps you afloat.

You can’t help but laugh nervously, trying to shake off the fear. “I didn’t want to go in!” you manage to sputter, still clinging to him for dear life.

Max rolls his eyes, the frown returning, though it’s softer this time. “You need to stop thrashing around,” he says, his voice lower now.

As he helps you back onto the yacht, the warmth of the sun hits your damp skin once more. Laughter and cheers erupt from the group as they realize you’re okay, but Max’s presence is the only thing that matters to you in this moment. He doesn’t say anything; his expression remains unreadable as he sets you down.

You catch your breath, water dripping from your hair and running down your arms. “Thanks, Max,” you say, trying to brush off the embarrassment. His usual smirk is absent, and for a split second, you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he cares.

But as soon as you’re on the boat, he steps back, leaving you with the others. “Try not to drown next time,” he says, his tone flat as he pulls his shirt back on, the fabric clinging to his damp skin. It feels more like a reflex than a genuine jab, but you let it slide, laughing it off. “I’ll try my best.”

He turns away, and you can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. You shake your head, trying to focus on the laughter around you as Jamie and Mila check to make sure you’re okay. “Really, I’m fine,” you assure them, even as your heart races from the close call.

Just like that, everyone goes back to normal. Lunch is served, and as the yacht heads back to the dock under the fading light, you’re the first one off, eager to touch solid ground once more. You don’t bid anyone goodnight; you’re all too tired for that. You head upstairs to your room, closing the door behind you and shrugging off your damp polo and swimsuit. You hop in the shower, rinsing the salt water off your skin.

After your shower, the soft sound of knocking pulls you from your thoughts. You wrap yourself in a towel and open the door to find Mila standing there, concern etched across her features.

“Hey, just wanted to check on you,” she says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. Her eyes scan your face, searching for any signs of distress. “That fall looked pretty rough.”

You chuckle softly, waving it off. “I’m fine, really. Just a little embarrassed.”

Mila raises an eyebrow, a sly smile creeping onto her face. “You sure it’s not because of Max? I saw the way he pulled you out of the water. It looked pretty… intimate.”

The mention of Max sends a warmth flooding through you, one that you quickly dismiss. “Oh, please. He was just being a jerk, as usual.”

She smirks, crossing her arms. “Or maybe he just likes the attention.”

“Yeah, right,” you scoff, but a small part of you can’t help but wonder if there’s more to it. “He’s just… Max. You know how he is.”

Mila studies you for a moment, trying to read between the lines. “Well, just think about it. He’s not always the way he acts, you know?”

With that, she leaves, and you find yourself lost in thought, her words echoing in your mind. What if Max really did care?

Later that night, curiosity gets the better of you. You stand in front of Max’s door, your heart racing as you knock softly.

“Come in,” he calls, and you push the door open cautiously. He’s lounging on his bed, scrolling through his phone, and for a moment, you’re struck by how at home he looks.

“Hey,” you say, your voice soft. “I just wanted to thank you… for earlier.”

Max looks up, a flicker of something in his gaze before he masks it with indifference. “You mean for saving your ass?” he quips, his smirk returning. “Don’t mention it.”

You roll your eyes, stepping further into the room. “You know, for someone who supposedly doesn’t care, you sure have a funny way of showing it.”

His expression shifts, annoyance flickering across his features. “What do you want me to do? Throw you a parade for not drowning?”

“Maybe just a little acknowledgment would be nice,” you counter, crossing your arms defensively.

He stands, taking a step closer, and the air between you crackles with tension. “I don’t like how sweet you are,” he says, his tone sharp. “It’s annoying.”

“Annoying?” you challenge, feeling a rush of defiance. “Is that really all you’ve got? Because it sounds like you’re just scared of someone actually caring.”

Max’s eyes darken, and for a moment, you think he might snap back. But instead, he steps even closer, invading your personal space. “You think you’re so great, don’t you? All sunshine and rainbows, but it doesn’t work with me.”

Before you can respond, he closes the distance, and suddenly, his lips are on yours—fervent and demanding. His warmth envelops you, slightly chapped against your own, igniting a spark that sends a thrill coursing through your entire body. You’re caught off guard at first, but your instincts take over, and you melt into the kiss, feeling his hands slide around your waist, pulling you closer.

As the kiss deepens, you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. He presses you against the door, his body firm and solid against yours, radiating heat that makes your pulse quicken. The kiss is intoxicating; every second stretches into eternity—his lips moving against yours in a dance that feels both wild and tender.

When you finally pull away, breathless, your heart races as you search his eyes. “Wait… Max—”

He leans in again, his breath mingling with yours, heavy with longing. “You taste sweet,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, a smirk tugging at his lips.

A rush of warmth floods your cheeks at his words. “Is that all you have to say?” you tease, a smile breaking through your fluster.

Max steps back slightly, his hands still resting on your hips as he watches you intently. “What do you want me to say? That I’m an asshole who can’t help but want you?”

The air between you buzzes with unspoken tension—a mix of frustration and attraction. You feel exhilarated yet confused, unable to ignore the thrill of being this close to him, the chemistry crackling like electricity.

“Maybe you could start by admitting you actually care,” you challenge softly, a playful glint in your eyes.

“Maybe,” he replies, a hint of seriousness in his tone before leaning in again, capturing your lips with his. This time, it’s even more intense; his hands grip your waist as he deepens the kiss, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he can’t get enough of you.

But as the moment stretches on, you pull back slightly, breathless. “Max—”

He leans in again, and you find yourself needing to physically stop him, your hands resting on his chest. “Wait, we can’t just—”

“Why not?” he presses, his voice low and needy, his eyes dark with desire. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

You’re both panting, caught in an electric moment. “You’re infuriating, you know that?” you say, a smile creeping onto your lips despite the chaos swirling around you.

Max smirks, his expression softening just a fraction. “Yeah, but you like it.” He crashes his lips against yours once more, and as he pulls away, he runs his tongue along his lower lip, a boyish smirk breaking through. “Sweet like honey,” he teases, prompting you to laugh and tilt your head back. Without thinking, you pull him down by his shirt collar, kissing him again, lost in the moment.

[1nthedarknessofthenight]

﴾ wild side

pairing: gang leader!bangchan x f!reader

genre: one-shot, mafia au, smut

word count: 11,8K

warnings: minor violence ⋆ blood and weapons ⋆ reader works as a waitress in a strip club⋆ dom!chris and sub!reader ⋆ lap dancing! ⋆ oral (m.receiving) ⋆ unprotected!sex ⋆ creampie!

summary: one night, while you were making your way home after work, you came across something you shouldn’t have seen and even if you run away, there was no way for you to escape the man with the scar across his face

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Someday you think, you will give up. Everything hurt — your arms, legs and mostly your head. It pulsated with every step you took and you silently prayed that you wouldn’t end up passed out on the cold, wet ground. You huffed, completely exhausted, but as you imagined yourself scrubbed clean and snuggled in your comfy bed, it kind of helped keep you motivated.

You wondered how long it would take before you just decided not to work anymore. It wasn’t like the job is bad or anything, quite the opposite. You get handsomely paid and that wasn’t a surprise. You work as a waitress at one of the most popular strip club in the city. You slept through the day, waking up late to get ready for your night shift. Every day you had to smile and giggle at the most gross and creepy men in hopes they would tip you more. But you can’t say anything to that. You have nothing to whine about and also you really liked it there. Pretty interior, good music and shows — maybe it's just your distaste for life at the moment.

Your naked feet dance across the ground, heels in your hand and you do hate yourself for forgetting about your other shoes. You did left your apartment quite in hurry. As well as now. It wasn’t the fact that walking on the ground made you literally shiver in disgust, it was mostly because you were starting to get highly aware of your position right now.

The early hours of morning are probably the most dangerous in this city. When you decided to live here, you didn’t look much into the history of the city. However every luxury and dreamlike city comes with secrets. The streets were still dark, quiet and cold, your hair sticking to your skin slightly from the humidity. You had to press your arms around your chest a little tighter when you hear a small noise behind you. You at that moment realized how unarmed you were. Cold, shivering in your skirt and light jacket, alone — you can’t help, but feel frightened a little.

This city was known for its crime, but being also so charming it makes all the tourist, just like you, blind enough not to see the danger it truly holds. Your head whipped around to look behind you. Nothing. Though you do pick up your pace, hissing at the small stones digging into your feet. Your droopy eyes flickered over the seemingly empty streets, few lamps lighting your path. You wanted nothing more than be in your apartment already as you started to feel not so alone anymore when another unexpected noise is heard.

A clinking of a glass bottle echoes around you. It was probably just a stray animal or something, but your heart still skipped a beat. You turned back around to look before you, but your eyes stopped at the well known open, alley next to you. It was a short cut, however you only took it at day when it seemed way more safe. The way the darkness almost seemed to pull you into it made you uncomfortable. You knew that you should never take a dark alley so late, even if you heard noise on the other end of the street. Something about it just screamed danger, yet it also called out to you and you knew how much time it would safe you by going that way — so you did.

Turning around the corner you couldn’t help, but look around your surroundings. Still nothing. It still scared you just a little, because you can never know, but just standing on the same spot won’t help you either. Sighing you walked further into the dark alleyway, grumbling just a little when you walked into small puddle. You really couldn’t afford being sick, another thing that made you go just a little faster. For being the city of crime at night, the rent prices really weren’t that low. You of course asked yourself if maybe moving away would be better, but you never knew that working at a strip club would make you meet the most important people in your life right now. You were just a runaway and all of them invited you with open arms. District 9 was also a city of outcasts — just like you.

Your nails dig into your jacket, piercing your skin almost from the way the pathway before you became completely dark. The only thing helping you see was the Moon and looking up, you for a second became blinded by its beauty. Cold kissed your cheeks, nose runny and your eyes slightly glossed over. Your dreamlike state didn’t last for very long, just like your sanity as you heard a very loud sound from somewhere near you.

You immediately jumped, body freezing. Your eyes widened, maybe to see better and when you heard the same noise once again you let out a small sigh of fright. However as the sound traveled to your senses, you quickly realized it was just a sound of car’s door closing. You almost wanted to laugh at yourself. Your paranoia still lingered when you looked into the direction of the sound and you fight back a shiver as it is the same way you must take to get home. You for a second wondered if there was maybe another way, but you knew that at the end, few blocks away was your warm, cozy home.

Taking a few, slow steps forward, your cold feet dragged across the ground for a second, thinking. Your ears were on high alert, eyes unfocused as it would help you hear better. Nothing, but was it really? Your hand gripping the string of your purse traveled down to open it. Fishing through it, your movements frantic, trying to find your choice of weapon. Even if your bag was rather small it got messy really fast. Before you could panic any longer your fingers finally grazed over the plastic, pulling it out quickly, your index finger immediately finding the dip at the top of the pepper spray. You kept it for years and you prayed that you won’t have to use it any time soon. You also wondered if it was still useable, but there’s only one way to found out.

The alley became less narrow the further you went, just like you remembered. You found a safe spot next to a brick wall, away from the warehouse next to you, hand dragging across the stone. You never liked that place. It was damned to be demolition and you always came across few pieces of stones falling from the walls. It seemed like a big hazard to you, but for some reason no one wanted to take it down.

As you were almost half way through the alley a flash of light flickered on the ground. You stopped in your tracks when it fell on the ground right before you, but just before it disappeared you followed it with your eyes. It flashed right before you then it traveled to the brick wall and when you turned around you realized it was coming from the building right next to you. It came from the inside, because from what you could see, it disappeared right when it hit a wall next to one of the broken windows. You couldn’t help but frown in confusion, head tilting down to maybe see inside what seemed like the basement window.

Maybe it was just some kids messing around, but when you decided to continue your walk home something stopped you. A loud sound pierced your ears, making you let out a small gasp, grasping your chest. However your noise was small compared to the short painful scream that came right after. You froze, breathing heavily, grasping your pepper spray in death grip. Turning once again you turned to the direction of the small window and from this angle you could finally see inside.

You didn’t know why you didn’t just run away as it was not worth it, but what if somebody was in danger. You probably wouldn’t be able to sleep with the guilt if you would see something in news later. You glanced back to the direction of your home and back to the window. You are troubled and just a little bit terrified. This wasn’t a good idea, but you were never good at making decisions, so you only walked closer.

And with careful steps, trying to be as quiet as possible at this hour. You bend in the knees, falling almost when the light shined yet again, but it thankfully wasn’t in your direction. You leaned closer with your free hand on the wall, lowering yourself on your knees. You fought back the disgust when your skin touched the dirty, cold ground, centering your attention on the light instead. You again followed it, watching how it was put down on something.

Your lips parted in shock, because as soon as the light was put down, the light beam hit a person rolling on the floor in agony. Then two feet dressed in fine, polished shoes stepped into the direction of the person. Their footsteps squeaked, shuffling closer and closer to the injured man. The one standing had their back turned to you, like the one on the ground, but just as you wondered what happened to the person they rolled over onto their back. Your hand immediately fell to your mouth, silencing your gasp at the sight.

Blood was everywhere on the man’s face. His hand put pressure onto his bleeding eye, but even with that he couldn’t stop the liquid from flowing out. Your legs shook and even with your fright you could still hear the words from the man standing. “Tell me their names.” The voice is low and rough. The demand meant for the injured man is only answered in series of pleas.

You were in state of shock, completely frozen in your spot. You couldn’t even breathe at that moment, watching with wide eyes as the standing man crouched down to his level. You could only see the back of his head full of dark hair, his wide shoulders caging the trembling man who raised his hands in surrender. However it didn’t seem like that man was moved by his apologies. You should’ve ran before it was too late, but how? You didn’t know what to do. Nothing, there was nothing for you to do to help that poor man as the man before him mumbled something that made the other scream in terror.

Your mouth fell wide open as when man with wide shoulders stood up again, holding out his hand. Another person which you didn’t see till then handed him a weapon — a gun. Your eyes filled with tears, because you would probably see the most gruesome sight in your life. Your breathing picked up, heart beating so fast you thought it would jump out of your chest. You couldn’t…you couldn’t look further as the dark haired man pointed the gun at the man who shook like a leaf. And then you did a very stupid thing…

You went to move away from the window, but your hand on the wall slipped, making your foot drag forward. A gasp that came from your lips was louder than the man’s cries, but not the stones rolling down from the window, landing right next to the man’s feet. You were immediately blinded by light shining into your face and you thought you almost died out of fear itself at that moment when the man turns to you.

The first thing you noticed about him was the large scar running across his face, starting from his eyebrow and ending at his chiseled jaw. His full lips were pulled into a scowl, brown eyes glaring right into yours. You felt like at the brink of fainting, because you immediately recognized him. His face was all over the news, only a sketch, but everyone knew about the man with a scar. Bangchan was his name. The most dangerous man of the whole city, a leader of an underground gang that is known for haunting these streets at night.

His whole demeanor screamed danger and hearing his voice once again, it did activated your fight or flight instinct. “Get her.” It came out cold and unemotional. His voice made your whole body vibrate, eyes falling to the gun still in his hand, but he did not make a move to raise it to your head. Instead you only heard heavy, quick footsteps and before you finally jumped away from the window, you saw three dark figures moving in the shadows — right into the direction of the side entrance to the warehouse, just where you were.

You knew you should never run to your home when someone was chasing you, but you had better chance at making it home than running back. You rised to your feet, not even thinking twice and running out of the aisle. Your legs immediately quivered at your sudden moves, feeling your muscles scream. Stumbling slightly, you almost slipped as you round the corner, running out of the alley just as you heard the sound of heavy metal doors slamming against a wall.

From the brute force you swear it vibrated in your bones. In your runaway plan you didn’t even realize you left your heels behind, but they were not going to help you anyway. You already had hard time using your legs, bare feet feeling like they would crumble at any moment. You couldn’t ignore the footsteps behind you. You looked back frantically, one of the three man a little too close to your liking. A cry of disbelief and horror left you, eyes going back to look at the sidewalk before you. You prayed that somebody would appear and safe you, but knowing what kind of people were chasing you nobody would be able to help you anyway.

You were so close. One block and you were home. You were trying not give up, lungs burning, metallic taste in your mouth overwhelmed your senses for a second. And then when your mind cleared again, you heard nothing. You didn’t stop however, only turning your head back around. You cried out in small relief as you saw nobody behind you on the sidewalk.

You didn’t think much of it as you stumbled over your apartment building. You didn’t think about the fact that they maybe were watching you, seeing that running after you was no use. Your adrenaline rush was greater than their strength. You knew that they wouldn’t give up. That man won’t give — he will hunt you down and do whatever he wants with you, because that’s just who he is. However you only felt relief when you walked inside your home, just as the orange hue of the rising sun start to peaked out from behind the tall buildings, but you also couldn’t ignore the lingering darkenss.

────

A dream, a nightmare — that’s what you thought it was when you woke up. Your eyes were all puffy, mind still fuzzy, but also on high alert at the same time. You remember how the first thing that you did when you stumbled inside your apartment was deadbolting it and moving your wardrobe to block the door. It all happened so fast that you still even now think you really just dreamed all of it. However losing your favorite heels and also the pepper spray under your bed told you the opposite. You really are surprised that you even woke up, seeing that you overslept your alarm three times. You were in hurry to get to work in time, but you think should’ve called the police instead. However you know that it would put even more of a target on your head. You don’t know what this man is truly capable of and you can’t be certain that he hasn’t got anyone in the police, because he always gets away with everything. Also by the time the cops would get there, there would be no clue that would indicate that the most dangerous gang was even there.

Your paranoia and fear for your own safety led you to passing out the moment you fell on to your bed. You were still in your dirty, damp clothes, waking up half an hour late, but somehow you managed to find time for a shower, do your makeup and dress up. You at that moment realized how your life is just a show. You slept even more than yesterday, but somehow you are the most tired you have ever been. The second you walked into your work, a wave of guilt hit you. You really should’ve called the police as soon as you got to your apartment. However you really did give them a lot of time to clean up after their mess. maybe you shouldn't have gone to the window — you really thought you could be the hero.

You feel like a clown in your mid length sparkly dress and heels, staring at the small tv at the far left corner. The sign ‘Girls,Girls,Girls’ next to it made it quite hard to see clearly on the screen, but you could recognize the blurry sketch everywhere. However it isn’t a report like you expected, it is only a remind to call the police if you see anyone similar to this image. The police and probably even FBI are getting a little too desperate to your taste when they put a price on his head. They are only putting civilians into danger and you just know that taking down the leader of this gang would only cause more trouble. Everybody knows Bangchan as a bad man, a murder who steals and brakes things, like the lives of innocent people. From every report there is about his actions it seemed like he leaves nothing behind other than few hints. You wonder if all of those victims have anything in common, but if they did the federal government wouldn’t give too much information out. They are all liars and assholes. You remember your coworker telling you that they once barged in to the club with guns, leaving shortly after with no explanation what so ever. You moved to the city few months after that fiasco.

You wipe down a glass, unaware of your surroundings, so when an empty tray falls right on the counter before you, you jump right out of your skin. Your head whips to the girl before you who only gives you a look of confusion in return. “Girl, you good?” Cathy asks you, her dark hair falling into her eyes, but you still see her glare. You know her the longest out of anyone. She was the one other than her best friend Nina who dances at the private rooms who helped you with everything. A lot of people come and go, but you are greatful that she stayed here with you, just like the boy next to you.

You feel a hand on your shoulder, making your eyes fall onto David who wears the same look on his face. “What’s going on? You’ve been very jumpy today.” There’s a pull on his bushy eyebrows and you realize that it’s concern. He always has the tendency to joke around more than anything and you see him like this only from time to time, so it makes you even more nervous.

You blink at him in thought. “Did one of the guys give you trouble again?” The girl before you goes further and you fight the argue to just break down and tell them everything. You think about what to answer. If you told them, you would probably put them in danger and you definitely couldn’t live with that. You will just have to wait till your shift is over and call the police…

Your eyes flicker back to the tv that nobody other than staff stares at sometimes, there are simply way prettier things to look at. “Nothing happened, just tired…I guess.” It comes out leveled yet little and something told you that even with such a reassuring tone they didn’t believe you.

They didn’t ask you further after that, but both of them kept a careful eye on you for the next two hours and you almost quivered at their intense gazes. You prefer to be honest over anything, but you really can’t. You tried to distract yourself with looking at the dancers. Their moves were usually so mesmerizing and beautiful, but right now their sensual moves were not enough to distract you from overthinking.

Maybe it’s the fact that you were acting like nothing actually happened, because you didn’t talk about it nor called the police, but you swear you felt someone watching you. It weren’t the eyes of a peeping Tom like you are quite used to — these ones drilled holes into your back. Every time you would go away from the bar to collect empty glasses and take order which was quite frequent, because the club was packed full tonight, goosebumps would appear on your body. You can’t help, but imagine those dark, brown eyes looking at you from somewhere. Your own imagination will be the death of you.

In your hurry to get back to the bar and order the drinks from a table full of collage boys, a single shot of tequila was left behind. You know you shouldn’t do it as it is against the policy, but you find yourself not caring too much, swallowing the shot in one, smooth go. It immediately burns at the back of the throat and you look around swiftly to see if anyone saw you and to your delight no one even batted an eye at you.

“Y/N!” At the sound of your name, you freeze, thinking you actually got caught in your act, but you are only met with Cathy again. She walks up to you with heavy breaths, hair sticking to her forehead from the humidity. “They need you as a backup—“ With her words she nods her head to the direction of the VIP section, before making her way back to the bar with her own tray of empty glasses.

You frown, eyes snapping to that direction. You have never been in there, because it is a known fact that only specific people could get in there. It is like an individual part of the club and you think you have never met anyone from there other than Nina. Celebrities, politicians all sorts of known people go there from what you know and you definitely wouldn’t be able to slip in as your eyes fall on the tall bodyguard guarding the door. You snap back to reality, realizing you are literally standing in the middle of the room.

You walk up quickly to the dark haired girl, your expression still the same, but she somehow isn’t so phased by it. “At the private rooms?” You say slowly, trying to see if this is supposed to be some sort of joke.

Putting down the tray next to hers, you watch her for a second, but Cathy only nods, not even looking at you as she starts to make a Bloody Mary. “Yeah and someone is asking for you—“

You only give her another look of confusion, tilting your head in thought. Your eyes quickly travel to the stages, then to the private section and back then back to her again, “I’m not a dancer.” You almost scoff, not in disgust, but at the thought of your stiff-self dancing that way.

Her laugh is sharp and it kind of offends you in some way. “I know, baby.” David just happens to round the corner to help her, not without giving you an odd look. “They just asked you to help them back there, it’s packed full.”

You hum, still not sure why you, because someone like her or David would definitely be a better help. You still sometimes look at the recipe for certain drinks, like rainbow shots — very popular in the bar, those gave you a whiplash every time you would try to make them. The thought of the VIP section with private rooms being completely full didn’t seem weird to you. Here, at your usual section they aren’t any private rooms simply because the people at the private area are usually famous so if anything would’ve happened they would sure pay for it.

You go take your tray again, but a hand stops you, pushing it away from you. You give your male friend a small look when he points back to the direction of the private area. “Okay…and who is asking for me?” You say, walking to the edge of the bar, before you walk away.

“They didn’t say.” Answers you Cathy, running away with her tray now filled to the brim with drinks. You look quickly at David who just also walks away from you, serving another thirsty customer.

You don’t question their weird behavior anymore, seeing that they have their hands quite full at the moment, but you wonder why they behaved so weirdly towards you. It is weird in some way that someone asked for you specifically as you weren’t even a dancer. A lump forms at the back of your throat, while making your way towards the big man guarding the doors to your destination. The more you get closer, the more your heart beats faster. Something about this screamed trouble, but maybe you were just exaggerating.

Even from a distance the man at the door sees you and he sure is intimidating, even his stare makes you doubt if you can even go near his direction. He is so tall that it hurt to look up at him, almost forgetting why you are here in the first place when you stop before him. “Ehm…I’m Y/N, somebody was asking for me?” You say uncertain.

He looks you up and down quickly, before his eyes scan the room. When he looks back at you, he nods, stepping away from the doors which seemed miniature next to him. “Follow me.” He says, voice rough, like he smoked a whole pack of cigarettes before saying there two simple words. You mimic his nod dumbly, smacking your lips together to smudge your lipstick. You watch the man open the door for you, however just a little to let you slip in.

You immediately blink rapidly to adjust your vision to the darkness surrounding you. You are blinded by how dark the room is, stopping to stare at a light up stage filled with no dancers so far. Your eyes thankfully adjust to the change of lightning enough to let you see your surroundings. Confusion is the first thing you feel as you look around the area — literally no one is here. The room in some way looks the same as the section you work at, but it definitely lacks in life. You become nervous suddenly when you see the bodyguard turning around to walk back to you, seeing you aren’t following him.

You gasp slightly when he wraps his hand around your bicep, pushing you with him. His grip is so tight that it hurt to move, you didn’t have anything against going further into the room, but now you do. Your eyes follow the trail of empty tables to the lit stage again. The grip the man has you in made you scared, because there really isn’t a respond for him to do such that — only if he thought you were trying to escape…just like now.

A small sound of pain leaves you, pulling at his hand to at least loosen his grip. There really wasn’t a chance you could overpower him, you only looked stupid in the process, turning your body back to the entrance to push him back. Before he again pushes you closer to him, you get a glimpse of the outside…you never knew that those windows were one way mirrors. That made you sick to your stomach.

You stumble in your heels, but he basically walked for you the whole time. However you do almost fall forward when he twirls you around a surprisingly full table. You only see the back of their heads, but before you could wonder who these people are, the man holding you shoves you right before them. The brute force makes you double over, hands falling on to the table of their booth, shaking it in the process.

“There she is—“

You can’t breath — there is no way…you are officially dead. When you look up from the plastic table, you don’t look at the owner of the voice, but right at the man sitting before you. A choked sound leaves you, your heavy breaths fanning away your hair from your eyes to see the truth better. It is him. If the aura radiating from him wasn’t a dead giveaway, it would certainly be the scar running across his face. Your eyes met briefly, like yesterday and just like the last time, it activated your fight or flight instinct.

You turn around to run away, but you are only held back by the same man who took you here. How stupid of you to think you could get away. Your legs buckle, eyes starting to sting, because you can’t believe this is your life right now — well, probably the end of it. Chuckles are let out across the table and you become disgusted at such sound at such moment. “Oh, no where are you going?” Is said jokingly from your left side, your eyes falling onto a man with black, short hair and surpringly glimmering eyes.

You don’t know who he is exactly, but you just know that these men are all the eight members of Stray Kids. A funny name for such dangerous men, but it somehow suited them as they never stayed in one place, messing up lives all across the state like nothing. You can’t breath, your fear even blinded the pain from the grip on your shoulders. Even if your eyes go all around the whole table, your eyes still stop on him.

“No need to be scared now.” Says another, more deep voice and from your peripheral vision you see that it is the blonde man next to the leader. “We don’t bite.”

You stay quiet, your eyes falling on the sliver of skin peaking from his black shirt, too weak to look into his eyes or anywhere else. You do not believe that man, because how? There’s nothing that can make you feel even the slightest at ease right now. His voice was low, but reassuring in a sense, he tried, but it fell to deaf ears. You are starting to panic, thinking about how just few feet away from you are people that could possibly help you. However you can’t even breathe let alone move with that vice grip the bodyguard is holding you in and you realize that he probably was working for them the whole time. How did they manage to get in? With their reputation it must be hard for them to even get some sunlight, but somehow they are all sitting right before you in total relaxation. They do not look or sound angry with you, maybe because you are nothing, but a small fly to them anyway. It won’t take too much to take you down.

Your eyes trail higher, stopping at his yet again and with your blurry eyes you don’t see the small speck of softness at the corners of his eyes. “I swear, I won’t tell anyone what I saw, please don’t hurt me—“ You can’t believe you are actually begging for your own life.

“What did you see exactly?” Asks a man to your right. Your eyes travel to him, tears falling out of your eyes onto the table, clearing your vision for just a second, letting you get a glimpse of him. This one you recognize — long black hair, the famous freckle under his eye. Like his leader, his face has been seen several times and he definitely had no reason to hide such face. Now, his sharp features were pulled into mock thought, looking down at you in waiting.

Your lips parted and the men at the table can’t help, but smile at your expression. “Nothing…” You answer.

“No lying.”

You immediately turn to the leader. You frown slightly at his statement, not looking too long into his eyes, because it felt like he could literally turn you into stone by a single look. You realize that the long haired man was just making fun of you, twisting your fear into something they could smile at. You want to sneer at him, but that sure wouldn’t be smart and you can’t do anything other than blink between the leader and the place next to his head. “I saw something.” You confess, like they already didn’t know that. You look back at him again, giving him a look. “But I swear, I will not tell anyone.” There are few glances being shared between them, but yours was still on him. “I didn’t call the police…”

There is a pull at the corner of his plump lips, not even blinking as he looks into your eyes and you find yourself being mesmerized. “Of course not.” His tone is teasing and you again nervously exhale through your nose.

“What do you want?” You ask that question finally being spoken. “Just please don’t hurt me or my friends, they don’t know anything, no one—“

“A dance…” Your breath hitched at that, gazing at his lips and how each syllable roll out his tongue. You are completely left speechless. “Give us a dance and it will be as if nothing happened.”

Your lips are left parted in disbelief, eyes flickering over the whole table as you thought only of it as a joke, but none of them had a smile of amusement on their faces. You can’t believe that they really meant it. Something stabs you in the heart. It is way too easy, you have caught them in the act, they should end you like you expected. The fact that they are confident enough to know you won’t go and tell anyone after this is really making your blood boil. However they are right…you won’t tell anyone. You will pay for what you saw with just a dance, but you know that they will still keep an eye on you. You are not smart enough to take them down, you are just a girl.

Your breathing becomes leveled, seeing that they don’t have any intention to hurt you. You look up from the table to the leader who sighs through his nose heavily and even from here you can see his muscles in his legs jumping when he spreads his legs just a little wider. You can’t help but think how he would look at you if you would dance on his lap. You instantly feel heat spreading across your cheekbones, looking away from his bottom half to his face. This expression is different from any other and you are not so sure what it meant, but it sure made you bashfully look away.

“Oh…she’s shy—“ A cat like man teases and you shoot him a glare, only to receive a smile of pure amusement.

“How cute.” Coos another, the same one that had greeted you to the table. You momentarily turn to look at him, only seeing him looking at man in the center. “Maybe you should take her somewhere private.” Your heart beats faster, eyes widening. “We already have plenty here.” The dark haired man mentions to the stage and you didn’t even realize that the stage was already full of dancers. You want to open your mouth again and scream for help, but you know better than that.

You hear him move first, the leather of the booth squealing under him as he suddenly appears right in front of you. You gasp softly in shock, you didn’t even notice him making his way to you. You look up at him, just in eyes level with his chest. “How’s that sweetheart?” He almost sounds soft, however his eyes shined with fire looking down at you with his bottom lip caught in his mouth.

You sigh, nodding in shame. He doesn’t say anything else, waving his hand in the air, making the bodyguard let go of you. You stumble slightly, but you are quick enough to jump away from the hands trying to catch you. You do not need him touching you with those hands right now. You don’t look at him, looking down at his feet instead that turn to the direction of the private rooms. Your heart is in your throat, but something told you there’s no reason for you to be so scared. If he wanted to hurt, he would’ve done it a long time ago.

You wipe away your already dried tears, eyes falling on the stage and your eyes momentarily met with one of the dancers, Nina. She has to stay in character all the time, but she still gives you a quick reassuring look. You are only left confused, wobbling your way behind the man. Are you scared or nervous? You are really starting to wonder, piercing holes into his back that rips with every move of his arms. You keep your distance, watching him push a curtain to one of the rooms away and then turning around to let you in first. Your mouth opens again, like a fish. There is a small sneer at your lips as you glance at him and he gives you a raise of his eyebrow in return.

You hold your breath when you pass by him, but you still get a whiff of his strong cologne. He is close to you, so close that you can feel his breath on the back of your neck. You shiver turning to look back at him, but he is already in front of you. You stand in the middle of the lightly lit room, eyes going to the booth that sat at the corner of the small room. There is a pole in the middle of it and your mouth dries out when he makes his way to that direction. Your legs start to shake at the thought of the pole between your thighs, not so sure if it was from fright or pure excitement. You can’t lie that you haven’t thought of also dancing, but you are not sure you if you could even look half as good as those girls on the stage.

Weight is lifted from your shoulders when he comes to the table to only pull out a chair for himself. He moves the chair so smoothly, twirling it in his hand to place it before you. You hate that you are somehow mesmerized by his movements and the way he goes to sit down on the chair. You don’t even register biting on your lip, but it is mostly from how nervous you are. The man pulls his pants up to his lower region to be more comfortable and your eyes fall into that direction with wide eyes.

“I like the dress.” He breaks the silence, while spreading out his legs. Two or three more buttons on his shirt are undone, maybe popping from the size of his muscular chest. You quickly snap back to present, fingers playing with the hem of your dress at his statement, watching him slowly trail his brown eyes down your body. “Not so sure about the shoes…” Your silent question about that statement is answered rather quickly as he without breaking eye contact bends over, hand going under the booth. You can’t believe you are still getting shocked after all that happened, but it sure is surprised to you when he pulls out your beloved Jimmy Choo heels. “Put them on for me, baby.”

Something hot pools in your lower tummy at the nickname, your heart already is beating so fast that you can hear it in your ears. You don’t want to thank him for such thing, but it still made you happy. Those shoes became something very special to you as they were the first ever pair of luxury heels you bought. You catch his eyes and without word you pull your legs up to untie your way cheaper heels.

They are thrown across the room, not really caring too much at the moment as you slowly make your way to him. He holds your shoes for you take and when you stand in front of them, you definitely don’t remember them being so clean. They are shining, like brand new, but there is still that one large scratch at the pointed tip. It reminds you of the scar that the man before you has in some way.

You are close to him, the closest you have been so far and the soft orange light hitting his face makes him look devilish. Taking your shoes from him, you step back slightly to put them on, not missing how his eyes fall to your cleavage when you bend over. He licks his lips, looking you up and down again and you wonder if he likes what he is seeing. “Now, dance for me.” He demands and you remember at his tone who this man really is. “No need to be so scared…you take tips right?” The smirk adoring his lips told you that his words were meant for something else and you finally scoffed at him.

He doesn’t look offended by the sound, only pushing his body down further. You follow the movement, but your head rolls to look at the cushion ceiling right after. You feel nothing, but weak, swaying your hips softly to the beat of the music to get in the mood. You could imagine someone else in the chair, but how? You can feel him, smell him even, head falling down in exhaustion from even trying.

You roll your body the same way you have seen the dancers do it, hands caressing over your hips. If you give him a good enough dance, it would be over sooner — or he on the other hand won’t get enough. The shot of tequila in your system helps you build confidence when you walk slowly to him. He doesn’t take his eyes off you, even challenging you with his intense stare. You think you are starting to get into it as you act like you are falling over, just to smack your hands on each side of his chair. Your knees touch his, the material of his pants tickling your naked skin. Then you shiver — your eyes widened at your own body responding like that. He watches your inner struggle, head hanging low to catch your gaze. You are surprised that he didn’t look down, keeping his eyes only on yours and you straightened up at that.

When you go push your breasts back into your dress, because they almost spilled over, you almost gasp. Your nail hits plastic right between your breasts and thankfully the sound is masked by the music. It was your pepper spray, you completely forgot about putting it there. You know that it’s stupid, but he seems a little hazy and your attack would be unexpected. If you would spray him with it, then hit him with something and dash out the back door, you could call the police.

You move slowly around him, hand falling between your breasts the moment you stop behind him. However just as you pull it out, ready to turn around and spray it in his face, his hand stops you. You gasp at the strong grip on your wrist, watching him stand up from his seat to press you against the table. “Now what is this?” He asks you, eyes going to your pepper spray that falls to the ground with a heavy sound. Your mouth opens and closes, heavy breaths mixing with his from his close proximity. “You really thought you could take me out with that?” You didn’t even know that he knew about it the moment you had bend over.

His chest is pressed against yours, each hand being pinned down to the table by his. He towers over you slightly as he maneuvered you on the table a little bit. You are silent for a second, eyes going over his face. Even if there’s no smile you can see the amusement reflecting in his eyes. “You can’t touch me, the policy here—“ Are your words, because you couldn’t think of saying anything else. You again put yourself in the hands of death.

“I know the policy.”

“Then you know, you can’t touch—“

“The dancers and the waitresses?” He finishes for you, smiling down at you. “Baby…I know the rules, I made them after all.” You look at him bewildered, your expression fading into thin air when he puts his head into the dip between your shoulder and neck. “Now we will rewrite them for my and yours benefit.” Every word bounces off your skin, chills going down your spine.

You shutter, feeling him press his nose into the skin behind your ear. “This club is not yours.” You whisper, not too harshly like you intended too.

His hum vibrates on your skin, hearing him take a deep breath of your spicy perfume. “Have you seen the owner?” He asks you.

You pull your head away to look at him in the eyes. He sounded so genuine and you could even see it. Your mind quickly comes back to your first day here — you got the job few days after the interview and you remember that no owner shook your hand and congratulated you, it was actually Cathy. Your eyes widened, shaking your head in disbelief. “How? How can anyone not know about this?” You breathe out.

He can tell who you are referring to, because he lets his people look over the files of new people. His friends go here way frequently than him, but when Changbin chased after you yesterday, he immediately recognized you. Such a coincidence that you are actually already work for him. Watching you through the one way window, he couldn’t believe himself that he didn’t see you sooner. You are shining and seeing you talk with his best people in this business, he just had to have you. “Some do, trust me.” He says, his mind wandering to their sponsors. “Some of them just don’t have the balls to do anything about it and tell me why would anyone want to close down the best strip club in the city?” He laughs shortly, pulling you closer to him. “Do you know that cops come here? It’s funny really, they are so close yet so far…”

You are breathing heavily form his words, but you do not move away from him. You want to justify yourself that he was simply too strong, even if his hold was on the softer side. “Bang Chan…”It comes out as a plea and you don’t even know for what yourself.

“Call me, Chris.”

You are shocked by him revealing his name to you, because it almost sounded like a promise. Your mouth is left gaping when you see him lowering his lips to your neck. Your pulse is pressing against your skin and it jumps when his lips just barely graze over the thin layer of skin. It burns, so much that you feel by it in your stomach. “You won’t get away with this.” You say. You tried so hard to sound intimidating, but you just can’t think straight when he presses kisses on your neck.

“Oh, really?” Humming, he suddenly bites down your neck and you gasp wildly at such bold move.

“Please—“ You say, breathlessly, his name just at the tip of your tongue.

He stops at your word, turning back to you with glassy eyes. “Please, what?” His voice is rough and on the edge.

You think about what exactly you are pleading for. For him to continue or stop immediately? Something in between. Your desire is making you blind. This man before you is a criminal, a bad person you want to say, so why does his touch feel so good? “Please…don’t.” Your mind answers for you, your heart screaming the other.

“Don’t?” He repeats after you and you firstly think that he sounded offended, but then you feel his hand on your thigh. You almost whimper at his hot touch, eyes going down to his hand moving up your soft skin. You don’t make a move to stop him, your mind clouded by the way his hand perfectly fit in the dip of your upper thigh. You didn’t even feel your dress riding up your body, but it didn’t even matter as he still touches you through your underwear. “Then why are you soaking through?” You only sigh, feeling his fingers pressing right into your clothed clit. “I can see your pussy from here.” There goes another one of his smiles, eyes flying from your dripping center to yours.

“You are a bad person…” You say, voice too little.

His hand stops, but the same pressure on your cunt stays the same. “Says who? The police?” He raises his eyebrow, almost spitting that last word.

“You killed someone.”

He nods, becoming cold for a second. “Yes, but do you even know why?” You are silent, watching his face scrunch up in what seem like disgust. “That man was a bad person who definitely deserved something worse than death.”

You breathe out heavily. “So you think you are good person, because you killed a bad person and not a good one?”

“You said I’m a good person?” Goosebumps appear on your body, but not so much from fear anymore. Arousal drips out of you, his fingers pulling the material of your lace underwear to the side. You let him willingly, even eagerly. He gave you a moment to make a choice, but you only watch him with hazy eyes while he runs his pointer finger through your slick. “Though…I’m a gentleman.”

You snicker, you just can’t help it. “Oh, really? What about the hand in my panties?” His finger joins another for an answer, pressing harder and unexpectedly flicking your clit.

A brutal, filthy moan falls from your lip and he drinks it right up, playing with your clit between his two fingers. “Are you saying you don’t like this?” He sounds dreamy and you are on the edge of losing your mind over him. He lowers his head, resting it on your shoulder, plump lips right next to your ear. “I think you like the danger—“ You bite your lip not to let him hear the nasty sounds coming from the back of your throat. “—the thought of someone powerful taking over you, it excites you.”

You shake your head, your earring only being caught between his teeth. “You are just a man–“ You say, gritting your teeth in pleasure.

Your eyes are closed, but his are fully on you. “I’m, so excuse me for doing this—“ His finger suddenly breaches your hole and with no resistance what so ever.

You gasp out, your hand shooting to his. Only a one finger and he finds the spots inside you that you have trouble finding yourself. Your eyes open, head rolling to your other shoulder to look at him. He stills his hand for a second to straighten his back, watching you, trying to see if there is any hint that you want him to stop. However you only look at him with glossy eyes, red painted lips puffing out in small sighs. He can’t help himself, putting another finger inside you, curling them, pushing into the soft spot.

You whimper, feeling yourself dripping all over of his hand. “Please, I don’t know…” Your body knows — it’s already screaming just from his fingers and when your hips jump, your thigh touches his hard cock through his pants.

“I do.” He trusts his fingers in and out of you in steady yet too slow pace for your liking. “Just look at your body responding to me—“ You can see it yourself. Your body didn’t feel like yours anymore, hips bumping into his. “I still want that dance…a real dance.” He says, voice cracking at the end when he pulls his fingers out of you.

Gasp leaves you from shock and dissatisfaction. You stand before him, leaning on the table with rigid breaths. Lips parted, he looked at it like an invitation to shove his fingers in your mouth. You choke around his fingers for a second, eyes wide and staring into his, before your hand wraps around his to help you keep your sanity. You moan at your own taste, sucking at his fingers and slurping your juices and the taste of skin right up, eyes never leaving his and at that moment you realize you are in deep shit — there’s no way you can stop here.

He pulls his fingers away from you way too quickly, catching how his knuckles are stained red from your lipstick. You watch him walk backwards into the chair, not breaking eye contact when he falls into it, spreading his legs just like before, but now you don’t have to hide how much you enjoy seeing him do that. You hop off the table not even smoothing down your dress or putting your underwear back to its place. You can already feel your slick coating your inner thighs with each slow step, pressing them together to ease the ache between them.

You can’t beat yourself for behaving like this. That man is a whole course meal. Pretty, sparkling eyes hidden by his hair, flushed cheeks, bitten lips and also dangerous — you will dance for him and you won’t hold back. You feel possessed, mind clouded by arousal when you stop before him, right leg shooting up to balance your weight on the armrest of his chair. He groans lowly at your bold move, eyes going up your naked leg to your exposed cunt. “Look at you…” Before he could get a better look you, you put your leg down.

He is impressed by your change of character, letting you run your hands up his arms to rest on his shoulders. You want to moan at the muscles jumping under your touch, but then pretty nose pokes at the inside of your wrist, making short pain shoot up your body and you only now notice the small bruise on your skin. “Did he hurt you?” He asks, looking up at you.

His voice got lower, expression serious for a second. “A little bit.” You answer simply, too occupied with moving to the rhythm of the music.

The man in the chair forgets about it rather quickly as you turn around, bending over. Another, but even lower groan with hiss at the end leaves him at the view. “Yeah, that’s it bend over for me…” Curse flies out his mouth, hands gripping at the chair tightly to not just shove you into his cock right then and there. He almost drools over the swell of your ass peeking from the bottom of your dress and your panties that are dangerously melting into your cunt. He can see everything, but it isn’t enough. “I think, I have to hire you again as a dancer.”

You laugh breathlessly and then cry out when he smacks you unexpectedly across the back of your right thigh. You feel the sting and you are certain your skin will be sore tomorrow, but the pleasure that comes right after the slap is definitely worth it. “Turn around for me.” You wordlessly do as he says and you then shock yourself by just falling to your knees before him instead, however you are thankfully that you did, because the view you have is simply delicious. His hand comes to caress your face, fingers hooking under your jaw to press his thumb to your bottom lip. “Such pretty lips, think you could use them for better purpose than telling me I’m a bad person?”

“You basically said that yourself.” You fire back breathing matching his, your hands falling to his knees and you swear you see his cock jump in his pants.

“After I’m done with you, I will be the best person you have ever met.” His words are softer than expected, but the way he puts his thumb in your mouth isn’t. Your eyes momentarily close to savor the taste of his salty skin and he looks at you like he never seen anything so beautiful. “Say my name.” He gasps out, the sound hanging over the edge of being a pathetic whine.

Your eyes open, pulling out his thumb from your lips with a pop. “Chris.” You whisper, nervously playing with the waistband of his pants. How can you have such an effect on him already?

Chris lets you undone his belt and then his zipper, the crisp sound louder than the pumping music. Your mouth waters from the prominent buldge in his underwear, heart hammering against your chest. You can’t believe you are about to suck off the most dangerous man in the city — yet nothing ever felt so right to you. Your shaking fingers pull the material down, him putting his hands on yours in small reassurance. Now you only want him more.

You are again left speechless when you see the yummy, short patch of public hair and his cock slapping against his abdomen. Chris hisses at the cold air hitting his flushed, red tip, few drops of precum rolling down the length of it. Your pussy throbs painfully, pressing your thighs together at the simple view of his thickness. Maybe that is why he keeps sitting like that, to hide something like this everyday must be challenging, but now it will be your pleasure.

You don’t want to say it’s been a while since the last time you touched someone, but you want to say you have never seen someone this big. His ego sure comes from something. Your hand travels up his leg to pull out his heavy balls, not missing the opportunity to squeeze them lightly. Chris moans at your touch, head rolling back just by that. He looks so sensitive and it seems like he is. Your thumb pushes into his tip next, smearing his cum all over it, before finally wrapping your hand around him.

“Fuuuuuuck—“ Flies out his mouth, when you lean over to wrap your lips around him. You moan at his taste, rolling your tongue across his squishy yet hard cock. His hand goes to run through your hair, pushing the front strands back to see more of your pretty lipstick staining his length.

You swallow more of him, jaw hurting from the sheer thickness. Your eyes water, but you just have to look at him, moaning around him as you do so. You think have never felt this much pleasure from just pleasuring someone. The look on his face, his rising chest, sweat coating his neck…You gag when he presses you down further and even if he groans in pleasure, he doesn’t go further than that. On the other hand he pushes your head up and then back down, letting you get used to him using your mouth for its own pleasure.

The ground is stained with your juices, groans and moans from both of you echoing around the room and mixing with the music. You feel every vein on his cock pulsating, sucking on them harder to get closer and under his skin. When your nose hits the few hairs on his stomach you gargle, spit rolling out of your mouth. You are at that immediately pulled back from him, coughing wildly. “Sorry about that.” He says, not sounding too concern as he looks at your tear stained face mixed with saliva and his cum.

You nod, licking at your lips and that makes him tug at the roots of your hair. You whine at his rough manners, standing up just to be shoved into the table again with his hand in your hair helping you move around. Without a word you hop on to it, bare ass landing on the cold plastic. “Chris…” Just like him you are starting to like the way his names sounds on your lips. When you call out his name, he finally pulled down his pants and underwear, stepping between your open legs. He is dazed by the sight of his cock resting on your clothed mound, but you win his attention back with your sultry voice. You look like pure sin and with the small amount of red lipstick left on your lips he has to have it on his.

His hand in our hair softens when his lips fall onto yours. Chris can taste the hint of wax layer on your lips as well as his own musk on your tongue. You feel on cloud nine just by the way he kisses you. He kissed with so much passion that it felt like you have known each other for years. His lips are simply heavenly and sinfully delicious. “Hmm— fuck me…” Your words are swallowed by his lips, but he can feel them vibrating in his mouth.

Chris pulls away from you, not without biting on your bottom lip. “What was that?” You want to roll your eyes at his teasing tone, but only whimper instead when he puts the tip of his cock over your covered clit.

Your hips jump wildly, him holding them down with just one of his hand. “Fuck me, Chris—“ You say, lips on his throat and biting down on his Adam’s apple that bobbles up and down at your plea. He finally lets go, pulling your bottom half to him closer, your ass sliding and squeaking over the table. You watch him go down to his knees, but you quickly stop him even if the thought of him eating you out sounded nice, you want him inside of you more. “No, just fuck me–“

He looks up at you with big eyes and if you didn’t know his reputation you would say that those were the best puppy eyes you have ever seen. He wants to argue with you, tell you that he should prep you so he doesn’t hurt you, but he realizes that’s exactly what you want. You want him to fuck you so hard that his cock makes a mold inside your pussy. Pulling your right leg up, you push him forward, your pelvis meeting his. You whimper at the feeling of him between your legs, sweat already gathering across your forehead and you moan in delight when he pulls your soaked underwear to the side.

When Chris slides his cock through your folds to coat himself in your slick, he basically loses his mind. He never had pussy this dripping wet, pretty clit swollen and pulsating with every push of his hips. “You are beautiful.” He compliments you sweetly, hand holding his cock to your entrance, but not with caressing your face in his other hand first. You whimper, tummy full of butterflies from his comment. He has such a way with words and also that body of his — so good.

Your breath is knocked out of your lungs when he slides his hard cock into you. Your walls stretch around him, hungrily sucking him right him. It burns a little, legs shaking just from the feeling of him inside of you. Your heel doesn’t even touch the ground, shoe falling down on the ground while the other stays on as he kisses your neck. He licks and bites to kill the time, while he lets you adjust around him. You feel him sucking at your neck, creating purple blotches on your delicate skin. You eagerly run your fingers through his open shirt, clenching down on him when you feel pure muscles.

Chris hisses again, kissing down your collarbones, hips jumping into yours and you both groan when his mushroom tip kisses your cervix. When you clench again, it makes him slowly roll his hips again and he finally feels you relaxing in his strong hold. The way he moves makes your think he must be a dancer himself, because you are already feeling the sweet taste of your release. You both start to breath heavier, air becoming thick and hot around you the more he picks up his speed.

You whimper, almost sob, because you need more of him and just like he could read your thoughts he pulls his head away from your skin to kiss you. “Hold on, baby.” You only hum, letting him guide you to lean back, watching him pull your left leg over his shoulder. Your hand wraps around the pole next to your head and you are thankful that you do, because he immediately starts to trust in to you with roughness and precision.

You can’t help but squeal, crying from the shocks of pleasure as his hips snaps roughly into yours, filling you to the hilt with his cock. Your other leg shots up in reflex, pulling it to your chest. The way he fucks is anything but gentle, but it is all that you wished for. His pelvis hits the bottom of your thighs in loud slaps, pubic hair bumping deliciously into your clit. You fall back, not strong enough to hold yourself up anymore, only strong enough to take it. “Fuck, Chris!” Your voice doesn’t even sound like yours anymore.

The air is knocked out of you with each trust and he literally growls at the sound his name. Every time his hips snap into yours, your tits jump out of your dress and he couldn’t wonder any longer. Chis pushes roughly the material down and to his delight you didn’t have any bra on. His hands leave your hips just to grab your breasts, smushing them together. You moan as he pinches and rolls your nipples, whining loudly when he leans over you. It makes your legs press flush to your chest, his one hand falling next to your head to hover over your body while the other wraps around the pole right to yours.

“Fuck, I don’t think you can work here anymore—“ You clit is being bullied by his rolling hips, eyes becoming blurry, making it hard to see his. He helps you by squishing your cheeks between his fingers, making your lips pout cutely. “You will dance for me, only me from now on. What do you say, baby?”

His words are slightly hard to make out with the noises of skin slapping mixing with them, but even with your fucked out mind you could understand enough. You are drunk on him, spit coating his hand that falls back next to your head, seeing you are listening to him. “Are tips included?” You say, voice rough, nails biting at his shoulders.

“Oh, you will be taking the whole thing.”

You both smile breathlessly at each other, him not stopping fucking you, because seeing your pretty face screwing up in pleasure is to die for. Your sweaty hand slips from the pole and without realizing yourself, you put his face into the palm of your hand. Looking into his eyes, you see something flash in them when your fingers dance across the scar on his face. And then Chris whines — he fucking whines, like a broken puppy.

You clench around him at the sound and he only gives you another. “Gonna cum, gonna fucking cum inside of you, baby—“ He humms, grunting under his breath.

You already feel yourself falling over the edge, holding it just to make it better by cumming with him. “ Yeah, please, I want it.” You say.

“Yeah? You want it? Right here?” Chris pulls himself up enough to push his hand down on your lower stomach. You cry out, shaking like a leaf, because that is setting a whole fire inside of you. “Look, you can even see me in your cute, little tummy—“ He coos at your faces of pleasure. His hips shutter and yours jump. You try to calm your body down, but he is doing things you have never felt before. When the hand holding him up disappears, the one on your tummy pushes harder and when starts to do figure eights on your clit you are officially done for. “Cum for me, soak my cock, Y/N—“

You gasp loudly at the sound of your name rolling out of his tongue, back arching as you cum around him. Your pussy leaks, making a creamy ring of your pleasure around the base of his cock. Your whole body shakes right after the first wave, tits jumping in the air and the sight as well as the feeling of you cumming around him makes him shove his cock into your cunt the deepest he has been so far. Your ears ring, not even hearing yourself sobbing, but you do hear his moans of absolute pleasure. He stuffs you full, hand still pushing at your tummy and you whimper at the overstimulation, skin sticky with all sorts of fluids.

Your eyes are closed, concentrating on riding out your orgasm. You are simply dazed, but still you feel the small brush of his lips over yours and peaking at him through your clumped eyelashes, he flashes you a boyish smile. “Dinner?” The sight of your puffy cunt, fucked out expression and now drunk smile spreading across your lips was definitely worth the risk.

[ii18]

Satoru, who is an attention whore and will do anything and everything as long as your eyes are on him. Plays the ever-so-hated game of 'look away and I stop; when he's eating you out, forcing you to watch every movement he makes. The second your eyes roll back or your back arches enough to obscure your view of him? He's stopped and your rolling orgasm has faded enough to almost bring tears to your eyes.

Maybe it's why he loves mutual masturbation so much. Of course he always aches to be the one touching you, but knowing you're getting off to the sight of him alone? It turns him into a lost cause. Stroking his cock as you touch yourself across from him, trying to time your orgasms together as you look into his eyes- heaven on earth for Toru.

And then there's the likes of Nanami, who doesn't crave attention like Satoru does. In fact, he'd rather have your eyes trained on yourself: let yourself take in every inch of him while holding eye contact with yourself in the mirror. His hand on your chin, holding your gaze steady as you watch your reflection get fucked into bliss by him.

His lack of desire for your attention on his ministrations results in a beautiful few nights spent blindfolded. You hand yourself over to Kento, trust and all, as he takes each and every last one of your senses and melts them together with his. Not knowing where he's going to touch you next, how he's going to fuck you dumb- making you feel his lust rather than see it.

Or Suguru- who likes the attention of others: not just you. He shows you off, a hand on your ass when you walk together. Never one to police how you dress either, because he knows the sluttier you look, the more bitter his ownership of you tastes to those lingering eyes. He wants the world to know just how good he can make you feel- its almost a moral obligation.

The arrogant tone to his voice when he answers the phone while he's seated deep inside of you. Covering your mouth with his hand as he rolls his hips into you and talks ever so casually to the phone about paperwork and whatnot. The look in his eyes when, after a few minutes of silence on your end, he uncovers your mouth and uses that hand to rub your clit at a pace that has moans dripping from your lips like poison.

And lovely Choso, who focuses on you and you alone. His mind indifferent to your focus- you could be doting on him or letting him use you as he pleases, the only thing at the forefront of his mind is making you cum once more than he did the last time you were together. Pushes your boundaries in the best ways, all in the name of his attention being on you and yours being on how blurry he can make the world before you tap out.

He's definitely a huge fan of toys, sees them as accessories to pleasure, never competition. Will hold a vibrator to your clit as he fucks you with such a ruthless pace you're seeing stars. Handcuffs your wrists to the bedpost, locks you down and forces as many orgasms out of you as he can just to see those pretty blissed out eyes of yours as he's cleaning you up.

[parkerluvsu]

can u write something about art and reader having high sex 😛😛😛🙏🏻🙏🏻 like idk just like a chill night at the dorm at stanford or something where they smoke a couple blunts and grind on each other idk!!!!!!!!!!!

MOONLIGHT (art donaldson x fem! reader)

sometimes you felt like a bad influence on art.. he wouldn't let anything that wasn't on his pre-planned diet touch his lips before he met you. but from the first puff of your joint under the bleachers of the tennis court, he was hooked. not just on the woozy feeling he got when he took too long of a hit, but on the feeling of having you around him.

the more you two hung out, the more art associated the feeling of his head in the clouds, not with the large puffs of smoke drifting around his room, but you the feeling of you sitting next to him, your legs draped over his. art feels guilty, if he got caught, he'd absolutely get thrown out of the tennis program, and probably never be able to attend a good school again, but on the other hand.. your sweet giggles as you blow smoke into his face gave made him forget all the consequences if he got caught.

the problem with you (and it's not even really a problem to art.. he thinks you're perfect) is you like things casual. sure you've made out with art in a haze of smoke, maybe grinded a bit over his jeans in the back of his overly clean jeep, and he can't even count the times that you've texted him "you up?" at 2am, but he's never been your "boyfriend".

art knows it would be hard to have a serious conversation with you without the guise of just coming over to smoke, so he shoots you a text.

art: hey can i come over? need to relax :)

the buzz of your phone from the desk beside you steals your attention from your math homework, a welcome distraction. you text him back quickly, eager to have an excuse to smoke.

an eager knock on your door comes only minutes later, arts face a mixture of nerves and excitement, like a kid sneaking candy from their parents. art looks as cute as ever in his wrinkled stanford shirt and his checkered shorts, hair tussled from a night at practice. "cmon in artie" his cheeks blush at the nickname as he enters your dorm, making himself comfortable in the cozy chair in the corner. you pull out the box of paraphernalia from under your bed, flower stickers peeling off of the box from overuse. you tilt your head to the side, looking at arts body language, his constant shifting telling you he's trying to seem calm but he really isn't. "what do you wanna smoke?" you ask him, knowing what his answer will be before he even opens his mouth, "whatever you want".

that seems to be arts answer for anything, "whatever you want", sometimes you think if you walked off the edge of a cliff he'd do the same. art was one of those people who followed everything you did, the way you sat, the way you talked, and even your vocabulary, he would shift to be more similar to you. even when he smoked for the very first time, he watched you inhale so deep and hold it in before blowing a large cloud of smoke into the air, he tried to do the same.. but ended up greening out and throwing up in the trashcan next to the tennis courts. the truth is, art would do that all over again if it meant even one more second with you, and he knew it was clingy and definitely too dependent for the casual situation you were in.. but he can't help himself.

me: sure, come over anytime

art is a lightweight in every sense of the word, whenever Patrick would take him to a frat party to get totally wasted, all it took was one red solo cup full of beer to have art stumbling over his own feet. It was the same with weed, it only took one hit for art to start slurring his words, his body pretty much melting into any surface near him. currently, it's the cozy chair in the corner of your room, but you can see his eyes drifting towards the cozy blankets on you bed. "art, you know you can go sit on my bed right?" his eyes widen and he shuffles over, flopping down on the bed in such a way that would make sober-him flush with embarrassment. you giggle as he wraps himself in the blankets, his head lolling onto the pillow. art blearily watches you come sit on the bed too, leaning against the wall for support. the sight of him tangled up in your blankets reminds you of previous late nights spent together, causing a flutter in your stomach that you're a little ashamed of. art leans over to give you the joint back, your fingers brushing together softly. "y'know you look super pretty right now" art says, "n-not that you don't always look pretty but like.. right now especially" he revises his statement, he's always such a people pleaser. you laugh, taking a long hit from the joint before giving him a wide smile. "thanks artie, you're pretty too" you reply, knowing he likes being called pretty, even though he'd absolutely never say it, the way his ears go red gives him away every time.

as the night goes on, and your shared joint turns into a stub, you find yourself closer to art than you thought you were, your sides pressed up against each other as you lay on your backs, staring up at your ceiling. the boring white paint suddenly seeming very interesting until you felt movement beside you, art was tuning on his side and leaning his face on his hand. you blink, "what are you looking at?" glancing at arts eyes that were fixed on your face. "you" art says simply, causing you to shake your head and laugh. "i know that art.. but why?" you ask, pressing for an answer from him. "dunno.. just your face is nice" he says, his face dropping into your shoulder. arts breath was hot against your neck, making you almost want to pull away, but you'd never do that, enjoying the weight of him against you. arts breathing rate increases against your neck and you wonder why until you feel a pressure against your thigh. "art.." he hums in response, only focused on the small sharp movements of his hips. you know how quickly he shifts from being all innocent and sweet to taking what he needs.

you're such a sucker for art, especially when he's high and he can't hide his feelings like he usually does. you shift your leg to the side to help him, inciting an immediate response of his eyes fluttering shut against your shoulder, his eyelashes tickling you gently. the position that you maneuvered into allowed arts leg to slot between yours as well, letting you slowly rock your hips against his leg, the feeling of his bare skin only making you feel more pleasure. before you know it, art is pressing hot kisses into your neck and your arms are wrapped loosely around his neck. "mmmmmfuck" art groans against your neck, even though he's feeling less woozy than earlier, he's still sensitive, just the feeling of grinding against you having him teetering on the edge. suddenly, you feel his hips stutter and a dampness cover the front of his shorts. art holds his breath for a second before his whole body goes limp against you, his fingers not clenching the sheets anymore.

a comfortable silence falls between you, before art breaks it with his soft voice. "can we go again? 'm sorry i just.. i need you" he whines out, still not showing his face. you giggle softly and nod, lifting up your hips to pull off your pajama pants and panties, art doing the same with his shorts and boxers. "how do you want me?" you ask, sending a flutter of butterflies into arts stomach because of the sense of control you're giving him. art thinks for a second, "can you turn around..? please" he asks, a bit of hesitancy in his voice. you nod, turning to face the wall next to your bed, your back facing art. his gentle hands maneuver your legs into a position that's easy for him to slip into you. he does so slowly, more for your sake than his, he thinks if he pushed inside of you too fast he would surely cum prematurely (not like it hasn't happened before).

you feel art shiver against you, his hips pausing when he enters your fully, his balls resting snugly against your ass. art could truly stay like this forever, if he had the patience and resolve.. but he doesn't, his hips snap into yours quickly, the overstimulation getting to him. he wraps his arms around your stomach, holding you close to him, his head yet again smushed into the crook of your neck. every thrust he gives you feels like it's punching the air out of you, art isn't even pulling all the way out anymore, just humping his hips into you the best he can. even in his delicate headspace, art still wants to please you first, his fingers making their way down your stomach before rubbing messily at your clit, his fingers catching on your nub every few circles, causing you to tighten up around him. art is close, you can always tell by how his voice shifts from more coherent to just straight up blabbering, "mgh.. god.. 's so warm.. you're so warm.." "it feels s' good.. it's feels good to you too right?" "gotta be closer to you.. wan' be closer to you" but you snap to attention when he moans against you, "please be m' girlfriend please.. i wan' you to be mine.." you're sure art has no idea what he's saying until he repeats himself, almost sounding like he's about to cry. you nod quickly, "y-yeah artie okay.. ill be your girlfriend.." now you swear he actually sobs, his hips making one last deep thrust before you feel him fill you up, the sensation sending you over the edge right after him.

art stays inside of you for a minute, dating his breath before pulling out, grabbing a tissue and helping you clean up. when you open your eyes, arts looking up at you with his signature puppy dog eyes. "um.. did you mean what you said?" he asks quietly, his head bowing down quickly, as if he didn't want to see your reaction. you think back to your agreement, sure it was in the heat of the moment, but would it really be such a bad idea to say yes? you pause, and arts head droops even lower, expecting the worst. "art you know ive purposely been keeping this casual.. but i.. i trust you now artie, i do want this to be serious" you reach out for his hand, squeezing it gently. arts face lights up like a kid getting the one present they wanted for christmas as he quickly hugs you. "thank you.. thanks, you won't regret it i swear" you smile, pulling the blankets over the both of you, snuggling into arts chest as you admire the beautiful rays of moonlight streaming into your bedroom.

art is easily entranced by the quick movements of your fingers as you roll a joint, it sounds silly but he's always admired the fact that you didn't buy pre-rolls, preferring to be more independent. you lick the paper to get it to stick shut (and art is grateful you were too focused on that to see the way his eyes widened when you did) and root around your drawer for your lighter, a stupid pink one decorated with hello kitty that you got for your birthday. art couldn't help but find it endearing, the way you were so independent and "too cool" for a real relationship, but you still kept all the things that people gave to you, even if they weren't to your taste. the click of your lighter snapped art out of his observations, the light from the tiny flame illuminating your face in a way that made art want to take a picture, the fluttering flame casting an orange glow onto your skin. the strong smell of the joint caused art to become a little lightheaded even though he hasn’t even taken a hit yet, his fingers grabbing the joint from you after a couple failed tries that make you laugh, the soft giggles a soundtrack for the night.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Red: Part Two

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

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, fluff, smut (18+)

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

Word count: 28.9k

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

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

main masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you have a job?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer was briefly rescued by an unsung hero—Rossi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is about you, my love.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My office, first thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry... I'm so sorry, Red.” 

But it was too late.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list <333 @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle @cynbx @danielle143 @katemusic @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @laurakirsten0502 @geepinky @mxlviaa @libraprincessfairy @fortheloveofgubler @super-nerd22 @k-illdarlings @softestqueeen @eliscannotdance 

[venomhound]

Hazbin Hotel - Petname Headcanons

Headcanons for what terms of endearment Vox, Alastor, and Lucifer use in their relationships. I was going to do more characters, but this post got too long (AGAIN), so I just did my favs. If enough people want it, I can do a part 2? Maybe? MAYHAPS?

Contents/WARNINGS: Gender neutral reader; talks about what yall like to be called during sex; Daddy/Mommy kinks; Valentino mention; Lucifer really needs therapy you guys (18+), MDNI, NSFW below the cut ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Vox ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

What He Calls You

(NOTE: Huge credit to @bindeds for the whole 'Vox does sappy petnames' headcanon. You should read their post with it >here<. Its lived rent free in my head since I read it.)

Honestly? Vox is a menace when it comes to terms of endearment.

Vox loves to get creative and call you super sappy stuff. Things like sugar bear, honey kisses, love dove, cuddle cake.... I pray you can at least tolerate this because I have no doubt that Vox has sent past partners running for the hills by doing this.

These silly names tend to come in waves. Vox will have one that he likes to call you, use it for a short bit, then switch it up for a different one. So if there is one you particularly don't like, at least you never have to deal with it for more then a few days.

Vox doesn't like to talk about you in front of the cameras (he has a deep fear that your going to end up stolen). But when he does, he avoids using your actual name. Instead Vox calls you more... conventionally sappy petnames. Like dearest, or starlight.

Not embarrassed at all about calling you these things in front of millions of viewers. He loves you so much and feels so lucky to have you. In a perfect world and if this wasn't, you know, Hell, Vox would just openly brag about you on air 24/7.

While Vox always seems to have something new to call you, the one name that sticks around and actually gets used consistently is sugar. A classic 50s petname. He thinks it particularly suits you because your, well, sweet as sugar. And you make everything in his life better.

What You Call Him

Vox could not care less what you call him. I don't mean that in a 'he doesn't care' way, no, its the opposite. I mean you could call him literally whatever you want and Vox will love it. He just wants to be called something special and to know he is special to you.

I'm not kidding here. Everything is on the table. Cutesy names, sappy ones, playful nicknames... Literally whatever you want as long as its not straight up demeaning or embarrassing.

Don't call him Voxy though. Yeah, its a cute name he will admit; and it sounds bittersweet coming from your lips. But that name is just far too associated with Valentino. It brings back so many painful memories and raw resentment that Vox would rather not experience in your presence. If he has to at all.

I've always pictured Vox being that guy who never wants to hear his real name come from your mouth once you two start dating. You all know the type of guy I'm talking about. Dude will have an actual breakdown.

You two could be having a serious conversation or heated argument, but as soon as you say 'Vox' nothing else matters to him. Vox just gapes at you and is like "Since when am I VOX to you?! I'M YOUR CUDDLE BEAR." Or insert whatever name you use for him. He says it completely serious too.

NSFW Section

A little ironic considering he hates hearing his actual name come from your mouth normally; but when you two are in the bedroom, Vox wants you to say nothing but his name.

Vox loves nothing more then when he fucks you stupid on his cock or overstimulates you to where his name is the only word you know. When you start moaning his name like a prayer or chanting it as your voice cracks.

There is nothing more beautiful to him then those sounds. Vox could cum from those sounds alone; and he has many times. Times when one of you was away or you two were otherwise separated.

Vox would play back the sounds of your pleading during your last time together to himself. He had been away from you for too long. He desperately needed to hear your voice, his name from your lips. Its like a drug to him.

Vox tends to lean towards gentler, more classic names in the bedroom. He whispers how much he missed you, darling. While his lips greedily take yours again and again. He will kiss down your neck, mumbling against your skin how he cant wait to make his sweetheart feel good. Gorgeous, beautiful, and handsome also frequently leave his lips once more skin starts getting exposed.

I have always headcanoned Vox as a switch. When he veers towards that more dominant, possessive side, he will start using more sexually charged names like babe or kitten. But if you two have been together a long time or you end up tying the knot.... Now Vox just babbles about how perfect his wife or his husband is as he plows into you over and over.

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Alastor ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

What He Calls You

Poor deer man. Quite bluntly, he has no idea what to do when he gets actual feelings for someone. I mean, yeah, he know what to do; in theory. In practice however, its a whole different story. Things are always much easier in theory then actual reality.

Perfect example of this is when you two first become an item and Alastor tries to legitimately flirt with you. Alastor lays it on just a little bit too thick and goes straight to calling you baby.

The entire hotel gets thrown for a loop. Husk chokes on his drink, Angel Dust fucking yowls, and Vaggie is cringing into the next century.

Fun fact: 'baby' first started being used as a term of endearment in the 1920s and was all the rage during that time. So Alastor probably actually used it.

Poor boomer Alastor doesn't understand what happened until he vents to Rosie about it and she laughs at him too. Rosie has to explain to Alastor that the whole 'baby' thing has taken on a much more sexual connotation during the last, you know, hundred years.

Alastor is somehow even more embarrassed about the whole faux pas upon knowing the full context then he was before.

To avoid another, ahem... incident. Alastor just straight up asks what you would like him to call you. As long as its not something too weird or sappy he will oblige.

If you tell him to call you whatever he wants, Alastor is going to be like a deer in the headlights (pun intended) due to what happened last time. Will probably just stick to your name for awhile or test things out in private first.

Alastor is partial to calling you darling, my dear, or just love. Whichever seems to make your heart flutter most.

You can always tell when Alastor is in a particularly good/playful mood because he will call you my doe (if your female) or my buck (if your male). Alastor will also use this name if he is showing you off or you've done something to make him proud of you.

What You Call Him

If you were to ask him? Alastor would tell you to simply call him by his name or just Al. Says he isnt fond of petnames even though he uses them all the time. Guy is strange.

If you do start using petnames he wont stop you. Do keep it classy however. Don't call him anything super silly, or too sexual. He now has a vendetta against the name baby so don't call him that either.

Alastor will never directly say he likes the name, but you have noticed that when you call him love or my love his smile gets a bit wider and his eyes relax a bit.

You can get away with teasing names in private. Like princess for instance. When you first called Alastor that he gave you the dirtiest look. Not in a sexual way. I mean in a 'I dare you to call me that again, brat' way.

The second time you called him princess, Alastor's ears flattened against his head and he warned you to kindly refrain from that name. However, he couldn't hide how his tail was wagging playfully.

The third time you knew exactly what you were doing as you bolted in the opposite direction right after calling him a precious princess. Alastor, wide eyed and absolutely feral, immediately dropped everything in his hands, shattering several glasses, and gave chase.

Its become a weird game between the two of you. Alastor will never admit how much he loves to see that defiant spark in your eyes.

NSFW Section

Just like any other time, Alastor simply prefers to hear his name above all else when things get steamy. Although he does have a weak spot for being called master...

Likewise, Alastor tends to call you his pet. And like any good master with their pet, Alastor's ultimate goal is your safety and comfort. That doesn't mean he wont push you to your limits or make you perform for him however. The name is more of an unspoken promise that he will never actually hurt you.

Out of all the guys, Alastor is the one you would least expect to have a thing for calling you mommy in the bedroom (regardless of your gender). This usually happens when your overstimulated and/or Alastor is deep into a servicing mode, trying to make you feel as good as possible, and pulling as many orgasms from you as he physically can.

It also happens during his ruts. Alastor will vacillate between calling you mommy or his mate. He will growl into your neck how good of a mate you are as he fucks into you. How you are all his. Then after Alastor fills you to the brim with cum he will tell you how he, 'Cant wait for Mommy to have my fawns. Lets see how much more Mommy can take, hm?'

The whole mommy kink is a secret he will take with him to oblivion however. Alastor will make sure anyone who knows of it does too.

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Lucifer ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

What He Calls You

Sorry; but I'm on the bandwagon that Lucifer uses duck based petnames for his partner. Duck or ducky are his go to names. Period. Especially when he is excited about something or gushing over how cute you are.

Lucifer genuinely thinks your as cute as a duck. Coming from him, thats quite a compliment. If you let him, Lucifer will 100% do the cutesy baby-talk voice at you when you do something particularly endearing and his cuteness meter is overloading.

When Lucifer is in front of people and trying to act normal (as in, masking hardcore), he will instead address you by a rather curt darling or my dear.

Although it may come across like Lucifer is distancing himself from you, he isn't actively trying to be less affectionate to you at all. Crowds/people in general are just super stressful for the guy and he is trying his absolute best to look like he has his shit together.

Once he relaxes a bit, you get some liquid courage in him, or if you two are with some friends, Lucifer moves to more intimate names.

When you go to sit, Lucifer will beckon you to come closer, doll, until your practically sitting on his lap. Then he will look at you with the most adoring eyes as he asks how are you enjoying yourself, sweetheart? He really does love you more then you can imagine.

What You Call Him

Lucifer tends to like the sweetest, sappiest terms of endearment. The ones that make your chest fill with butterflies and anyone within earshot nauseous. God bless the hotel for dealing with your shit because you two are actual diabetes.

Call him teddy bear, cuddle bug, or snuggs because of how physically affectionate he is. Also just because of how wonderful Lucifer's cuddles are and how you both could spend the rest of eternity in each other's arms.

Other good options are muffin, honey bun, or cupcake. Why the food names? Because Lucifer LOVES to cook for you of course! Its not just the pancakes either, this guy actually does know how to cook. One of his favorite things is to surprise you with a night in and a completely home made three course meal. (But thats for another post!)

If you want to compete with Lucifer's whole duck thing and give him a matching bird petname, you can call him lovebird. Lucifer might return the favor and start calling you his lovebird too. Because its exactly what you are. You both really are just a pair of lovebirds.

If you don't like ANY of those, buttercup or sweetpea are also good options. Two cute flower names that tie nicely into Lucifer's whole 'garden of Eden' thing.

You could also straight up call him cutie. Its a vicious cycle with this one. Because whenever you call him that, Lucifer gets the happiest, most adorable smile on his face. So you end up wanting to call him it more...

You got lots of great options with him. But if you want something more """serious"""; sweetie, sweetheart, honey, or shortening his name to Luci will still make his heart flutter without getting too crazy.

Another fun thing you can do, is call him my King or my Liege before kissing the back of his hand. Lucifer cant help but get flustered and start giggling like an idiot.

NSFW Section

Do I even need to say it? Do I even need to say what two words turn this man into an actual puddle on the spot?

Like seriously. Those words hold so much power that you have to be super careful with how you wield it. Lucifer could be so distracted, excitedly telling you about a new project he is working on. Then you just mutter how much of a good boy he is and every muscle in Lucifer's body instantly tenses. You giggle as you see a surprised shudder run up his spine. His cock already standing at full attention.

Lucifer has a weakness for the name pretty boy as well. Caress his soft skin, leaving a trail of hot kisses, before whispering how much of a pretty boy he is; and Lucifer will reward you with the most sinful moans.

Be careful with him though; Lucifer may be the sin of pride, king of hell, and the fucking devil, but the man wears his heart on his sleeve and can easily be hurt by your words if your not careful.

Don't degrade him. This actually really hurts him and can easily send Lucifer spiraling. Before punishments, tell him he has been a bad boy, a naughty boy. Tell him he has to make up for it and prove how good he really is.

Praise on both of your ends. Lucifer constantly tells you how beautiful, gorgeous, and/or handsome you are. When you return the praise, the devil melts.

Lucifer will call you angel or my angel, because to him, your beauty rivals all of heaven itself. You also came into his life and saved him as if you were an angel sent just for him. He knows that would never happen of course; but he likes to dream.

Has a lowkey daddy kink as well but is ashamed of it since he is an actual dad. But you can easily get him riled up by playing into it and calling yourself baby or mommy. Ooohh boy will this devil then be ready to actually make you a mommy~

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AN: If you want a part 2, please say what characters you want. I started an Adam one, and I wanted to do an Angel Dust one. But Im open to whatever?

[boowritess]

i love love love the headcanon of the 141 not having kids and babies and ewey.

i think that john price is still very relevant to that. kinda. i don't really seeing him having a pet honestly. unless you wanted one... sure... but nah y'know... he's old tired af. maybe a cat. probably definitely a cat.

but it's been you and john for as long as you can remember.

happy to be in each other's presence from morning to night, or simply just exist in a shared life that means you two don't have to always be around each other.

you could be shopping and he could be sleeping. he's outside tending to the stuff he had supposed to finish before he left deployment while you're reading on the couch inside. he's on a long deployment again, and you're at work.

plus the prospect of kids just never seemed to work into the schedule. "nah," john says to one of your friends, "can handle kids fine, but when i'm home, this old mans bones are good for sleep and not much else. i mean the breeding kink can get me goi-" john grunts when you elbow into his side.

"crude." you huff with an eyeroll.

"but true." he says into his beer as he takes a sip, eyes sparking with mischief.

your friend turns to you. "but doesn't it get lonely?" they asks. "wouldn't you want a little one running around?"

and well sometimes the days may be lonely for you when he's gone...

but that's become impossibly hard to focus on when your phone is being constantly blown up - not by price though. by the 141.

it's never really anything outrages or civil conversation. it's gaz asking which tie he should wear at an event because price said the black one but gaz doesn't really like the black one. then it's johnny sending you a video of him besting his previous time on a training course. though it doesn't stop there. ghost is messaging late nights for him but mid-day for you, asking about how to deal with insomnia. ghost is asking you because he knows you're awake and the others are asleep, he doesn't want to bother them.

you answer every single one, with so much care and attentiveness. you save every picture, every video and boost about their achievements to other people as if they were your own. however, people always assume you're talking about little kids not grown ass men.

yet on days when you're at home or you've come home from work. you're hardly surprised to find one of them had invited themselves into yours and johns home as if it was their own.

sometimes it's gaz crashed out on the couch who's in a desperate need of a shower but definitely needs sleep more.

or the sounds of soap in your fridge, raking around to find something to eat. "lass, ye out of cheese-" he ate the cheese. the whole newly bought block of it.

gaz and soap like to hover around you when they're home. whereas ghost helps price around the house.

but when it's just you and ghost, the oldest boy. it's quiet. there's no forced conversations but probably a few shitty jokes. it's you or him making food and the other doing the dishes. yet ghost opens up and the conversations turn into some of the most randomist, boyish, silly conversations.

when everyone's at home, it can actually be pretty hectic. so you go do the grocery shopping, but you take ghost along cause he's a little like you in regard for a need of quiet time.

oh and can't forget the days you go out by yourself only to come home with a few other things. socks for john - socks for all of them. you bought johnny a new pair of jeans and gaz a couple of shirts. and simon some more sweaters.

christmas, easter, new years - every single holiday is always hosted at yours and price. where everyone comes. farah, alex, laswell and her wife. rudy and alejandro making their way- then of course your boys...

and it's there where you've kinda realized.

you and john do have kids.

just in the form of grown men.

which both you and john don't seem to mind.

you end up shrugging your shoulders as you look at your friend, "honestly i have my hands full when they're all home. so... i'm good." you say with a hum, sipping from your own drink with a small smile as john just chuckles softly.

a/n: realized I never posted this. oh well. the no baby saga continues with john price. drink water be well ya'll xx

[badkitty3000]

can u write a five x reader smut where five makes the reader watch him jerk off before fucking them

This request has been in my inbox for a LONG time...sorry. I set this during season four, and it's mixed with my usual sense of humor and confidently sexy Five 😉

Forced Confinement: Friends to Enemies to Lovers

Five x Female Reader-Insert, 5.7k words, one-shot, reader request

Warnings: Smut, explicit sex, masturbation

Summary: You and Five used to be friends. That is, until he got you stuck in the endless cycle of time traveling trains and no way home. Now he is the last person you want to be stuck with at the end of the world. But, after months of resentment and bickering, you and Five finally work out your differences

It had been eleven months. Eleven months since you and Five had taken that stupid fucking train to nowhere. Why you had let him talk you into going with him, you had no idea. You had been friends and you trusted him, sure, but that didn’t mean you wanted to skip out on the real world forever and live in captive domesticity for the rest of your life. You had wanted adventure and danger, which always seemed to follow Five wherever he went. But that’s not what this turned into. This had turned into playing house.

After nine months of mindless travel to various timelines that just seemed to get worse and worse, you were about ready to kill one another. The passive aggressive arguing had gradually turned into bickering, which then turned into outright shouting matches. You wanted to go home, god dammit! You didn’t care that time travel was tricky or unpredictable. He had gotten you into this mess and you demanded that he get you out of it.

To get you to shut up, Five had presented you with a temporary solution. When you came across a mostly still standing house with a greenhouse and clean water, he begrudgingly suggested that you two stay there for a few days. Just to relax, wash up a bit, and gather some food. It would also grant him some time to think about how to navigate this situation you were in. You had agreed, although you had scoped the crappy house out first to determine if there were separate living quarters. There was only one real bedroom, but Five conceded it to you and said he would take the living room floor.

A few days had turned into two months.

You knew he was trying his best. You knew that. And you knew he certainly had never meant to get you stuck in this endless loop of time travel fuckery. He had only been trying to save the world. Again. Only this time, he wanted company. And since you and he had become friends over the course of the five years you had been serving him large quantities of whiskey and beer at your bar, he had asked you.

It’s not that you were best buddies or anything. You had never hung out outside of the bar. But he was a frequent enough customer that you and he had a good rapport. You were comfortable around each other, which you had noticed for Five, was kind of a big deal. And maybe you were a little flirty with one another as well. Not that anything had ever happened between you, but the tension had been there.

So, when Five had come stumbling in one night, seemingly already drunk, and had plopped down on a barstool in front of you with a smart-ass grin on his face, you were intrigued. After a very confusing and convoluted story about something called “marigold” and Five having the power to teleport and time travel, you were already hooked.

How many times had you dreamed of doing something amazing? Something so incredibly exciting and weird that when you told your friends all about it later, they wouldn’t believe you? It was just one of those silly fantasies that never left your head. But the longer you ran that bar, and the more comfortable you got pouring shots and mixing drinks for others, the less likely it became that your fantasy would ever be realized.

But time traveling subway trains and teleportation powers? It was everything you had been waiting for! When he told you his idea of trying to get to the correct timeline and stop another apocalypse from happening, you barely even hesitated.

In those first couple of months, you didn’t really mind being lost with no real way to get back home. It was still exciting and you were getting along great back then. He confided in you; told you he had asked you along because you were his only real friend and he just didn’t want to face the unknown alone again. He had apologized when it became clear he was just as lost as you were, and he promised to get you back safely. You made each other laugh, and invented stupid games to kill the boredom, and would cuddle up together on cold nights even though there was nothing romantic going on. Those were the good times.

But now…now, it was like the two of you were living in some bad sitcom with no laugh track. Five was still good looking, there was no getting around that. Even when he was grubby and dirty and his deodorant gave out months ago. Yes, he was hot, you could admit that. But that wasn’t quite enough to cover the fact that he was an arrogant, know-it-all asshole that was systematically ruining your life. You missed your bed. And your bar. And god, what you wouldn’t do for some fucking fast food. You had dreams about McDonald’s French fries and if Ronald McDonald himself had come walking up to you and told you he’d give you a Big Mac if you sucked his dick, you’d be on your knees in a second. That’s what this had come to; you would blow a clown for a hamburger.

Instead, here you were, in some bullshit little Hobbit house, listening to Five’s snoring from the other room. And if you had to eat another fucking strawberry, you were going to vomit. You would rather eat a dozen half-cooked subway rats than choke down another one of those god damn red berries. Sometimes you laid awake at night, envisioning Five choking on one, his eyes bulging as he panicked and tried unsuccessfully to get air through his blocked trachea. It brought a small amount of comfort to you. Until the morning, when you walked out and saw there were no animals in your traps, and you wanted to cry. No meat. Only fucking strawberries.

“We need more water,” you told him as you came out of the green house where the first few sprouts of cucumbers and green beans were finally starting to come through.

“So? Go get some, then,” Five muttered back at you, his head buried in a notebook while he sat at the wobbly kitchen table.

“No. I’m always the one that has to go get the water. It’s your turn.”

Five glanced up briefly, then looked back down at his incoherent scribblings. “I’m busy.”

“You’re busy?” you asked incredulously. “How the fuck is making little pictures in a book busy?”

He looked up again, his worn-down pencil paused in midair. His eyes narrowed. “They are not little pictures. They are complex mathematical equations that your simpleton mind cannot possibly understand.”

You snorted. “Fuck you.”

One corner of his mouth turned up just slightly and he set his pencil down, leaning back in his chair and draping one arm over the back. Fuck, if he didn’t look amazingly hot like that. Asshole.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

He scoffed. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve been eye-fucking me since we got here. Actually, since before we got here.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “What the…are you delusional? Did you hit your head the last time you were out scavenging? I have, under no circumstances, been eye-fucking you.”

“Ok, sure…whatever you have to tell yourself.”

You placed a hand on your hip and tilted your head to the side. “If anyone is eye-fucking anyone, it’s you to me. I see the way you just so happen to look in my direction when I’m changing clothes.”

“If I do that, it’s only because I want to make sure you’re actually changing into something new instead of wearing that shitty old tank top that smells like dead rats.”

“That is my best tank top! And look who’s talking. Who wears a suit in a fucking apocalypse? It’s insane!”

“At least I don’t walk around with my tits half hanging out. I mean, fuck, those things are going to knock you out the next time you have to run from anything. It’s like you’re just begging for attention.”

You smiled. “Oh, I just bet you’d love to see me running with my tits hanging out, wouldn’t you? Probably play right into some weird-ass Baywatch fantasy you have.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.” He tossed his head so that the piece of hair in his eyes flicked out of the way. “You are wearing the literal last pair of tits in the world right now and I wouldn’t care if you slathered them in baby oil and shoved them in my face.”

You watched as his eyes moved briefly to your chest before landing on your face again. You smirked. “Gosh, Five, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course you don’t want anything do with these.” You ran your hands up your sides and rested them on your breasts. Then you began to rub them and squeeze them together, all while looking him directly in the eye. You gave a little moan and licked your lips. It was subtle, but you saw him swallow and shift in his seat.

Five rolled his eyes, but you could tell you had gotten to him. “While the tits themselves may be alluring, there is the unfortunate fact that they are attached to the body that is powered by your idiot brain. Therefore…not interested.”

You gave them another hard push together, and then let out a short laugh before dropping your hands. “That’s what I thought.”

“What did you think?”

“That you’re a dickless asshole”

Five flashed you that devious smile that you had come to associate with an unfortunate fluttering inside your stomach. “I’ll concede to being an asshole. But dickless? Quite the opposite, sweetheart.”

Your mouth went dry at that implication and you momentarily had a loss for words. After a couple of seconds, though, you regained your cool.

“As much as I’m sure you’d just love to whip out your little pickle dick right now, how about you get your scrawny ass up and go get us some water? Sweetheart.”

Five gave a short laugh. “And as much as I’m sure you’d love to be choking on my pickle right now, like I told you…” He pointed his pencil at the notebook. “I’m busy.”

Without another word, he lowered his head and started scribbling again, ignoring you completely. Your mouth opened in another retaliation, but then it snapped closed again. There was no point in continuing your little childish spat. Five was a stubborn old bastard and it was a waste of time. You might as well go get the damn water yourself.

Giving a loud, dramatic huff, you flipped your hair over your shoulder and stomped away. You did happen to notice, though, that Five looked up to watch you leave. So, as a final act of brattiness, just before you were out of sight, you made sure to bend over and act like you were tying your shoe while wiggling your ass in the air. Which, if Five had the oversized brain he was always saying he did, he would remember that your shoelaces had disintegrated a month ago.

As you angrily made your way to the old well that was your water source, you mumbled out loud to yourself.

“He thinks he’s so fucking smart. Well, he’s not. Just because you’re a smoking hot asshole does not mean you’re a genius, I guarantee you.”

You tripped over a rock and you cursed before continuing on. “And he is dreaming if he thinks I’m the one that wants to fuck him. Granted, it has been a long time since I got laid, but still. I think I can do better than Five Hargreeves, even if he is the last man on earth.”

You approached the old-fashioned well pump that was still in service and started pumping, much more vigorously than needed while you ranted to no one. “Honestly, he is so hard up for some ass, it’s embarrassingly obvious. But, good luck buddy, because that ain’t happening.”

You watched thoughtfully as the water slowly poured into the plastic bucket that served as your portable water reservoir. You stared into the distance; the landscape not quite as bleak as the others you had seen. This one at least had some trees and wildlife. “Still…I did see him shirtless that one time and I can’t seem to get that little image out of my brain. The guy has sex appeal, there’s no doubt about that. And I suppose he’s not all bad. He did let me take the bed, after all. He hasn’t even tried anything, either, which I suppose makes him kind of a gentleman.”

You gave the well a few more pumps to fill the last of the bucket. “But why hasn’t he tried anything? Maybe he doesn’t think I’m attractive? He said he likes women, though. I wonder if he jerks off when I’m not around?”

You smiled to yourself, feeling your chest tighten a little at the thought. “I guess I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t used him as motivation for my own hand-fucking. He might be annoying but I bet he can deliver in certain areas.” You paused a moment more and sighed angrily, looking toward the sky. “Damn it…now I’m horny!” The water started overflowing in the bucket and you realized you’d been pumping the well for too long, wasting your most precious resource.

“Shit!” You stared at the dusty ground that was now turning into a muddy puddle around your feet. “He doesn’t need to know about this, that’s for sure. I don’t need yet another lecture on water preservation.”

Hoisting up the bucket, and holding it against your chest because the handle had given out a week ago, you started back towards the house.

“I’m going insane,” you panted as you made your way up the slight incline. “It’s official; I’ve finally lost it. Stuck out here in the middle of nowhere and talking to myself. Cool.”

As you walked into the house, the water bucket was partially obstructing your view and it sloshed water down your front as you set it heavily down on the floor.

“There,” you declared, out of breath. “Here’s the water, no thanks to – Oh holy shit!”

When you had looked up, you had been assaulted with the sight of Five pleasuring himself right there in your cozy kitchen. You froze, taking in the sight, not able to look away. He was on full display, with the chair pushed out from the table, facing the doorway. His shirt was open, sleeves cuffed up, head thrown back, eyes closed, pants undone, and his cock in his hand. He was languidly stroking himself, appearing to not be in a hurry to finish the job, while he sat there with his legs spread open for all to see. Well, not all to see…just you.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry…shit…what are you? Ok, never mind, um…I’m gonna, yeah, just go…” you stammered while still staring directly at the obscenity before you.

You said you were going to go, but you were rooted to the spot. Eventually, after what seemed like an inordinate amount of time considering what was happening, Five opened his eyes and looked at you. No, not looked. Stared at you. Those bright green eyes bored into you and a small smirk played on his lips.

Still panicking, but also confused as to the very real sensation of moisture not caused by the bucket of water forming between your legs, you abruptly turned to leave.

“Stop.”

Five’s voice was different than usual. Harder. Commanding. And you inexplicably stopped in your tracks.

“Turn around.”

You obeyed and slowly spun around, nervous as to what you might see, or have him see. You were sure the look on your face would give you away.

Five hadn’t moved. He was still stroking himself and he looked like he didn’t have one ounce of shame about it, either.

You swallowed hard. “What…”

“I decided after your little show earlier that I just couldn’t help myself. And now that you’ve got some wet t-shirt action going on, I’m going to need you to stay. I think you owe me that.”

Looking down at yourself, you saw that the spilled water had created a nearly see-through situation over your chest. Even your bra was soaked through, and your nipples were visible through the thin fabric. When you glanced back up, you bit at your lower lip. Despite the blush growing across your cheeks, you were intrigued with this new game.

“Owe you?” you asked, your voice cracking as you tried to keep your cool.

Five groaned quietly, picking up his pace and ignoring your question. “You really do have magnificent tits. Now, take that ratty ass top off.”

You couldn’t believe you were actually going along with his demands. You should be telling him to fuck off and throwing the nearest heavy object toward his head. Instead, you found yourself holding his eye contact while you slowly stripped your wet shirt away and dropped it onto the floor.

There was another deep moan from Five as he worked his shaft over with his whole hand, his breathing becoming louder.

“Bra,” he rasped.

As you unhooked your bra and let it fall on top of your shirt, you smiled at his reaction.

“Fuck honey…I’ve been dreaming about these tits for so long and they do not disappoint.” He groaned low in his throat again. “Perfect.”

You eyed him up and down, taking in the detail of his cock as his fist slid easily over it. It was most definitely impressive. Much more than you had imagined and you found yourself running your tongue over your bottom lip involuntarily.

“Shit, Five…I guess you weren’t kidding. Definitely not dickless.”

“You like what you see?” he asked, looking out under the pieces of hair that had flopped in front of his eyes.

You nodded, and then began to move closer in. “Yeah, I do.”

Five shook his head, pausing his fist fucking momentarily. “I don’t think so, honey. Not yet.”

“Not yet what?” you asked, thoroughly confused. Did he not want you to jump on top of him?

“I know you’re just dying for my cock to be buried deep inside you right now, but you’re going to have to wait. That’s your punishment.”

With your eyebrows drawn together, you suddenly felt very stupid standing there topless while he continued to jack off.

“What the hell…what do you mean? Punishment for what?”

“For walking around all bitchy and complaining about everything. All while throwing your body in my face and leaving me high and dry.”

“What!? You’re the one that has been the asshole –”

“Shut up, sweetheart. I don’t need to hear your mouth. I just need to look at you. Now drop your pants.”

It took a minute for your mind to comprehend just what the fuck was going on here. Five Hargreeves, your friend turned enemy turned…jack off partner?...was ordering you around like you were his own personal interactive porno mag. And you fucking liked it.

As you started unbuttoning your shorts, you gave him a lopsided smile. “So, how long have you been using me as your whack-a-thon inspiration?”

“I could ask you the same,” he snarked back before working just a little harder when your pants came off.

“Since about 3 months in,” you admitted with a shrug, pushing your panties all of the way off.

“Fuuuck,” Five groaned loudly, closing his eyes briefly before scanning your body hungrily. “I think I lasted 2 weeks.”

You laughed, leaning back against the table with your hands behind you as you pushed out your chest. When your eyes caught his again, you let out a soft whimper.

“Damnit…I really want to fuck you right now.”

“I know, darling,” he responded, his voice dripping with condescension. “You’ve made that quite obvious.”

Neither of you said anything more for a moment. The room was filled with the sound of your collective heavy breathing and the slapping noises as Five jacked himself hard and fast. You could see the beads of pre-cum forming around the head. On a whim, you decided to lean in, bending down with your mouth open and tongue out, to daintily lick up the tempting drops. Five growled and flung his head back again while you gave one more flick of your tongue over the slit and backed away again.

“Finger yourself,” he grunted out.

When you smirked, licking all four of your fingers before lowering them between your legs, the sound Five made, a shaking, guttural sound, had you thinking he was on the verge of blowing his load. But he only seemed to concentrate harder, working his fist over his thick shaft. You watched as his thumb traced the underside of his swollen tip, the veins that ran from top to bottom prominently on display. You had never really thought the sight of a man pleasuring himself in front of you would be that hot, but the wetness dripping out of you right now proved that maybe it just depended on the man.

Because watching Five unabashedly fuck himself; his left hand tight around his cock and his hips jerking up in response; the tendons in his forearm taught and straining; his hair hanging messily around his face, his eyes never leaving yours; had you more worked up than you had ever been in your life.

“Fuck, Five,” you moaned as your own hand began to move through your slick folds.

“Damn it, I’m going to come. On your knees,” he growled through clenched teeth.

You dropped down without a second thought, just blindly following his orders. Your hand was still working furiously, and you were unsure if he wanted you to suck his dick or not, so you just waited for further instructions. When he groaned loudly and shifted forward in the chair, his own hand moving fast, you realized what he was going to do.

“Don’t you dare come on my face,” you rasped out. You removed your fingers from yourself so that you could lean back, exposing your chest at a better angle.

With a strangled moan that sounded like some sort of wounded animal, Five bit at his bottom lip while he came; long ropes of cum covering your chest and dripping down your stomach as he unloaded onto you again and again. You watched his face as it contorted in orgasmic bliss before finally relaxing again, his hand slowing, and his body easing back into the chair.

“Fucking hell,” he whispered through heaving breaths; eyes still closed. “You have no idea how much I needed that.”

As you knelt before him, covered in his semen, and still horny, you frowned. “Good for you.”

When he opened his eyes, he had the nerve to laugh and he shook his head. “Give me a minute, ok? I might have a fairly quick refractory period, but it’s not immediate.”

“Hmm, yeah. Likely story,” you said under your breath, although your mouth twitched up with amusement as you stood up. “I’m going to use our most precious resource to wash up.”

“Use it sparingly,” Five reminded you.

“I think I’ll use as much as I want, considering it’s your cum that’s currently drying all over my tits right now.”

“Fair,” Five said with a breathy laugh.

After you found one of the clean rags that doubled as a washcloth, you dipped it in the bucket of cool water and started to wipe at your chest. Five watched you bend over, ringing out the cloth and letting the water run down your breasts and abdomen. His refractory period may not have been instant, but watching you like that was most definitely speeding the process along.

While you were enjoying giving him this show, what you really wanted was a little more satisfaction than just watching him jerking off. With your body as cum-free as it was going to be for the moment, you sauntered back over to Five who was still sitting in the same chair; pants open and semi-hard dick out. When you stood in front of him, he looked up at you through the fringe of hair covering his eyes, that damn smirk of his playing on his lips. Without even thinking, you hauled your right hand back and smacked him across the face.

As he raised a hand to his stinging cheek, he glared up at you. “What the hell was that for?”

With a smile, you straddled his lap, draping both arms over his shoulders and leaning in to kiss him. After biting at his bottom lip, you pulled back.

“That was for stranding me here in this hell hole.” You kissed him again, tugging hard at his hair at the back of his head. “And for being the world’s biggest prick.” Your groin slid over his hard cock and he grunted. “And for looking so fucking hot all the time.”

Five grabbed your chin in his hand, holding you steady as he gazed into your eyes; his deep green ones sparkling as that arrogant look crossed his face again. Gripping your ass tightly with both hands, Five stood up, taking you with him as he slammed your body down onto the rickety kitchen table. When your back hit the wooden top with a thud, the pedestal holding it up wobbled dangerously underneath. You huffed out a loud breath from the impact.

Standing between your legs that were still wrapped around his waist, Five reached down between you, grasping his hard cock and rubbing the tip against your clit. When you gave a tiny whimper, he nodded.

“I’m sorry I got you stuck here. And I’m working on being less of a prick. As for looking hot all the time? That I can’t help so much,” he said with a grin, continuing to massage your slit by running his dick up and down, spreading your wetness over both of you.

“Asshole,” you rasped after sucking in a loud gulp of air. Your hands clutched at the edge of the table and your hips rocked against him.

He shook his head, closing his eyes with a moan before locking onto yours again. “No. If I were an asshole, I would have done what I’ve been dying to do for months now.”

“Which is?”

“Sliding into bed with you in the middle of the night and waking you up with my dick shoved between your legs.”

Your head tipped back as you tried to push yourself harder into his cock that was continually sliding over you in just the right spot. “Oh shit, Five…I wish you would have.”

“You’d like that, huh?”

You nodded. “I’d still have kicked your ass, but not before I’d let you fuck my brains out.”

“How about I fuck your brains out now and we can discuss kicking my ass later?”

“Sounds good,” you breathed out.

Five used his hand to guide himself inside of you. Once the head of his cock was inside, he thrust himself into you, impaling you on his sizeable dick, and watching your face for your reaction.

“Oh god…” you cried, gritting your teeth against the intensity.

“You ok?” he asked as his hands traveled over your thighs, sides, and hips.

You nodded. “Yeah. Definitely ok. Fuck, that feels good.”

With a self-satisfied smirk, Five grabbed your ass tightly with both hands, squeezing each cheek hard and digging his fingers into your flesh. When he started to guide you by pushing and pulling you over his shaft, you let him take full control of your body. With your arms splayed to the sides and your head tipped back against the table top, you wanted him to break you down; strip you of your inhibitions, and make you his.

“Shit…” he hissed through his teeth. “I need…fuck…I need more of you.”

Without warning or consent, he pulled you roughly up by one hand before pulling out of you and yanking you off the table to standing again. Not sure what his game plan was, you just stood there until he stepped out of his pants that had dropped around his ankles, and held you tightly to him. With a long kiss that made you momentarily forget where you were, he pulled back again.

“Floor,” he gasped.

Despite having a perfectly good bed in the other room, you were thinking the same thing he was. There was no time for relocation. You needed him inside of you again. Immediately. Hands clutching at one another, you both clumsily dropped to the floor. There was a moment of ungraceful maneuvering while you hastily repositioned yourself, but once Five was on his back and you were mounting him again, his dick slid inside once more and you let out a high-pitched whine.

In between grunts and whimpers as you started to move your hips, you attacked his mouth, face, and neck with kisses. Eventually, one of his hands came to rest in your hair. When you looked him in the eyes, he was smiling. Not his normal, asshole smirk. An actual, affectionate smile.

“I’m not sure why we waited this long,” he said before kissing you deeply, while also bucking his hips up, driving his dick in harder.

“Because we hated one another,” you explained as he sucked kisses onto your neck.

“Not always…fuuckk…” he moaned when you slammed harder on top of him.

“I kind of don’t hate you now.”

Five laughed and squeezed one of your breasts in his hand, hard enough to make you hiss through your teeth.

“Five….” you whined.

“Keep fucking me, baby. Harder.”

You were fucking him as hard as you possibly could. So hard that you were seriously concerned about the health of your knees as they bore most of your weight and dug into the hard dirt floor of your crappy kitchen. But that didn’t stop you. Riding his dick like it was somehow essential to your existence, you had never wanted anyone more than you did right then. You couldn’t control the loud cries and broken sobs that filled the small kitchen, and Five wasn’t exactly being quiet either.

“Oh shit, honey…please keep doing that…I’ve wanted this so badly.”

After one more long kiss, you could feel your body start to reach its climax. As Five grasped your hips again, working you over even faster, you let yourself go with a broken moan that got louder the more your body reacted to his. With your back arched, head tipped back, and your hips twitching wildly, Five clenched his teeth and looked down between your bodies. He could see the white lather of your arousal coating his cock. With a husky growl, Five pushed you down and came inside you.

Gasping for air, you collapsed into him, chests heaving against one another. He held you loosely, his hands idly caressing your back and hair.

“Five?” you panted; nuzzling your nose and mouth into the side of his sweat-damp neck.

“Yeah?”

“If you had been fucking me like that this whole time, these last several months could have been much more enjoyable.”

He let out a breathy laugh. “If I were more confident in my time travel skills, I would go back and remedy that.”

As your playful kisses traveled over his neck and cheek, you gave him one last, deep kiss on his mouth before pulling back again. You stared deeply into his eyes that you only just now realized were so easy to get lost in.

Moving a stray piece of hair from his forehead, you smiled sweetly. “While I definitely would not mind more of your amazing dick action, I am going to murder you if I have to spend one more day in this strawberry hellhole.”

Five matched your snarky grin with his own, and smacked your ass swiftly. “Off.”

Rolling your eyes, but not able to hide the blush that dusted your cheeks again when he took that tone with you, you unfurled yourself from his body and stood up. Offering a hand out, you helped Five to his feet.

“While the thought crossed my mind to leave you in the dark just so I can get some more action, I don’t have the heart. Look,” he said as he pointed to his notebook that had just recently been pinned under your body on the table.

When you looked closer at his illegible scrawls, you frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“I did it.”

You looked back over at him with raised eyebrows. “Did what?”

“Found our way home. While you were out getting water, I figured it out.”

As the realization of what he was saying washed over you, you shrieked and threw your arms around his shoulders, pulling his damp, naked body into yours. “Five! Oh my god, you did it! We can go home?”

He nodded, a giant smile growing over his face. “I think so. And I think I figured it out so that we will have time to stop the whole mess that was starting to go down before we left, too. I think we can save the world.”

“Oh my god! This is amazing!” You pulled him tighter and kissed him hard on the lips, still smiling. “Five, you’re amazing!” Then a thought came to you and you tilted your head to the side. “Hang on…if you figured this out while I was out getting water…were you really jerking off to thoughts of me, or just your own mathematical genius?”

Five shrugged with that sexy, lopsided smile of his. “Can’t it be a little of both?”

“Holy shit,” you laughed. “Let’s get the fuck out of here and go home.”

Five pulled you close with a jerk, his arm around your waist and his hand resting securely on the small of your back. With a look that made your heart flip in your chest and your knees weak and wobbly, Five leaned in to kiss you, biting gently at your lips before pulling away and rubbing his cheek across yours.

“Why leave now? We have all the time in the world and things were just getting good,” he said, his voice low and smooth; the rush of his hot breath down your neck sending shivers down your spine.

“Ok,” you breathed out before tipping your head back so he could access your neck. “What’s a few more days?”

[periprose]

Can I have a Logan Howlett x Angel!Fem!Reader where Logan sees the reader in the kitchen having a bit of a meltdown and uncomfortable feeling over holding a knife (for like, cooking reasons or smth) and he calms her down because the reader just doesn’t want to hurt anyone :(? I’d appreciate it thanks! (I’ve seen you wanted more Angel reader, so im here to reciprocate :3)

AHhhh this fits so well Anon (maybe unintentionally so, the previous fic had a little snippet about Angel's mom trying to stab her when she was young...) but I love your brain. I made it a bit longer and added some stuff and it's set before the previous Logan Gains a Guardian Angel fic (LGGA for short) so they're not together yet.

Knives Drip Chocolate (or, Logan Gains a Guardian Angel)

Word Count: 2.9k

Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt with comfort, mutual pining, idiots in love, mild traumatic flashback stuff (but no violence)

LGGA Masterlist

Logan is always ready for a late-night snack.

It’s hard for him to feel full, a lot of the time– he didn’t always have the easiest access to food, and he’s known for a while, if there’s a brief period in his immortal-like life where he can just relax about food and supplies, he shouldn’t take that for granted. 

Plus with an accelerated healing factor, sometimes his body starts digesting food too quickly, leading to faster body repair, but nothing to feel satisfied about.

So he’s got tons of cravings. Something that you are constantly bothered about, even now, as Logan knocks on your door, asking yet again if you’d accompany him to the kitchen.

Not that you actually mind. Sometimes you think you’d follow Logan into hell if he asked nicely enough, despite your occasionally evasive attitude keeping him on his toes.

“Angel, please. I’m starving.” Logan’s grumpy complaints are muffled behind your door, and you wonder why a nearly 200 year old man needs you so badly, to be by his side, when he’s spent so long being a loner.

“I’m coming.” You yawn, pulling yourself out of your bed– Storm is your roommate, and she’s passed out, stone cold. You quickly finger comb your hair, and fix your giant t-shirt, so your shoulder isn’t so exposed.

Silly, because you know Logan doesn’t care.

It’s bad. It’s really, really bad, because you don’t want to get attached to Logan, not when he’s sure to toss you aside like he’s done with the rest of them eventually. But you can’t help yourself– Logan is easy to be around, he knows your fears and little quirks, and he has never treated you like you’re so different for being a little quiet, like him. 

You know everyone has noticed. When you open your bedroom door, and Logan stares at you for a moment– an unreadable, soft glance in his eyes, one that you could choose to ignore, but don’t, as you stare back at him– you know all the other X-Men see it. Some silly crush you have on him, that clearly confuses Logan himself as he shakes his head, and pulls you by the arm out of your room, your PJs and hair askew.

Logan himself looks good, you have to admit– wearing lazy sweatpants and a white tank-top, his arm muscles looking especially defined tonight– and you pull your arm away, embarrassed that you give into these feelings so easily.

He’s only ever going to be your best friend. Even now, there’s nothing romantic about the way Logan asks if you want a ham and cheddar sandwich, too. He’s just looking out for you. 

Jean, Scott, and Storm have literally asked you, more than once, if you and Logan had maybe slept together, or kissed, or anything that would be a culmination of some supposed lust, in which case you always laugh awkwardly and deny everything. 

Your excuse is that it’s deeper than that, and it’s one-sided. What would be the point of bringing it up if it would just end in heartbreak?

“Earth to Angel.” Logan shakes your arm, breaking your stride. “Hey, that’s kind of funny, isn’t it? You’re always up in Heaven. Daydreaming about who the hell knows what.”

“Haha, Logan.” You mockingly say in a deadpan voice. “What is it?”

“Your wings are flexing a little bit, again, like they’re about to open. They’re kind of pulsing.” He says it in a soft tone, ushering in some concern he has, and you find yourself wishing that you were someone normal, someone that Logan didn’t have to care so much about. 

It’s not that you’re not happy to have his concern, it’s just that you don’t know what to do with it. Thank him for it? You have never been used to people looking out for you.

“It’s fine. Sometimes I get muscle spasms, it’s nothing to worry about.” You mutter, knowing it has to do with anxiety, but Logan looks a bit unconvinced.

“Okay. But if you keep having weird tremors, I’m taking you to the hospital wing so you can get diagnosed.” Logan states, and you open your mouth to argue, but he tuts. “No arguing about this. Last thing we need is for you to die from stress or cancer or something.”

Your heartbeat quickens, not at the mention of cancer, but because Logan used we and now you’re just thinking about how you’re always together.

Not like that, though.

“Okay, Logan. I get it.” You shake your head. “I won’t die.” 

“Not yet. We got snacks to eat.” Logan agrees, as he leads you into the kitchen.

/

Logan’s got you working on making hot chocolate as he makes the sandwiches, pan-frying them till the cheese is hot and melty. 

It’s not really a common mix, you think, but you’re just happy to be helping.

“Careful. Milk boils over fast.” Logan comments from next to you, mostly focused on his own side of the stove, and you roll your eyes.

“I know that.” You retort, but as you look away from the stove for one second, the pot of milk nearly does boil over, and you swear, reducing the heat quickly.

Logan starts laughing. “Told you.”

You shove him lightly, and he has a stupid grin on his face, one where you know Logan takes such joy in teasing you at times. Like this is one of the greatest pleasures in life.

You move the milk over to the counter, to let it cool, and then remember something semi-important. 

“Logan? Don’t forget, Scott wanted extra ham for the Hawaiian pizza they’re making tomorrow–” As you’re reminding him, Logan wordlessly shows you the empty ham package, telling you that he used all of it for the sandwiches.

“You snooze, you lose.” Logan shrugs, and you close your eyes in partial defeat, trying not to laugh at his antics.

“I guess, but you never seem to lose, and Scott’s always chewing me out for your ‘mistakes.’” You point at yourself, tongue poking through the side of your mouth, and Logan raises his eyebrows. “Tell me: Am I snoozing, or are you just lucky that I take the blame?”

“Ah, Angel… you’re obviously asleep.” Logan smirks, and you scoff at his audacity, having expected a semi-apology from him. “No one ever said you had to take the blame for my snacks. You could’ve just told him it was Jean, and he wouldn’t have asked any questions.”

You blink at him. “Lying to our team’s leader aside, why Jean?”

“C’mon. Scott’s crazy over her, they’ve been together for however long, and he can never say no to her. It’s the perfect excuse– he wouldn’t even ask her about missing food, so not to offend his sweetheart.” Logan pauses, a thoughtful look taking over his features, and he scratches his chin. “I guess love really is blind.”

“Wow. You had that takeaway based on gaslighting both Scott and Jean? You really are an unfeeling old man.” You giggle, and Logan glances over at you, his face heating up at your laugh, a sweet sound that always pushes a warmth into his chest.

If Logan was honest, he understands Scott perfectly. Sure, he could play the part of the curmudgeonly old man, and lie to you– but in truth, he was doing that because he likes you.

Just like Scott. Logan likes you so much, that he would honestly lie to you just to protect your relationship– whether that be about missing food, or if you talk about some other dude someday, and he has to pretend he’s all ecstatic for you, as he often worries about. 

He knows it’s bad. And he doesn’t like it, either. Logan insists to himself, in pure self denial, that this love he has for you doesn’t exist, because he would rather be given even a little bit of your presence as a friend, than to be entirely shut out by you upon imminent rejection.

But even he knows he protests too much. Of course he loves you, how could he not?

Logan thinks of you as his personal guardian Angel. It’s silly, of course– but you’re the one who helps him make better choices, doing the right thing more often than not. He’s an idiot– you’re a beautiful genius of a woman, and it bothers him so deeply that you keep to yourself.

He looks over at you. You’re chopping up a bar of dark chocolate, and your gaze is intensely focused– Logan has seen the same expression on you when you’re beating up a bad guy. You’re thinking, murmuring something to yourself, probably thinking about hot chocolate.

Your eyes turn wide, glassy, and you inhale sharply.

Logan immediately comes to your side. “Angel?”

Logan’s voice doesn’t fully register to you.

The knife gleams in the low lighting of the kitchen, as you turn it over and over in your hand, dark brown chocolate smudging the blade, and then you look down to your palms.

Where your hands are covered in dark, melted chocolate, after you’ve been holding the chocolate bar to chop it up– the liquid is almost amber in hue. 

“...blood.” You whisper something unintelligible, but Logan catches the last word.

You retch to yourself, hyperventilating over the counter, back hunched over, the knife still clenched in your palm.

“Angel, hey–” Logan squeezes his way between the counter and your right arm, where your hand is holding the knife, and he firmly pulls it away from you, grabbing it blade-first without even thinking about it, and you gasp, shouting at him to get away.

Logan stops, at a loss for words. You’re trembling, you’re no longer holding the knife, but you can’t stop looking at your hands.

He grabs your arms a bit more gently, turning you towards him, and you’re lost in some train of thought that Logan can’t stop.

Mom sliced up one of my hands once… it’s been years, but it looked just like this.

Then I got her back, by accident… it was an accident, Angel.

“What’s wrong?” Logan looks down at you in fear, worry that something may actually be very wrong, and you haven’t told him a thing.

He thinks he shouldn’t have assumed you were always alright. He knows you aren’t– he just finds it difficult to surpass your avoidant attitude. He’s never seen you have a full blown panic attack like this before.

Your wings are subtly twitching again, folded against your back, but threatening to open up to full expanse, and you shake your head, lip quivering, as you look down at the floor.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.” You utter so softly, so heartbreakingly tiny, and Logan feels himself turning cold at your words, wondering if you’d really done something that terrible.

With a kitchen knife, of all things. He wants to hug you firmly now.

He knows even if it was true– there’s no way that was your fault, no way Logan wouldn’t have sussed that out based on instinct. 

“It isn’t…” Logan starts, wanting to say it wasn’t your fault, but he doesn’t know how that will go over with you. “You’re not going to hurt anyone. Where is that coming from?”

“Just a bad memory.” You say with a shaky breath, the most information you’re willing to give him at this moment, and you know– you know– Logan is never going to be satisfied with that answer.

You don’t want to scare him off. This is the first time you could even say you have a best friend, and you don’t want Logan to pity you or feel like you were incapable of taking care of yourself. You don’t want him to see you like your mother did.

Logan frowns. Then, instead of asking you a question, he traces the back of your wings, which causes a shiver in your body.

You close your eyes, expecting to feel tense, scared, and horrified, but instead you feel calm, almost placid. Being touched by Logan makes you feel like everything is going to be alright.

Your wings stop shaking, and Logan hands you a wet paper towel. You wipe your chocolatey hands, which puts you at ease, seeing your clean hands again. 

“Sorry. I don’t mean to make you my caretaker.” You whisper, always worried about others’ perception of you, and Logan shakes his head.

“I don’t mind, Angel. As long as you’re alright.” Logan has a tentative look on his face, and you’re almost embarrassed, that you like being taken care of so badly, and he hugs you tightly, arms wrapped around your back, a near bone crushing hug that has you nestled in his chest, fit under his jaw as he places his head on top of yours.

Your heartbeat slows down. You’re not panicking any more, but it seems like Logan, too, is reaping some sort of benefit by being so close to you. He inhales deeply, and the sigh rumbles through his chest into you.

You could almost cry. You spent so much of your childhood never being close to anyone, and being held is cathartic in a way you can’t even describe.

Logan doesn’t let go until you do. Then he has the audacity to look a little sheepish, like he had done something un-Logan and uncool, and you almost feel pained, like you should push him away, and go to sleep on your own.

It’s such an odd feeling, to both want his concern, and to wish you never needed to do so.

You stare up at him, and Logan smiles, a soft smile that he hopes reads as comforting rather than a snarl, and you can’t help yourself for what you ask next.

“Could I sleep in your room?” You ask, biting back the immediate disclaimers of it’s okay if you don’t want to. “I’m just better when I’m around you.”

There’s also the thing of waking up Storm if you enter back in now, and explaining that you had yet another panic attack. She’ll be mad.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s okay.” Logan murmurs, wondering if you meant to make that sound so devotedly sweet, something that causes his insides to seize a little.

He feels better around you, too.

You’re usually good at hiding this side of yourself from him– it’s another step deeper, another step too far into your relationship to take back– and now you worry you’ll never really be able to separate.

Logan ruffles your hair, and all is right again.

/

He makes you eat at least a bite of the sandwich, and sip a little hot chocolate– the rest is placed in the fridge for some other mutant to eat.

Logan won’t let you go to sleep without a meal, or in this case a few nibbles, if he can help it.

“Moods are worse on an empty stomach.” Logan grins, and you smile, feeling a little more at ease.

“You’re not you when you’re hungry.” You joke, and Logan rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, save that for when we’re pilfering Kurt’s Snickers bars.” He snorts. 

Logan leads you to his room, oddly silent the entire time. It’s not that Logan isn’t typically quiet, it’s that it feels more tense. He’s keeping to himself, and he doesn’t seem to have anything against you– he has only a kind expression for you, when you meet his eyes.

Finally, you both arrive to his bedroom door. Logan is lucky– he doesn’t have to room with anyone– and you’ve been in here plenty of times.

Still, that doesn’t explain why it takes him a second to enter in the room, as you follow him in.

It’s sparsely decorated in here– one poster of the Calgary Flames is on Logan’s wall, and there’s a mug with random, assorted pens on his desk. His bed has never been filled with loads of stuffed animals and pillows like other X-Men (read: Jubilee) would have. There’s a pile of assorted flannels, jackets, and scarves hanging off a coat rack.

It’s comforting, though. Logan is a simple man, and you like being close enough to understand him, to see the small remnants of things he likes.

“Well. The bed’s there, if you’d like. Don’t let me stop you.” Logan points to the bed, and he starts walking towards the leather recliner next to the window.

“Logan. Stop.” You grab him by the arm, and he pauses, slightly scared, mostly enthused by what you’ll say next. “It’s okay with me if we sleep next to each other.”

“...Okay.” Logan watches as you climb into his bed, hoping it’s comfortable, and doing a weird thing of personally memorizing the way you lay and snuggle down, in case you never do this again.

You’re next to the wall, so Logan stays on his side, lying down close to the edge of the bed. And you’re keeping your distance– so is he.

You turn, and Logan is already looking at you. He glances away.

“Good night, Angel.” Logan utters softly, and with that, you turn to your side, to fall asleep.

/

When Logan wakes up, he freezes, so not to move you. Somehow, through out the night, you ended up snuggled around him, sprawled against his chest, your arms lightly wrapping around him.

He loves it. He’s glad to see he’s been useful for once– he gave you a good night’s sleep.

[inkdrinkerworld]

Cw: brief mention of past childhood abuse/trauma, talk of not being good parents. This is representation for the girlies (gn) that are unsure about being parents/know they don’t want kids! You’re perfect and valid

Sirius Black x fem!reader (one use of girl at the end there)

“I don’t think I’d want to have kids.” You say to Sirius as you lay beside him, your head on his shoulder as he tickles your back.

It’s an abrupt confession seeing as neither of you had been talking about that, but Sirius just hums.

“Any reason why, poppet?” His voice is even. To be truthful, Sirius goes back and forth with the idea too.

You take a while to elaborate; “I think having to help raise my siblings, and then dealing with all of that stress and having to correct my brother’s actions and all of that,” you take a breath. “I think it took it out of me. I also really don’t want to screw up a kid.”

Sirius nods, a kiss to your cheek. He feels you inhale against his hand and waits for you to speak again, “Would that make our relationship harder? Would it be a deal breaker?”

He pulls back to get a good look at you. “Because you don’t want babies?” When you nod, Sirius shakes his head. “No, doll. I don’t think I want kids either, but especially so if you don’t want them.”

“Don’t say that just to agree with me, Siri.” You sigh and Sirius copies you.

“I’m not. I go back and forth with it just as you do. Most days I’m leaning towards it just being me and you.” His voice is too raw and earnest for you to doubt him.

You breathe out long, “I just,” you pause, picking your words. “We’ve both had shitty childhoods, I don’t know if we’d be good parents. No one can be perfect and I don’t want to fuck up a kid that didn’t have the choice of being here; I know that much for certain.”

“I think that’s a good thing to know, babe. We aren’t what happened to us and while we’re better now, we can’t predict how we’ll be despite our best efforts with our own kids, you’re right. I wouldn’t want to fuck them up either.”

They fall when you say, “Does that make me a bad person? That I wouldn’t risk it because raising my siblings was like me having kids already and really don’t want to fuck them up like we were?”

He doesn’t like that this has been troubling you. Sirius knows you better than anyone else on planet earth and he knows for you to cry like this means you’ve thought about this a lot.

He hates that you’ve been tormenting yourself over not wanting kids for so long.

Sirius pulls you closer when your tears turn to sobs, his arms firm weight around your back as he kisses your eyes. Salty tears pass through the seam of his lips.

“That doesn’t make you a bad person, poppet. That makes you a good person actually. We can keep our family just like this. Me, you, the birds you feed in the yard and maybe a dog later down the road.”

“And a cat,” you say all sniffly and Sirius wrinkles his nose.

“If you really want a cat, I’ll get you a cat. Just no more thinking it’s wrong to not want kids.” You nod, content to let Sirius pet you as your cries slow.

“You’ll still love me the most right?” He laughs, tilting your chin up and kissing your lips.

“I love you best, silly girl. Always will, even if we had kids.” You slap his chest and Sirius shrugs. “Maybe that’s how I know I’m not cut out, I don’t think I could put someone over you.” He laughs suddenly. “Fuck that’s sounds horrid.”

You wiggle onto his chest, kissing the constellation he got for you. “Doesn’t sound horrid. Dunno if I could handle not being top of your love list.” You say teasingly and Sirius smiles, all pleased that even with your red nose and slightly puffy eyes you’re okay.

Pride blooms in his chest as it does every time he assuages your worries. “Well, you never have to worry, poppet. Now gimme a kiss and let’s finish this episode of Bake Off.”

[doumadono]

Warnings: pure angst, graphic descriptions of injuries, pregnancy mention, Dabi spiraling into madness while consumed entirely by his thirst for vengeance, a lot of sadness

Synopsis: after the Final War leaves Dabi on the brink of death, you remain by his side, pouring out your love and revealing the secret you never had the chance to share with him before

A/N: this fic was written as my contribution to the weekly challenge in @candycandy00 community ♥

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

The air around him was heavy with the scent of ash and smoke.

You stood there, watching as he flicked his fingers, a tiny blue flame flickering to life and dancing across his scarred skin. It illuminated the deep lines and cracks that marred his face, each one a story, each one a wound that had never healed. 

His hair was white now - ghostly, almost - and it only made the darkness in his eyes stand out more. He didn’t look at you. Instead, he stared at the flame as if it held all the answers, as if he could burn away everything that had brought him to this moment.

"Why does it always have to be this way?" your voice was trembling, and you were barely holding back the tears that threatened to spill. “Why does it have to be you?”

Dabi didn’t answer immediately. He tilted his head slightly, and the light from the flame cast eerie shadows across his face. Finally, he let out a low chuckle, one that held no joy, only bitterness. "You know why," he muttered, his tone void of any hope. "This was always how it was going to end."

You took a step closer, reaching out with trembling hands, desperate to touch him, to feel the warmth that had always been just out of reach. "You don’t have to do this," you whispered, almost pleading. "You don’t have to go. Please. I care about you. You can’t leave me behind like that.”

He finally turned around, his eyes meeting yours. The flame on his fingertip flared, and the moment was gone, replaced by the icy detachment he wore like a second skin. "And then what?" he asked, tilting his head, his voice barely more than a whisper. "What happens then? I walk away? Pretend these scars aren’t there? Pretend I can forgive? They took everything from me, and they’re going to pay for that."

“Touya…” You dared to use his real name, hoping, praying it would be enough to reach him, to make him stop this madness.

"Don’t," he snapped back. "Don’t call me that. He’s dead. He’s been dead for a long time." He took a step closer, and the heat emanating from his body was already suffocating, but you refused to move, refused to let him push you away. “I’m Dabi now. That’s all there is.”

“No,” you choked out, shaking your head furiously, tears finally spilling over, tracing paths down your flushed cheeks. “You’re more than that. You’ve always been more than that. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen you…”

“You’ve seen what I wanted you to see,” he interrupted. 

The dim light of the cave cast shadows that made him look monstrous, and yet, all you could see was the boy he used to be, the boy who had wanted to be a hero. “You can’t save me. No one can,” Dabi added, his voice a tone softer, and it broke your heart because it was the truth he had resigned himself to.

You reached for him, grabbing his wrist, ignoring the searing heat that pulsed beneath your fingers. “I don’t want to save you,” you whispered. “I just want you to stay. Just… stay.”

Dabi’s eyes softened, just for a moment, and you thought, maybe, maybe there was a chance. But then he smiled - a smile so broken, tired, and filled with a sorrow so deep it threatened to swallow you whole. “You deserve better than a monster covered in scars,” he murmured, and your heart shattered.

"I don’t want better," you said, voice shaking. "I want you, Dabi."

He leaned in, and for a heartbeat, you thought he might kiss you, but instead, he rested his forehead against yours. “I wish I could be that for you,” he breathed, his voice barely more than a ghost of a sound. “I really do.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that would keep him here, as if that would stop him from slipping away. “Then stay.” You shot your hands to wrap them around his waist, and you stood there, holding him tightly.

But when you opened your eyes again, he had pulled away. He took a step back, then another, until there was nothing but shadows separating you. “Goodbye,” he uttered, and it wasn’t just a word - it was a death sentence, for both of you.

And as he walked away, the sound of his footsteps fading into the darkness, all you could do was stand there, surrounded by the cold emptiness he left behind, the echo of his final words burning hotter than any flame.

You stood frozen in front of the flickering television screen in your apartment, the world around you fading into nothingness as the battle raged on, as the flames you had once held so tenderly now roared and consumed everything in their wake. It was pure chaos - heroes and villains clashing in a storm of power and destruction, but all you could see was him.

Dabi stood at the center of it all, white hair whipping around his face like the ashes of a funeral pyre. His flames blazed with an intensity that seemed to consume the very air around him, radiating a brightness so fierce that, for a fleeting moment, he appeared almost ethereal - like a dying star caught in its last throes, desperate to leave a mark before being extinguished forever. But then you saw the pain etched into his features, the way his body trembled, the way his flames wavered, and it hit you all over again - how much he was hurting himself, how much this was costing him.

“Touya, please,” you whispered, voice cracking, as if he could hear you through the screen, as if your words could somehow reach him across the distance. “Please, stop.”

But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t, and you knew it well. You watched, heart splintering with every second that passed, as he unleashed everything he had against his family - the people who had made him, who had scarred him, who had broken him beyond repair. You watched as his flames collided with the ice of his mother and brothers, with the desperate defenses of his father, and all you could do was stand there, powerless to stop the destruction that unfolded.

Tears blurred your vision, and you sank to your knees, clutching at your chest as if you could somehow hold yourself together, as if you could somehow stop the pieces of your heart from crumbling to dust. “Please,” you sobbed, your voice a strangled whisper, “Please, don’t leave me…”

The news anchors were talking - describing the devastation, the violence, the destruction - but you couldn’t hear them. All you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat, pounding in your ears like a death knell, as you watched him burn to his demise, as you watched him fight and bleed and scream, and you felt it - the scars he left on your heart tearing wider, deeper, with every moment that passed.

And then, you saw it.

“No…” The word tore itself from your throat, and you didn’t even realize you were screaming, didn’t realize you were clawing at the screen as if you could somehow reach through it, as if you could somehow pull him back, keep him from slipping away. “No, no, no!”

His body lay still, the blue flames around him flickering weakly, as if they, too, were struggling to hold on. The camera zoomed in, capturing every agonizing detail, and you felt your heart constrict, a scream dying in your throat as you took in the full extent of his wounds.

His skin - what little remained - was cracked and charred, blackened to the bone in places where the flames had devoured him. The once-pale flesh hung in shreds, peeled back to reveal raw, bloodied muscle, and patches of bone that jutted out grotesquely. His right arm was gone, and he was reduced to little more than a skeleton covered with scraps of burnt tissue. Where the flesh had burned away entirely, you could see the tendons and ligaments clinging to his bones, frayed and broken, hanging on by threads.

His ribs, twisted and scorched, pressed against the paper-thin skin of his chest, the bones visible through what remained of the flesh that had once protected him. Each ragged breath he took caused them to rise and fall in sharp, jerky movements, and you could see how parts of the bone were cracked, splintered, as if they might snap with the slightest bit of pressure. His spine, scorched black, protruded from his back, the vertebrae exposed, skeletal.

His face was nearly unrecognizable, a twisted mask of agony and destruction. The skin around his mouth and eyes was entirely gone, leaving only the exposed muscles and tendons. His lips were cracked, blackened, and torn, revealing teeth that were stained red with blood. The left side of his face had burned down to the bone, the flames having stripped away everything, leaving behind nothing but a charred, skeletal visage that made him look more like a corpse than a man.

Blood seeped from countless wounds, dripping from him in a slow, steady stream, pooling beneath his ruined body. It mingled with the ash, the remnants of his own flesh, turning the ground around him into a grotesque, crimson mud. 

Yet still, somehow, his chest moved - barely, but it did - his lungs rattling with each shallow, ragged breath, fighting for every ounce of air as if he could refuse the darkness that threatened to swallow him whole.

The sight of him - broken, burned, reduced to this fragile state - was more than you could bear.

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but stare, paralyzed by the sight of him lying there, so small, so broken, and all you could think was, “I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there to stop him.”

You didn’t remember moving. One moment, you were on the floor, and the next, you were running, stumbling out of your apartment and into the chaos of the city, the smoke and screams and sirens drowning out the world around you. You didn’t care. You didn’t care about the danger, didn’t care about the warnings blaring from every television and radio and phone. All you knew was that he was out there, dying, and you had to reach him. You had to be there, if only to tell him that he wasn’t alone.

You reached the barricades, the line of heroes holding back the civilians, and you fought against them, desperate, frantic, screaming his name over and over until your voice gave out, until your throat was raw and bleeding, and still, you pushed forward. “Please,” you begged, clawing at them with all the strength you had left. “Please, I need to get there!”

“We can’t let you there, ma’am, the battle is still on and it’s dangerous…”

But you refused to listen, refused to believe it. You clawed your way past them, pushing a few people violently aside, slipping through the gaps, ignoring the shouts and hands that tried to hold you back, ignoring the pain that throbbed with every step, ignoring the scorching pain within your calves that seemed to slow you down to the point you were barely moving forward. All you knew was that you had to reach him. You had to see him, even if one last time.

And then you were there, standing over him, staring down at the body of the man you loved, and for a moment, the world fell silent. You collapsed to your knees beside him, your hands hovering over his broken form, afraid to touch him, afraid that he would crumble into ashes beneath your fingers. 

His family lay nearby, battered and broken, their bodies bearing the scars of the battle that had nearly consumed them all, just as it had consumed him.

“Touya,” you whispered, and his name felt like a blade slicing through you, sharp and unyielding. You reached out, brushing trembling fingers against the cracked, burned skin of his cheek, and it was so cold, so impossibly cold. 

There was no answer. There would probably never be an answer. As you cradled his head in your lap, the reality of his condition struck you like a blow. What you held wasn't the man you loved anymore - it was a skull, stripped of nearly all the flesh that had once made him human. The skin around his cheeks and jaw had burned away, leaving only the bare bone, cracked and blackened, exposed to the world. His eye sockets, once bright and full of life, now seemed hollow and lifeless, the remaining fragments of skin stretched tightly over his brow. Every part of him felt fragile, delicate, as if the slightest touch might cause him to crumble into dust in your hands. And still, you leaned down, pressing your forehead against his exposed skull, sobs wracking your body, as you whispered words of love and apology, hoping somehow, some part of him could still feel you. You whined silently when you felt the ragged, faint breath that still fought to escape his lungs, and you knew - these were the scars that would never heal, the wounds that would lead him straight to his demise.

And all you could do was hold him, whispering the words you had never been able to say before, hoping, praying that somehow, some way, he could still hear you. “I’m here,” you whispered, your voice breaking, “I’m here, Touya. I’m here, and you’re not alone.”

The hospital room was cold, sterile, and far too quiet. 

You stood there, barely able to breathe, as you took in the sight of him - the man you loved, the man who had burned so brightly, now trapped within the confines of a life support system. His body was completely bound, encased in a mass of wires, tubes, and bandages that covered every inch of him. He was barely recognizable, and the sight made your heart shatter all over again.

All that remained visible were his eyes and his jaw - the only parts of him restored after the destruction he had inflicted on himself, and everything and everyone around him. His eyes stared blankly ahead.

You took a tentative step forward, your hands trembling as you reached out to touch the glass that separated you from him. “Touya…” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. It was surreal, seeing him like this, as if the world had paused and left you in this agonizing limbo. “I’m here.”

The faint, rhythmic beeping of the machines was the only response you got, and it cut through you like a knife. You swallowed back the tears, your fingers pressing harder against the glass, as if you could somehow reach through it, as if you could somehow pull him back to you.

“They said you wouldn’t make it,” you joked nervously, your eyes never leaving his. “They said you were too far gone. But you fought, didn’t you? You fought, and you’re still here.”

His eyes shifted, focusing on you with a clarity that made your heart skip a beat. Slowly, painfully, you saw his jaw twitch, and then, in a voice so faint, so weak, you almost thought you were imagining it, he spoke. “Why are you still here?” His voice was barely a whisper, raspy and broken, but it was his. 

“I couldn’t leave you,” the words trembled out of your lips, thick with unshed tears. “I couldn’t let this be the end. Not like this.”

He tried to laugh, but it came out as a painful wheeze, his jaw tightening as he winced. “You shouldn’t have… I’m not… worth it.”

“How dare you?” you snapped, the words tearing from you with the force of a scream. “How dare you say that after everything? After everything we went through? How can you say you’re not worth it?!”

His eyes closed briefly, and when they opened again, they were filled with something you hadn’t seen in so long - something that looked like fear. “I ruined… everything.”

The words slipped out, fragile and trembling, as tears spilled over, leaving hot trails down your flushed cheeks. “You didn’t ruin what we had. You just… you got lost. But you’re still here. You’re still mine.”

He shook his head slightly, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and you could see the agony etched into every piece of his uncovered face. “I can’t be saved.”

“I’m not here to save you,” you remarked fiercely, pressing harder against the glass, as if you could somehow reach him. “I’m here because I love you. I’m here because I couldn’t walk away. And because…” You hesitated, your heart pounding, the weight of your secret threatening to crush you. “Because there’s something you need to know.”

His gaze sharpened, confusion flickering in those eyes you had loved so much, the eyes that had once been so full of life. “What is it?”

Swallowing hard, a trembling hand drifted to the curve of your abdomen as you forced the words out, each one a dagger plunging deeper into your heart. “I’m pregnant,” you confessed, voice quivering. “I found out right before you left. I tried to tell you, but you didn’t want to listen to me.”

The silence that followed was deafening, and for a moment, you thought he hadn’t heard, that your words hadn’t reached him. But then the steady beep of his heart rate monitor began to spike, echoing frantically in the small room as his pulse rose. And then you saw it - a tear slipping down his bandaged cheek, his mouth opening and closing, as if he were trying to speak but couldn’t find the words. “No…” he rasped, his voice shaking. “Why didn’t you tell me…?”

“Because you didn’t listen!” you cried, your voice breaking. “You wouldn’t stop! I tried to make you stay, but you were so consumed with your pain, fury and vengeance, and I couldn’t save you from that.”

“I failed you,” Touya whispered, his voice cracking, and it was the most vulnerable you had ever seen him, the man who had once stood unflinching before the world, now reduced to this broken, shattered soul. “I failed our family.”

“No,” you stated, shaking your head furiously, the glass cool against your forehead as you pressed closer, desperate to be near him, to make him understand. “You didn’t fail. You can still come back. You can still fight. For me. For us.”

“I’m too tired,” he burbled, and his eyes drifted closed, his chest rising and falling with the effort of breathing, each inhale a struggle, each exhale a battle. “I don’t want to hurt… anymore.”

You let out a broken sob, your shoulders shaking, your fingers splayed against the glass as if you could somehow hold him together, keep him from slipping away. “Then don’t,” you begged. “Don’t leave me, don’t leave us. Stay, Touya. Please, stay. I need you. Our baby needs you.”

His eyes flickered open one last time. “I love you,” Touya breathed, the words barely more than a breath, but they were there, they were real, and they seared themselves into your soul.

And then, just like that, his eyes closed, and his breathing evened out, and you were left standing there, holding onto the glass, holding onto him, as the machines continued their relentless, mechanical rhythm. He drifted off yet again. His body was so exhausted he could only speak for a couple minutes per day before reaching his limit.

And all you could do was choke out, “I love you too, Touya. We love you so much,”" although you recognized that he had succumbed to unconsciousness and was beyond the reach of your voice.

[nino-rox]

ADDICTED | BYEON WOO SEOK X MALE READER | M.A

Content Warning : Sexual themes, Top Wooseok and Bottom Male Reader, Angst, Mature, Use of Drugs (Marijuana), Trigger Warning - emotional /mental abuse, college AU.

Disclaimer : This is a Fan-fiction story written for entertainment purposes only, no part of the story implies or affirms anything regarding real world events or individuals. Please be of the appropriate age ( i.e, Adult as per your country’s stipulations and regulations) before interacting with this post

I woke up feeling cold and lonely in our bed.

When I opened my eyes and saw the empty side of the bed where Woo Seok was supposed to be sleeping I remembered last night and how he just left.

I turned to the side and stared at the empty space where his face would usually rest. It felt so lonely, I almost wanted to cry. I reached over to his side of the bed and touched his pillow, hugging it to my chest and trying to catch any last lingering scent of him.

The scent of him comforted me as I sat in silence for a while, hugging his pillow close.

After a while I got out of bed, I felt so drained, both mentally and physically.

I had hoped last night was just a dream. That maybe he was still here somewhere.

I walked into the kitchen, hoping he'd be there with breakfast and his charming smile. I hoped he would greet me with his arms wide open and tell me he was sorry and that everything was going to be okay. But there was no one in the kitchen. Just an empty table and a lonely chair.

It made me sad. I thought we were finally getting better. That maybe things were looking up for us. We had been fighting a lot lately and things between us had been really rocky. Last night was the last straw for me. I had decided when he get’s back….if…. He gets back…. I need a break.

We hadn't gone on a proper date in months. It seemed like all he wanted to do was stay home, sit on the couch and drink. I tried talking to him about it but he kept avoiding it. I tried bringing up the topic, but every time we would end up in another fight.

We were fighting over such small things lately, things that never used to be a problem, over a towel on the bed, over lights, food, sex, everything.

I couldn’t take it anymore, it felt like we were falling apart and no matter what I did he wouldn't talk to me, he was shutting me out and I was sick of it.

"Why are you making a big deal out of this? Why don't you go out with your stupid friends!" He yelled.

"Because I want to spend time with you!"

“ I can’t with you right now. I need a fucking break. I am so sick and tired of this! Just go, please! I need some fucking air. I am sick of being in this house, with you, all day long. I need to clear my mind. Please just leave me alone." He said and walked away.

"Wait, Wooseok." I ran after him, grabbing him by the arm and turning him around to face me.

"I don't want to be in this house alone right now, if you walk out right now, I WILL hold it against you…I mean it."

He looked at me and for a second I saw a glimpse of the old him. My sweet and kind Woo. He was there. Behind those dark eyes, I saw the same man that I fell in love with. The man that brought me coffee in the morning, and made me laugh so hard, I could barely breathe. Always hung out with me in every class break. The man that always asked how my day was and would bring me a single flower just because. He was there, I knew it.

But as soon as the glimmer came, it disappeared and all that was left was anger and darkness.

"Let go of me."

"NO, Woo Seok, I will NOT let go. Please, talk to me, what's wrong, what is bothering you?"

"You. You are bothering me." He said and snatched his arm from my grasp, walking out and slamming the door behind him.

I was snapped back to reality, realizing that the last words we had exchanged were hateful ones.

I looked down at my hands, the hands that were holding him, and realized I was still clutching his pillow.

I sighed, dropping the pillow to the floor, getting into the bathroom for a shower.

I had to stop thinking about it. It was all in the past, and right now I had a day off from school and no plans...not any more … at least.

I needed to distract myself, I quickly showered, putting on my favorite outfit, the one that I had picked for the date that wasn't going to happen and headed out the door. If he didn’t wanna go to the beach … FINE, I can go.

The sun was setting as I got to the beach, there were a lot of people…and couples… enjoying the weather and the ocean view. It was a beautiful place. The waves crashed onto the shore and the sound was like music to my ears. It calmed me, and made me feel free and happy and since this day is such a bust, I might as well try and enjoy this by getting high.

I walked around a little as the sky grew slightly darker, finding a good spot, laying my towel on the sand, putting my bag and stuff next to me, before lighting up. I was taking in the scenery, the sky was growing darker and the beach was almost empty, most people were leaving, and as the smoke was leaving my lungs, I was already feeling lighter and happier excited about the high to come which would make me forget about all the drama - it was also kinda cold, pretty cold.

As I took another large drag from the joint, I felt the high starting, I was more “aware” of myself and my surroundings, I felt at ease, and it felt like i had let out a breath i dint know i was holding in. Suddenly the stress of the situation began to reduce as my body felt lighter, more fluid and ‘fun’.

I was lost in the sensations of the high, I put on some music, took off my t-shirt and laid down, shut my eyes for a moment, getting comfy in my plush soft blanket.

Suddenly I heard a chuckle, a chuckle full of snark.

"Well, that's certainly a sight, I guess your dates are more fun without me"

I opened my eyes, and was met with his.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I mumbled closing my eyes immediately, not wanting to accept that this was happening.

"Nice way to greet your boyfriend" he replied, and snatched the joint from my hand, taking a long drag.

"You can't just show up here like that, we're supposed to be taking a break, remember? You didn't want me, you made that very clear. I don't have to put up with this, fuck off. Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of"

"Aww Ouchie. That hurt." He said tauntingly, and then continued, "you look really good in those shorts, you know"

"Fuck off, Wooseok" I replied, sitting up and reaching for the joint, which he immediately raised above his head, out of reach from my height, as he chuckled.

His playful and casual mood was starting to throw me into a rage, why was he acting like nothing was wrong? After everything he said? Why was he now fucking with your high when you weren’t even dating anymore?

"You can't just leave and come back, whenever the fuck you feel like it."

"Watch me" He replied, taking another drag, and smiling.

"What's gotten into you? Are you drunk or something?"

"No" He laughed and handed the joint back to you - you didn’t accept it from him.

"Why are you acting like nothing's wrong, like you didn't walk out last night? Like you didn't tell me, and I quote "I am sick and tired of you"

"Oh come on, don't be a bitch!"

"Don't call me a bitch, Wooseok."

“You taking a hit or no?? It’s getting wasted over here. "

"Are you actually fucking with me right now???"

"Okay fine…Don't want it, you don't get it.." He said taking a massive drag and putting out the joint with his foot.

I stood up angrily and yelled, "Are you crazy?! That was a perfectly good joint, you just wasted it!!"

Suddenly Wooseok roughly grabbed my waist pulling me closer as he harshly held my face with one hand keeping my mouth open - he immediately pressed his lips onto mine, shotgunning his last massive drag into my mouth.

One was breathing out pushing the smoke, while the other was taking it all in.

His lips were on mine, his tongue was inside of me. It was intense. I hated that I loved it.

The kiss felt heavy and intoxicating, Wooseok slowly pushing his body’s weight onto you, both getting on our knees, lips still intact.

Wooseok slowly pulled away from me and looked at me, his gaze was hungry.

He was so beautiful, the sunset illuminating his face, and his eyes. I loved his eyes, and his smile, and the way he looked at me.

My eyes were fixed on his as I tried to catch my breath, my mind feeling shocked, angry and very much seduced at the same time.

“Tell me that wasn’t a better hit than the joint,” He whispered into my ear, his breath warm and seductive as he smirked, his gaze locked with mine, not breaking eye contact for a second. I had missed his voice, and the way his lips brushed against my skin as he spoke. I missed the way he was looking at me, and how his touch set my entire body on fire. I missed him.

I tried to say something but the words wouldn't come out.

Loosening his grip on my face he slowly moved his hand down to my hip, gripping it, and slowly pushing his leg between my thighs, as he pushed me onto my back.

He towered over me - "Now, where were we?" He whispered again, his lips grazing mine and his breath hitting my face.

His lips were so close, it was driving me crazy. I didn't know if I should push him away or pull him closer, but what about everything he said? Did I forgive him just like that? Was I really this easy?

He leaned down and kissed me, softly at first, but quickly grew more heated and passionate, his tongue exploring my mouth. His hands roaming all over my body, pulling my hips closer, pushing his knee against my crotch.

My brain was screaming at me to push him off, but my body was betraying me, wanting his touch, and craving more - addicted - addicted to him.

He slowly started kissing down my neck, his hands caressing my chest, his thumb brushing against my nipple, making me moan. He smiled and started kissing my neck, sucking hard, biting me, making me whimper and moan.

My head was spinning, it was all too much, and not enough at the same time. At some point I just had a silent stream of tears, running down my cheeks as the emotions hit me.

"I missed this so much" Wooseok whispered, kissing his way down my chest, and biting and licking my nipples.

"So much."

- I didn’t react

"Please, let's go home, okay? Come on."

- No response

"Y/N, come on. Let's go home."

"Look, I'm sorry okay? Can we please go home and talk about this?"

"No, Wooseok, you had your chance, you said it yourself, I bother you, remember? You don't need to pretend like everything is okay."

"Baby, please. Don't be like that. I didn't mean it."

"Yes you did."

"No, baby, please, it’s getting dark can we just talk inside.”

“ baby, I just wanna go home, and talk. It's so cold, and it's getting late."

- I turned around laying on my other side, my back facing him.

He sighed and then got up, packing our things, and putting everything back into my bag.

He walked over, and reached out his hand for me.

"Let's go, it's getting late.”

-I refused his hand and got up on my own, brushing off the sand.

"Come on, let's go" He said again, his voice impatient, as he grabbed my wrist and tried to drag me along.

"Stop it!" I protested, but he was still dragging me.

"LET GO OF ME!"

- I yelled, and pulled my arm away from him.

He turned to look at me, a hint of anger flashing in his eyes.

"What the fuck is your problem?" He yelled.

"You're my problem. You keep hurting me and then acting like nothing's wrong!”

"It's not like you never hurt me!,” he shot back.

"When? When did I ever do that to you?"

"You didn’t even run behind me in the morning when I said we needed a Break, you didn’t even care! You couldn’t care less about fighting for this relationship!."

"OFCOURSE I CARE! Maybe I would've chased you if you didn't leave after yelling at me and telling me to leave you alone!, and as for FIGHTING for the relationship, ALL I HAVE DONE is fight for it! - Chase after you ??? For What ???? You and I NEVER make it fucking work, has anything we’ve had for so long even barely qualify as a relationship?,” I snapped back in rage, only realising what I had just said after his expression fell dark and cold. Before I could Tell him I would never mean that -

"JUST WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT Y/N” He shouted at me, his voice was harsh and his eyes were dark and cold, there was no trace of the Wooseok I had just been kissing.

I didn't respond, my heart was beating fast, and I felt like I couldn't breathe.

"WELL ?" He shouted again, stepping closer to me.

"W-what?"

"What do you want from me, hm? What can I possibly do to fix this? You are always complaining, about something, and nothing I ever do is good enough for you, it's never enough, and you're always mad at me, what the hell do you want from me?!

“ I JUST WANT YOU, OKAY !! I WANT YOUR LOVE AND ATTENTION AND PRESENCE I WANT YOU TO HOLD ME I WANT YOU TO BE THERE! “

I paused for a second and then continued, my voice cracking. - "And you weren't. You aren’t.

It was like I could see the person I love crumble, his expression changed and I saw his eyes start to water.

"Will you give me.." he hesitated for a moment, and then continued, his voice shaking.

"will you give me another chance?, Please."

- The last word came out almost like a whisper.

I didn't say anything. My eyes were filled with tears.

He stepped closer to me, his eyes fixed on mine.

"Please" He whispered.

"Just one more chance. Please."

-I still didn't say anything.

"Please, Baby."

-I nodded.

"Say it, say you'll give me another chance."

-He pleaded, his voice barely audible.

"I will"

-His expression changed.

-His eyes lit up as a smile spread across his face, tears still streaming.

"Thank you" He said, before wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his face in my shoulder.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, holding him tightly, my face pressed against his neck.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Y/N" He said, his voice shaking.

"it's… okay"

"no it's not. I was such an asshole to you. I'm so sorry"

"It's okay.”

"No, It's not. You don't deserve that. You deserve so much better than me. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. And I've been such an asshole."

"You have"

-He looked up at me, his eyes watery, and his expression full of regret.

"I'm sorry, Baby. I'm so sorry" He repeated.

-He hugged me tightly, his arms wrapped around my waist strongly, almost as if they were desperate to be embraced.

"I'm sorry too"

"you don't have to apologise, none of this was your fault. It was all mine. I fucked up." - “Let me make it up to you at home?” he asked smirking and grinning like an idiot while crying, which was honestly kinda cute.

"Okay, you can try, and the “I’m sorry sex” better be Earth Shattering,” - I added on, pouting…. as our lips collided.

PART 1 COMPLETE {Please Request For PART 2}

Author’s Note: Hey Everyone, This story was based on an anonymous request. This is the first time I’ve written such an argument scene in an informal/ non-academic way, so I really hope you guys like it. Please leave any feedback !!! It is always greatly appreciated. P.S - STORY IS NOT PROOF READ.

[kokokoula]

mornings (birthday special)

a/n: i legit sat down and spent a whole day to pull this one out of my ass. i just wish i could post this earlier. if i fail my exams, i swear-- quoting sei: "i'm the reason why i'm stressed." (btw this is not the soft spot fic just something for tsukki's birthday.)

---

tsukishima remembers akaashi mentioning that the dullest way to start a story is a character waking up to the sun shining.

"it's so overused, and there's nothing hooking the readers. writers really need to up their game..." akaashi had complained, something really rare. guess the stress can really get to people sometimes.

tsukishima cracks his eyes open and sees your figure, though blurry, sleeping peacefully beside him the first thing in the morning, with the sunlight spilling onto the bed and adorning your face. it's so ethereal yet fragile, this moment; maybe this is what the writers were trying to capture.

tsukishima can't remember when the last time he woke up before you was. he's used to seeing your eyes gaze up at him and hearing your giggle when his meets yours. "good morning" will be softly whispered follow by a light kiss on the cheek.

he knows that he might wake you, but kei still entangles his legs with yours and shifts closer to wrap his arm around you. he presses his lips against the the crown of your head, taking a second to breathe in the familiar scent of the shampoo you always use.

adulthood is never easy, especially if you have to juggle both a museum job and a volleyball career. tsukishima loves what he does, seriously, but sometimes it gets exhausting. it's running errands, running on court, and repeat. emails. blocking. artifacts. spiking. records. training--

kei finally catches a breath when he sees you at home at the end of the day, wearing one of his shirts and half asleep on the couch, waiting for him to return. it hits him that he's never going to be alone for the rest of his life, and that alone somehow comforts him.

you stir awake. his arm around your waist tightens. he feels your hand coming up to the nape of his neck, running through the strands of blonde hair. it feels good.

"morning, kei." he responds with a hum and another kiss to your head.

you pull away and he groans, but shuts up when you kiss him on the lips. it's long and lazy, he loves it.

"happy birthday, beanpole." oh right, it's the twenty-seventh.

"thank you."

"you're getting old." you say and stifle a laugh. he clicks his tongue in mock annoyance. "that just means i'm wiser than you."

he pulls you in again. comfortable silence settles, with the occasional sounds of the busy world outside. he could stay like this.

after a while, you tap his arm, sitting up.

"we should get ready. we're meeting tadashi and the others, remember?"

"do we have to?"

"obviously."

just when you are about to leave the bed, he catches onto your hand and kisses the back of it.

"you owe me strawberry shortcake later." you both know he'll end up paying anyways, and you'll bicker about it like an old couple.

"okay, you big baby."

tsukishima smiles.

[suzukiblu]

Thank-you sentences for derpsheep behind the cut; weird amnesia Timberkon. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“You can recognize their heartbeats?” Bernard asks incredulously–that is a very creepy and invasive thing to recognize about someone, much less be passively listening to, what the fuck–and then frowns. “Wait, got back from where?” 

“Long story,” Superboy mutters. “Alternate realities were involved. It sucked. But I got back here, and it’s supposed to be right, and there’s people I recognize, but there’s . . . different people, too. And no one here recognizes me. And I thought . . .” 

“That you were either totally insane or just stranded in the wrong reality for no discernable reason with no idea how to find the right one?” Bernard assumes. 

“That, yeah,” Superboy says tightly. “Definitely that.” 

“Good news, I guess, if you are insane, it’s a shared delusion, and if you’re in the wrong reality, so am I,” Bernard says. “Because again, I definitely remember you. And Hawaii. And Superman being dead. And like, all that shit in general. Also you kinda died that one time too? There was a statue, I’m pretty sure. Actually I think there were two.” 

Superboy’s smile is tight and humorless, and he digs his fingers into the inside of his wrist. Bernard has no clue how a dude in such severe and obvious distress can look so fucking good about, like . . . literally everything he’s got going on over there. It’s a lot of “everything”, is all. Superboy is a lot no matter what, obviously, but still. Like, extra a lot. Secret bonus levels of a lot. 

A lot. 

“I mean, there used to be,” Superboy says, and the pained smile he’s wearing turns–bitter, kind of. 

Fuck, Bernard feels so bad for this dude. Like so many levels of so bad. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way but I need to google some shit,” he says as he digs his phone out. Tim is clearly taking his sweet-ass time in the bathroom, and since he isn’t actually in there waiting for Superboy, it’s gotta be a Bat thing, which usually gives him a good fifteen or twenty minutes of fuck-around time before Tim makes it back with the weak excuse du jour. Or, like, three and a half weeks, one very memorable and kinda fucking awful time that Bernard had spent wondering if jumping into the timestream was how vigilantes ghosted you. “And maybe check some forums or something.” 

“I don’t think ‘is this weird dude at the boba shop crazy’ is gonna pop up on Bing, man,” Superboy says, still wearing the same bitter smile. Bernard wonders why he didn’t just go to the Justice League and explain himself to them. Like, they’d probably believe him, right? Or at least they wouldn’t instantly not believe him; they’d check things out or whatever. 

Alternately, though: half-Kryptonian full-telekinetic with Lex Luthor’s DNA and Superman’s face who doesn’t even know if he’s crazy or not.  

So like . . . that seems like an awkward conversation to have with Superman, maybe, Bernard allows. Or just fucking agonizing and terrifying and wildly, wildly likely to end in one of those stupid misunderstanding-based super-fights and, like, maybe also getting drop-kicked into the Phantom Zone because said stupid fight would be against Superman and that is, apparently, what Superman usually does with supervillain Kryptonians. And probably Superboy is having some very understandable issues about getting drop-kicked out of reality right now, if that’s a concern he’s had. Which–the Phantom Zone isn’t the same thing as an alternate reality, as far as Bernard’s aware, but also what the fuck does he know about the Phantom Zone? 

Bernard googles, in quick succession: Superman’s death, the Phantom Zone, and Superboy. He gets a ton of articles and photographs and blog posts with absolutely zero trace of Superboy in a single one of them, a lot of contradicting intel about what the hell the Phantom Zone actually is, and also some blurry candid photos of a ten year-old in ripped jeans and an S-shield hoodie that he’s never seen before in his life. 

. . . so that’s weird, yeah, Bernard observes, blinking down at his phone. 

“Huh,” he says, brow furrowing. “Hey, should I know this kid?” 

“Did you literally just google ‘Superboy’?” Superboy asks, which is notably not an answer to Bernard’s question. 

“Obviously, yeah, the entire internet is in my pocket, why would I not do that,” Bernard replies reasonably, still scrolling through random photos of this completely unrecognizable kid. Said kid continues to look like a total fucking stranger and Bernard continues to have zero clue who he is or why he’s wearing the “S”. Another clone, maybe? Like, an even mini-er mini-Super? Bernard can’t see his face all that clearly in any of the pics, still, but he’s at least got Superman’s coloring, it looks like. 

“Because Tim would give you shit about it, probably, I don’t know,” Superboy lies, because he very obviously does know. Probably better than Bernard does himself, come to think of it, which is kind of a weird thought but also, like, an obviously objectively true one. Superboy’s spent a lot more time with Tim than he has, even having been, like . . . unrealitied and all. 

God, that is still so disturbing a concept, too.